Chapter 3

He slipped out of bed, his bare feet cold on the floorboards. The mirror stood in the corner, dark and empty. He touched the glass, and the man appeared as if he had been waiting. His scar was now a thin white line, and the room behind him looked almost cozy—a lamp glowed on a nightstand, and the walls were a soft cream.

“You heard her,” Nathan whispered. “She said I'm doing it again. What does that mean?”

The man's expression softened. “When you were a child, you used to talk to me. You didn't know it was real—you thought I was an imaginary friend. But your mother remembers. She's always been sensitive to these things.”

“I don't remember any of that.”

“You wouldn't. You were three or four. The mirror was in your grandmother's house then. You'd sit in front of it and chatter away. I thought it was sweet, actually.” The man smiled, his teeth perfectly straight. “But now that you're older and doing it again, it scares her. She thinks you're slipping into something unhealthy.”

Nathan's throat tightened. “Is that what this is? Unhealthy?”

“No. It's a gift. A chance to fix things. But she won't understand unless we finish what we started.” The man leaned forward. “I need another favor. Tomorrow, your mother will go to the grocery store on Maple Street. She'll meet a man there—his name is Daniel. I need you to be there and introduce yourself. Tell him you're Nathan and that she's your mother.”

“Why?”

“Because in my timeline, that meeting never happened the right way. Daniel is someone who should have been part of your family's life. A friend. A protector. If you make that introduction, it'll set things straight.”

Nathan stared at him. The man's eyes were earnest, almost pleading. But something gnawed at him—the photograph, the dress, the way his mother had looked at him.

“Let me think about it,” Nathan said, and stepped away from the mirror.

He went to his dresser and picked up the photograph. His mother's dress was still pale blue. He ran his thumb over the glass, then looked at the mattress. The letter was still there, hidden. If the photograph had changed because he hid the letter, maybe putting it back would undo it.

He slid his hand under the mattress and pulled out the cream envelope. The faint lavender scent rose as he held it. He crept downstairs, the house silent around him. The study door was open. He slipped inside, opened the center drawer, and placed the letter exactly where he had found it, beneath the stack of papers. Then he hurried back to his room.

He checked the photograph. For a moment, nothing. Then the blue shimmered, rippled, and became yellow. Bright, familiar yellow. His mother's sundress was back.

Nathan's breath caught. It worked. He could undo this. He could put everything back the way it was.

“Nathan.”

The voice came from the mirror. He turned. The man stood there, but he looked different—older. The scar was darker, and the room behind him had dimmed, the lamp flickering.

“You put the letter back,” the man said, his voice tight.

“I had to see if it was real.”

“It is real. And now you've made things worse.” The man's hands gripped the edge of the mirror frame. “Every change you undo doesn't reset the timeline—it fractures it. The accident you avoided? It's going to find another way to happen. Your phone? It'll be lost somewhere you'll never find it. And the meeting tomorrow—if you don't fix it, Daniel will never meet your mother, and something terrible will happen to her. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.”

Nathan's stomach dropped. “You're lying.”

“Am I? Look at the photograph again.”

Nathan looked. The dress was yellow. But behind his mother, in the sand, a shadow had appeared—a dark shape that hadn't been there before. He turned the frame over, and the shadow vanished. When he looked again, it was gone.

“You see?” the man said. “Fractures. Please, Nathan. I'm not asking for myself. I'm asking for your mother. Do the second favor. Meet Daniel. Introduce yourself. Then everything will settle.”

The man's room brightened again. His scar faded. He smiled, gentle and patient.

Nathan set the photograph down. His mind raced. The yellow dress was right, but the shadow had been wrong. Could the man be telling the truth? Or was this another layer of the lie?

He walked to the window. A car door slammed. His mother was backing out of the driveway, alone, heading toward Maple Street.

He had a choice. He could stay here, undo the letter, and risk the fractures. Or he could follow her and do the favor.

Nathan grabbed his jacket and ran out the front door.