The morning began with the sound of Andrew banging a spoon against his cereal bowl, declaring victory over imaginary dinosaurs. Sarah hurried to gather his schoolbooks, her robe trailing behind her as she moved.
William sat at the kitchen table, unusually calm, sipping his coffee as though he had all the time in the world. His eyes weren't on the bills stacked by the toaster. They were on Sarah and Andrew, memorizing every little detail of their faces in the soft morning light.
"Daddy," Andrew said between slurps, "if I finish my cereal first, I get to sit by the window on the bus!"
William chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Then eat faster, champ. But don't choke—we need our window champion alive."
Andrew puffed out his cheeks and stuffed another spoonful into his mouth. Sarah gave William a pointed look. "You're encouraging his nonsense again."
William leaned back, grinning. "It's not nonsense. It's strategy. Win small, then win big."
Sarah rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth curved up slightly.
After dropping Andrew off at school, Sarah headed toward the market. "You should go check with Rafi about that debt," she said without turning, her tone heavy. "The landlord won't wait forever, and we're already three months behind."
William stiffened. Rafi. The name twisted like a knife in his gut.
"Leave Rafi to me," he said firmly.
Sarah frowned. "Will, don't start another fight. We can't afford it. Just talk to him—maybe he'll give us more time."
"He's not giving us anything," William muttered under his breath. Then louder, with a smile to soften it: "Trust me, Sarah. I'll handle it."
She studied him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing.
That afternoon, after Sarah left for her shift at a local boutique, William walked the streets of New York with his hands deep in his jacket pockets. The air was crisp, the city alive with noise. People hurried by with early-model iPhones, coffee cups, briefcases. To them, this was just another weekday in 2010.
But William knew differently. He remembered this exact day from his past life—the headlines, the news broadcast, the winning lottery numbers.
He stopped at a corner store with flickering neon lights. The smell of old coffee and floor cleaner hit him as he stepped inside.
"Afternoon," the cashier said without looking up.
"Afternoon," William replied, pulling out a few crumpled bills. "Give me one ticket for tonight's draw."
The man tore it from the machine with a sigh, sliding it across the counter. William picked it up carefully, like a sacred object. The numbers printed in black ink were familiar—etched into his memory like scars.
As he left the shop, the ticket tucked safely into his wallet, he couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. It wasn't billions. It wasn't even enough to buy back their apartment. But it was enough to breathe again. Enough to prove to Sarah that he wasn't just dreaming.
It was the first step.
By evening, the apartment smelled of garlic and tomato sauce. Sarah stirred a pot on the stove while Andrew set the table, clattering spoons and forks like toy swords.
William slipped into a chair, trying to act casual, but his pulse raced. The ticket sat folded in his pocket, burning against his thigh.
Sarah glanced at him. "You look suspiciously happy for a man with overdue rent and a stack of debt notices."
"Maybe I found a little hope today," he said lightly.
"Hope doesn't pay bills, Will," she replied, weary.
"Sometimes it does," he said, cryptic.
She gave him a long look but shook her head. "I swear, you and your schemes…"
Dinner passed in warm fragments—Andrew talking about a picture he drew in class, Sarah worrying about grocery prices, William soaking it all in like a starving man at a feast.
When the dishes were cleared, William flicked on the old TV. The screen fuzzed before settling on the evening news. Sarah shot him a curious glance. "Since when do you care about the lottery numbers?"
William leaned back, heart thundering. "Since today."
The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers: "And tonight's winning numbers are…"
One by one, the digits appeared. William whispered them under his breath before the announcer read them out loud. Every number matched.
Every. Single. One.
Sarah gasped, staring at him. "Will—"
He pulled the ticket from his pocket, laying it flat on the table. The same numbers.
Andrew leaned forward, wide-eyed. "Daddy, did we win?"
William exhaled slowly, smiling. "Yes, champ. We won."
Sarah covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. "Twenty-five… twenty-five thousand?" Her voice broke. "Will, this… this pays the rent. The bills. We can breathe."
He reached across the table, taking her trembling hands in his. "It's only the beginning, Sarah. Just the beginning."
They didn't sleep much that night. Sarah sat on the couch, staring at the ticket as if it might vanish. Andrew ran in circles, chanting, "We're rich! We're rich!" before finally collapsing on his bed in exhaustion.
William stood by the window, gazing out at the city lights. His reflection in the glass showed a younger man, but his eyes carried the weight of two lifetimes.
Twenty-five thousand wasn't fortune. But it was freedom. A small crack in the chains Rafi had wrapped around them.
And more than that, it was proof—to Sarah, to Andrew, and to himself—that this second chance was real.
Tomorrow, he would cash it in. Tomorrow, he would begin flipping items, investing in the future, turning foresight into empire.
But tonight, he allowed himself to feel the simple joy of victory.
He turned back to Sarah, who was still staring at the ticket like a miracle.
He walked over, sat beside her, and pulled her close. "I told you, didn't I?" he whispered into her hair. "I won't waste this life again."
Her shoulders shook as she clung to him, and for the first time in years, William felt her trust return—fragile, but real.
The road ahead would be long, dangerous, and full of enemies. But here, in this small apartment in 2010, William Stewart had taken his first step toward redemption.