"You sure you're okay, Lily-pad?" he asked, using a nickname I hadn't heard in years.
"I'm fine, Dad," I assured him, trying not to look at my mother in the passenger seat like a psycho. She was so vibrant, so full of life. Her hair was still the intense blonde I remembered from my childhood, not the little dull, brittle strands it would become during chemotherapy. Her skin glowed with health.
"Well, Bailey's been missing you," my mother said, turning to smile at me. "That puppy has been whining at your bedroom door since you left."
Bailey.Our golden retriever. The one my father still had in 2025. But here, now, Bailey was just a puppy. Just thinking about watching it grow up again fills me with emotion.
When we pulled into the driveway of our two-story suburban home, I felt a wave of nostalgia so powerful it nearly brought me to my knees. This was the last place I called home. I'd moved out at nineteen for college and never moved back in.My dad had sold it after my mother died. It was too full of memories for him to bear.
But here it was, exactly as I remembered it from my teenage years. The slightly crooked mailbox my dad kept meaning to fix. The flower beds my mother tended with religious devotion—the basketball hoop above the garage, where my brother would occasionally practice for no particular purpose.
My brother.
The first thing that greeted us at the entrance was Bailey, with his gangly legs and oversized paws. I rushed over to pick him up, burying my face in his soft fur.
"OMG, you're so precious, little baby. I almost didn't remember that you were once so cute," I cooed, scratching behind his ears. The dog responded by enthusiastically licking my face.
My parents exchanged a look that I caught out of the corner of my eye. Right. I was supposed to be acting like normal teenage Lily, not like a woman who hadn't seen her childhood dog looking like a puppy in years.
Then I heard a noise from the living room—the familiar sound of gunfire and explosions from a video game.
It was my brother, Leonard, sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, completely absorbed in his game. I stopped to admire him, to remember how it felt to have him so normal in the house. I hadn't realized how much I missed him until I saw him at that moment, even though he was ignoring me because he was playing.
Here he was, sixteen and carefree, his entire future still ahead of him. I tried to suppress the overwhelming desire I had to run and throw myself at him. But I could feel my tears welling up in my eyes.
"Well, hello," I finally said.
He glanced up briefly, offering a half-smilebefore returning his attention to the screen. "So, you had an accident because you were being curious where you shouldn't be."
This time, the way he tried to bother me caused nothing but tenderness. I remembered how we used to fight all the time, how annoying he was when I wanted privacy, how I wanted to watch TV, and he didn't let me because he claimed the TV first. I would let him take everything he wanted this time just to spend more time with him.
"What are you playing?" I asked, setting Bailey down and moving to sit beside him on the couch.
He looked surprised by my interest. Normally, I would have shot back some sarcastic retort and stormed off to my room. But I wasn't the normal teenage Lily anymore. I was someone who knew what it was like to lose people, to wish for just one more conversation, one more shared moment.
"Call of Duty," he replied, still eyeing me suspiciously. "Since when do you care?"
I shrugged. "Maybe the accident knocked some sense into me."
He snorted. "Or knocked a few brain cells loose. Mom said you were saying weird stuff when you woke up."
"Just disoriented," I said quickly. "Mind if I watch you play?"
Leo stared at me like I'd grown a second head, but then scooted over to make room. "Whatever. Just don't distract me."
I sat next to him, but I didn't concentrate for a single second on what was happening on the television. I realized I had to protect them. These people. These small moments I took for granted the first time. There was no way Kyle was going to stop me from fixing things, even though I'd promised to stay calm.
Who in their right mind would want to see the people they love suffer over and over again for things youcan fix? No one. Most regrets come from doing absolutely nothing when you had the possibility to take action.
Many people would give anything to have a second chance at making things right. And here I was, even considering the words of someone who didn't care about what I felt ten years ago.
Kyle wasn’t going to stop me. Not this time.
CHAPTER 12
Kyle
Kyle: Please, I hope you don't do anything stupid.
