Chapter 1
The first thing Skylar noticed was the light. It was too white. Too still. Not the warm glow of the string lights taped above her bed or the sliver of sun that usually peeked through the curtains her mom never let her replace. This light was cold. Clean.
She blinked up at the ceiling she didn’t recognize.
The bed beneath her felt too firm. The sheets too smooth.
She sat up slowly. The room was unfamiliar – simple and quiet, with soft gray walls, a leafy plant in the corner, and a window overlooking a city skyline she didn’t know. Definitely not home.
Her heart started to race. Where were the posters? The messy pile of books? Her chipped nail polish and worn hoodie?
She looked down at her hands. The fingers were hers, but they weren’t. They were longer. Her nails were done, neatly painted in a muted shade of mauve.
She slid out of bed and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror across the room.
She froze.
The girl staring back at her looked like her... but older. Maybe ten years older. Same green eyes. Same scar on the bridge of her nose, same freckles – but her face was leaner. Her jaw sharper. Her expression still. Tired.
This wasn’t a dream. At least, it didn’t feel like one.
A knock sounded from somewhere in the apartment. “Coffee’s on the counter,” a voice called – low, male, casual.
Skylar flinched. She turned toward the sound, her feet carrying her down a hallway lined with photos she couldn’t stop to look at. Her heart thudded in her chest. The kitchen was bright and modern. A man – mid-thirties, maybe – stood near the sink. He glanced up from his mug and smiled softly.
“Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” he said. “Rough night?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve got that meeting later. I laid your notebook out on the desk.”
Meeting?
She gave a small nod and turned away, pretending to take in the view from the window. Her eyes scanned the counters, the furniture, the framed photos… one of them caught her eye. A child. A toddler with a dimpled grin and curls that reminded her of –
No. It couldn’t be.
Her hands started to shake. She turned back down the hallway and found a small room near the end. A nursery. Yellow walls. A pile of tiny socks on the floor. She stood in the doorway and tried to breathe.
Back in the hallway, she noticed one of the framed photos more closely this time. It was her again – older, holding the boy in her lap. She looked… tired. But she was smiling. Or at least, pretending to. And just over her shoulder, in the frame, was the man from the kitchen. His hand rested gently on her arm, like he belonged there. Like he always had.
Skylar didn’t recognize him. She didn’t know this child. She didn’t remember any of this.
She kept walking until she found what looked like an office. On the desk; a planner, half drunk coffee, sticky notes in careful handwriting. A journal lay open beside it. She shouldn’t have read it. But her hands moved before she could stop them.
Therapist says I have abandonment issues.
I laugh every time she says it, like its news.
I don’t know how to be still. Or soft. Or not in control.
I’m trying. But some days I feel like I’m parenting my past self-more than I’m raising my son.
Skylar swallowed hard.
Back in the bedroom, stared at the mirror again. There she was – thirty, maybe older. Same eyes. Just... less light. Not broken. Not falling apart. Just distant. Faded.
She didn’t hate the woman in the mirror. But she wasn’t sure she loved her either.
She stepped closer, searching the reflection for something – anything – that still felt like her. Her fingers grazed the glass, not to reach through it, but to steady herself.
She thought she’d feel anger. Fear. Panic.
Instead, she felt something quieter. Grief.
Not for the future. But for the girl she still was – trying so hard to keep it together. To please. To hold the pieces without asking for help.
And in that quiet grief, she understood this wasn’t about the woman in the mirror.
It was about the girl who still had time to choose something different.
Her chest rose with a shaky breath.
Then the floor titled. The air thinned.
And the world slipped away.
