Save Them or Be Killed by Them

My wife died.

I died too.

But not completely.

Because I returned to the past.

And so I saw them again: the girls who were gloomy, lively, aloof, or adorable.

They were heading toward destruction, each following her own fate.

Some would die by suicide, some in accidents, and others would meet all kinds of devastating ends...

So I tried to save them, to pull them out of the mire.

But what about the ones I failed to save?

Fate killed them all over again.

And the few who remained seemed to have an extremely obsessive attachment to me...

They would cut their hands again and again with a knife while telling me they loved me. They would go mad and interrogate me after seeing me interact with other women. They would suddenly throw their arms around me and cry, only to pull out a knife when they found something left behind by another woman, professing their love while trying to die with me.

Now the woman outside my door is approaching with a knife. I'm going insane, so I'm writing this diary in the last few minutes of my life.

This isn't the first entry, and it won't be the last.

How many times has this happened now? I've lost count. But this time, something is different: it seems she has returned from the future too, just like me.