Careful what you wish for, Margaret.
A woman’s voice. Low and warm, with an edge of something ancient underneath. Not unkind, but not soft either. The voice of someone who had watched a thousand wishes unfold into consequences.
I tried to speak, but had no mouth. No body. Just awareness, suspended in the dark.
You want to go back. To choose differently.
It wasn’t a question.
Very well.
The darkness shifted around me. Somewhere below or above, or sideways, I felt a thread pulling taut. Connecting me to something I’d left behind. To someone I’d left behind.
Thirteen days.
The words rang through me like a bell struck in an empty church.
You have thirteen days. On Valentine’s Day, when the clock strikes midnight, you will choose. Stay in the past and live that life forward, whatever it becomes. Or return to your life now as it is.
The pulling sensation grew stronger. I was moving now, definitely moving, though I had no sense of direction or speed.
But hear me, Margaret Shaw. There are rules.
The voice drew closer. Close enough that it felt like it was coming from inside my own chest.
You cannot tell anyone where you come from. They will not believe you, and the telling will cost you more than you know.
I wanted to ask what that meant. Wanted to ask everything. But the questions dissolved before I could form them.
You cannot use your knowledge for personal gain. The future is not currency to be spent.
The thread pulled tighter. I was accelerating now, falling toward something I couldn’t see.
And understand this?—
A pause. The darkness held its breath.
I have done this before. For others. Women and men who stood at the hinge of their lives and ached for the door they didn’t open. Some stayed and built something worth the cost. Some went back and carried the memory of what they’d glimpsed like a stone in their pocket. And some?—
The voice faltered. Just for a moment. As if remembering something it would rather not.
Some could not bear either choice.
The silence that followed was heavier than darkness.
There will be a cost. There is always a cost. The life you build will be paid for by the life you leave behind. Not in the abstract. In specifics. In faces that fade. In names you forget. In people who will never exist because you were not there to set them in motion.
The forgetting will be gradual. And it will be complete.
The voice began to fade, growing distant even as the pulling sensation became unbearable.
Choose knowing that. Choose knowing that you will not even remember what you’ve lost.
2
Maggie
Day 1 — February 2nd, 1987
