Chains of the Cosmos

Welcome Home

Nora's eyes flutter open, the dim light of a computer screen in front of her cutting through the haze. Her head feels heavy, her body sluggish as if she's been dropped into someone else's life. The sterile clicking of a screensaver fills the room, and as she blinks to clear her vision, the words "WELCOME HOME" scroll across the screen.

Disoriented, she glances down at her hands resting on the desk. Everything feels wrong—off. The room around her is unfamiliar: a small, tidy home office with shelves lined with books, papers stacked neatly to one side, and a faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. Panic sets in as the realization dawns on her: she's traveled. She's not in her world anymore.

"Oh no, no, no..." Nora mutters under her breath, her voice trembling. She stands abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor as she backs away from the desk, her breathing shallow and rapid.

Her surroundings feel suffocating. She moves instinctively, walking through the room, her hands brushing against the walls as if grounding herself. Her legs feel shaky, but she keeps going, pushing open the door and stepping into a hallway.

It's a home. A beautiful, lived-in home with warm tones and a welcoming atmosphere. Family photos line the walls, and as her eyes adjust, she begins to take in the details—pictures of herself. Only it's not just her. There's Hap, standing beside her in various candid moments, his arm draped around her shoulders or his hand resting protectively on her back. Her stomach tightens.

Then she notices the children. Two boys, around early preteens, standing between them in several of the photos. In one, they're at a beach, Hap and one of the boys holding up a freshly caught fish while Nora and the other boy laugh. In another, they're sitting around a Christmas tree, Hap wearing a ridiculous Santa hat while Nora holds a mug of hot cocoa.

Her hands fly to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her lips as the enormity of it all crashes over her. This is her life here. Her and Hap, with two children—a family.

"What the hell..." she whispers, her voice breaking. Her knees weaken, and she steadies herself against the wall as her mind races. This isn't possible. None of this is possible. Yet the photos tell a different story—a story she can't remember but somehow knows is hers in this timeline.

She stumbles into the living room, finding more signs of the life she's supposedly been living. Toys are scattered in a corner, a game console sits near the TV, and a framed certificate on the mantle reads: Dr. Nora Percy – Architect of the Year. She stares at it, her breath catching.

"Dr. Percy," she repeats softly, the name foreign and strange on her tongue.

She moves through the kitchen next, her hands grazing the counters. There are handwritten notes on a chalkboard near the fridge, reminders of soccer practice, grocery lists, and a note written in Hap's familiar handwriting: Dinner with clients at 7 – save me some dessert.

Her legs give out, and she sinks into one of the kitchen chairs, her head spinning. This isn't just a different life. It's a whole life—one that feels too real, too complete to be anything other than hers. But it's not. It can't be.

The sound of laughter echoes faintly from outside. She jolts upright, her heart racing. Slowly, she moves toward the back door, her hand trembling as she pushes it open. In the yard, two boys are kicking a soccer ball back and forth, their movements effortless and filled with the carefree energy of youth. They look just like her—like Hap.

One of the boys glances toward her, his face lighting up as he calls out, "Mom! Come play!"

The word pierces her like a knife, and she stumbles back into the house, shutting the door quickly. She presses her back against it, tears streaming down her face as she tries to piece together what's happening. Her ears are ringing again, louder this time, a painful reminder of her displacement.