“Ashley, sweetheart?Can I come in?”
She looked up, her throat tight.“Yeah.”
The door creaked open, and her mother stepped inside, looking younger than Ashley had seen her in years.Her auburn hair, streaked with gray in Ashley’s memories, was rich and vibrant.The fine lines around her eyes were softer, barely visible, and her smile… It was the same.The same smile that had always felt like home.
Ashley stood, and before her mother could say anything, she threw her arms around her, burying her face in her shoulder.Her mother froze for a moment, startled, before wrapping her arms around Ashley.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”she asked, her voice low and soothing.
Ashley shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as tears pricked her lashes.“Nothing.I just… missed you.”
Her mother chuckled softly, brushing a hand over Ashley’s hair.“Missed me?I just saw you yesterday.”
Ashley pulled back, her lips curving into a faint smile.“I know.I just needed a hug.”
“Well, I’m always here for that.”Her mother kissed her temple and gave her shoulders a squeeze.“Don’t forget, breakfast is ready downstairs.I made your favorite–strawberry pancakes.”
Ashley’s chest ached as she watched her mother leave the room.How could she explain to her that this wasn’t just a morning like any other?That morning created a rift in her, threatening to pull her apart.
* * *
The road stretched ahead,bathed in the golden hues of mid-morning sunlight.Ashley sat in the passenger seat, her legs curled beneath her, her gaze fixed on the passing trees.
“You’ve been quiet,” Sarah said, glancing at her.
“I’m just tired,” Ashley replied, her voice thin.
“Of course you are.Crying over Charlie is exhausting work.”
Ashley didn’t bother to correct her.Let Sarah believe it was Charlie.Let her think this was just the fallout of a breakup and not the unraveling of Ashley’s entire reality.
She tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t settle.Memories of the life she’d left behind pressed against the edges of her thoughts: her husband’s voice, their future home, the warmth of the life they created together.Every mile they drove felt like it took her farther from them.
When they finally pulled into Yale’s campus, the sight of its iconic gothic spires broke her train of thought.The grandeur of the architecture, the meticulously manicured lawns, the bustling energy of students rushing to and from class–it was beautiful.But it wasn’t hers.
Sarah pushed open the door to their shared dorm room, her messy hair bouncing as she tossed her bag onto her bed.The room was just as Ashley would’ve imagined it–Sarah’s side was a chaotic mess of books, clothes, and empty coffee cups, while hers was pristine and orderly.
“God, I forgot how much of a neat freak you were,” Sarah muttered, flopping onto her unmade bed.
Ashley’s gaze wandered over the space, her chest tightening.She didn’t remember this room, but she could see the hours she’d spent in this reality trying to make it feel like hers.
In real life, she’d only lived at a dorm for one semester, desperate for independence after her breakup with Charlie.It had been lonely, miserable, and expensive–a mistake she’d corrected by moving back to her parents’ house shortly after.
Her parents' house had been her haven back then.She hadn’t wanted to leave it in the first place.It was Sarah who’d wanted to go to Yale, Sarah who’d wanted to get away, and now… it was coming true.
Her thoughts snagged on a single, haunting possibility.If this were an alternate reality, it would mean that she could meet Cole.Right now.
She might get to see the man she loved as he was before her,trulyget to know the person she’d chosen to build her life with.
As insane as it seemed, she had a chance to rewrite everything.To save him.
And yet, the thought wasn’t comforting.It was terrifying.What if she was stuck here, in a past without perspective, without a way back?What about her future?Her baby?
Ashley sank onto her bed, her chest heaving with silent sobs.
“Come on, don’t cry over that loser,” Sarah said, sitting beside her.
“It’s still very… fresh,” Ashley said, her voice trembling.
