The first thing Ashley noticed was the scent of sunshine.
The second was the faded Sailor Moon poster on the wall across from her bed.
She bolted upright.
Her room – the old room – stared back at her with all its pastel chaos. The fuzzy rug. The flip phone charging on her desk. The clunky pink alarm clock blinking "6:04 AM." This wasn't a dream. She was fourteen again.
She clutched the edge of the bed, heart pounding. The night before, she'd been surrounded by friends and family celebrating her 40th birthday – laughter, cake, Anthea's over-the-top karaoke, Arthur teasing her about her age. It was supposed to be a beginning, a celebration of survival. And now…
Now it was something else.
"Ashley! Breakfast!"
Her mother's voice rang up the stairs, strong and clear.
Tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them. She hadn't heard that voice in over a decade. Not in real life. Not since the hospital.
She sat up, heart hammering.
"What the…"
Ashley flung the blanket aside and scrambled toward the mirror hanging crookedly on her closet door. What stared back at her wasn't a 40-year-old woman with faint laugh lines and tired eyes – it was a girl. A 14-year-old girl with frizzy shoulder-length hair, pale blue tank top from the 90s, and cheeks still soft with baby fat.
"No," she whispered. "No way."
She pressed trembling fingers to her face, then opened her mouth and screamed.
The door burst open.
Helen appeared in the doorway, wearing an old T-shirt and pajama pants, eyes wide with alarm. "Ashley? What's wrong?"
Ashley froze.
It was her. Helen. Young. Unlined. Healthy.
Her voice, her scent, her warmth – they came back all at once, crashing into Ashley's chest like a tidal wave. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"I had a bad dream," she blurted.
Helen crossed the room in three quick steps and sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out, brushing the hair from Ashley's damp forehead. "It's okay, love. You're safe. Just a dream."
Ashley nodded, biting her lip to stop it from trembling. She wrapped her arms around her mother and held on tighter than she had in decades.
"It felt real," she whispered.
Helen laughed softly. "That's how dreams are sometimes. Too real."
Ashley clung to her, soaking in her presence, her scent, her solid form. "Can you stay for a minute?"
Helen smoothed her hand down Ashley's back. "Of course. But don't you have school today? It's your first day of high school, remember?"
Of course she remembered.
Freshman year. The day it all began.
In her first life, she had sleep–walked through that year, distracted by friend drama, too nervous to participate in class, hiding her loneliness under sarcastic jokes. Now she saw it for what it really was – a countdown. In two years, her father, Ryan, would begin his affair. In nine years, Helen would be diagnosed with cancer. In twelve, she would be gone.
Unless Ashley stopped it.
"I'll get dressed," she said quickly, breaking the hug.
Helen kissed her forehead and stood, stretching. "Breakfast will be ready soon. I made pancakes."
"Thanks, Mom."
The word Mom landed on her tongue with such gravity, she had to fight back tears again.
Once Helen left, Ashley stood at the mirror, studying her reflection. There were braces on her teeth. A tiny zit on her chin. She looked like a kid. But her eyes – they were the eyes of someone who had lived a full life. A hard life. A life she didn't want to live again.
"No more wasting time," she whispered.
She dressed in her old uniform – navy skirt, white blouse, knee socks that always rolled down by midday. In the closet, she found her old blue backpack and rifled through it. A half-filled notebook and crumpled worksheets. She tucked her favorite pen into the side pocket and zipped it up with trembling fingers.
At first, she cried. Then she laughed. Then she planned.
No time to waste.
Downstairs, Helen blinked. "You okay, Ash?"
Ashley wrapped her arms around her mom before she could answer. Helen laughed softly, surprised. "That's a pretty intense good morning."
"I just missed your pancakes," Ashley mumbled, face buried in her shoulder.
Arthur, eleven and already surly in the way that only middle children could be, groaned from behind her. "You two are weird."
Anthea, still just a baby at seven, giggled at the table and reached for another strawberry.
Ashley pulled back, studying each of them like she was memorizing the moment. Arthur's messy hair. Anthea's crooked bangs. Helen, still glowing with health, her smile unburdened. Even Ryan was there, her father sipping coffee while reading the paper. Still a time where his presence fit in.
In her first life, she'd gone through this morning like it was any other. She hadn't realized it was the last time all five of them had breakfast together before things slowly began to fall apart.
This time, she wasn't going to let them fall.
Not now. Not ever again.