You wake early the next afternoon, still dressed in the clothes you travelled in, groggy from the full day of hefting a rucksack and a heavy suitcase from your dorm to your home via several trains and a taxi. You roll out of bed, yawn, stretch, and slouch off downstairs.
The house is abnormally quiet as you descend the stairs. Normally your siblings, Billy and Kimmy, would be rampaging about the house with the uncontrollable energy of twin eight-year-olds; your sister Tessa would be gossiping on her phone or bitching loudly about her friends; and your dad would be egging them all on, while your mother tried to keep everything under control.
But the house is serene as you enter the living room. Stranger still, a girl about your own age with long, blonde hair and a jarringly familiar face greets you. She tugs a pair of oven mitts off her hands.
"I made you some dinner," she smiles. "Kitchen table. It should still be warm."
A friend of Tessa's? you wonder, wandering into the kitchen. Kinda cute too. As promised, a plate of pie and chips waits for you on the kitchen table. You chew a chip anxiously as you build up the courage to go challenge the strange girl in your house.
That's when you notice something - an old wedding photo hanging on the wall by the fridge. Twenty years old, but somehow the woman embracing your father outside the church doors all those years ago is the same one now standing in your present day living room.
The chip dropping from your gaping lips, you sprint back into the other room. "Mom?!"
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