"Ah… No, Emily—don't!"
The words tore from my throat like a wounded animal's cry.
THUNK!
Pain exploded across my forehead as my head collided with something hard and metallic. The impact sent stars dancing across my vision.
"Hisss…"
I clutched at my throbbing forehead, fingers pressing against what would surely become a nasty bruise. My eyes blinked rapidly, trying to focus on my surroundings through the haze of pain and confusion.
Where… am I?
The question echoed in my mind as I slowly took in the space around me. My breath caught in my throat.
This place—I knew this place.
It was a cramped bedroom, barely large enough to fit the narrow wooden bed I'd just jerked awake from. Against the far wall stood a cheap desk—the kind you'd buy from a discount furniture store—its surface buried under a small mountain of worn-out textbooks with cracked spines and dog-eared pages. A couple of shirts lay draped carelessly over the back of a wooden chair, exactly the way I used to leave them when I was too tired to hang them properly. Thin blinds covered the single window, doing little to block out the harsh midday sun. Dusty golden beams of light sliced through the gaps, painting bright stripes across the scuffed hardwood floor.
"This is… my old room?"
The words tumbled out in a whisper of disbelief.
No way… How could that be?
My back was soaked with cold sweat, the thin t-shirt I wore clinging uncomfortably to my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs as fragmented memories clawed their way to the surface of my consciousness.
The last thing I remembered—the very last thing before everything went dark—was…
Emily.
My sister.
Lying on the ground.
Blood spreading beneath her like spilled wine on concrete.
Her hand reaching up toward me, trembling.
Her lips moving soundlessly.
And then… nothing.
I struggled to my feet, legs unsteady beneath me as if I'd forgotten how to walk. The world tilted slightly, and I had to brace myself against the wall for support. My movements were mechanical, driven by instinct rather than conscious thought, as I stumbled toward the tiny bathroom attached to my room.
The faucet squeaked as I wrenched it open. Cold water gushed out, and I plunged my hands beneath the stream before splashing it over my face again and again. The icy shock cut through the fog in my mind like a knife, jolting every nerve ending awake.
Droplets ran down my cheeks and chin, dripping onto the cracked porcelain sink below.
No… it wasn't a dream.
The realization settled over me like a lead weight.
That was real. All of it was real.
My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before I managed to grip it properly. The screen lit up at my touch, displaying the lock screen with crystal clarity.
9:23 a.m.
July 3, 2021
Time itself seemed to freeze.
My heart didn't just skip a beat—it felt like it stopped entirely for a long, impossible moment.
This date…
I knew this date.
I knew it the way you know your own birthday. The way you know the anniversary of the worst day of your life.
July 3, 2021.
This was the day my sister—Emily Miller—had flown back home from New York City after finishing her graduate program. This was the morning I had overslept, the morning I had been so carelessly, unforgivably late to pick her up from O'Hare International Airport.
I remembered that day with painful, excruciating clarity.
When I had finally arrived—over an hour late, disheveled and apologetic—Emily had been standing in the arrivals hall, her red dress bright against the sea of travelers. She hadn't been angry. She hadn't scolded me or complained about the wait. Instead, she had simply smiled that warm, patient smile of hers, waved at me with genuine happiness, and taken my hand without a word of reproach.
We had walked together through the airport, her chatting warmly about her flight and her plans for the summer, as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't just made her wait alone in a crowded airport for over an hour.
But then—
Oh God, and then—
When the two of us had tried to cross the street together, heading toward the parking garage…
A battered pickup truck—rust-eaten and ancient—had come barreling down the road. The driver had been drunk. So drunk he could barely see straight. The vehicle had swerved wildly, jumping the curb, heading straight for us with terrifying speed.
At the last possible second, Emily had shoved me.
She had used all her strength to push me out of the path of that oncoming truck, throwing me clear of danger.
And then she had taken the full brunt of the impact herself.
The sounds… God, the sounds still haunted me.
The screech of brakes failing to stop in time.
The sickening crunch of metal meeting flesh.
The horrified screams of bystanders who had witnessed everything.
The sight of her bright red dress flashing through the air as her body was struck and thrown like a ragdoll.
"No, Emily!"
I could still feel the weight of her broken body in my arms as I had cradled her on that blood-stained pavement. She had been my only family. My only light in a world that had always seemed too dark, too cold. And I had watched that light flicker and fade before my very eyes.
Her lips had moved as if trying to speak, trying to tell me something important, but no words had come out. Only blood. Crimson and terrible, spilling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand—her small, delicate hand—had trembled as it reached up to brush against my cheek one final time. And then it had gone still.
Completely still.
I had screamed. I had screamed until my throat was raw. I had thrown myself at the drunk driver, punching him senseless, breaking his nose, not caring about the consequences. The police had shouted at me to stop, had tried to pull me away, but I hadn't listened. I hadn't cared about anything except the fact that my sister—my beautiful, kind, selfless sister—was gone.
All I had done was kneel there in the middle of the street, clutching Emily's still-warm hand, begging her not to leave me. Begging her to come back. Begging God, the universe, anyone who would listen to give her back to me.
And then—darkness.
A darkness so complete, so absolute, that I had thought it was death itself claiming me.
But now…
Now here I was again.
Same day.
Same morning.
But an hour earlier than when I had originally woken up that day.
"Am I… in another timeline?"
The words felt strange on my tongue as I stared at the date displayed on my phone screen. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked pale, shocked, as if I'd seen a ghost.
Maybe I had.
"Did I… cross into a parallel world?"