Talia stirred as warmth pressed against her eyelids. The sun.
She blinked, groaning as the light forced its way in. Slowly, she rolled to her side, shielding her face with her arm. The smell of fresh grass filled her lungs.
Her eyes shot open.
She was lying on soft green turf, the blades tickling her arms. Around her stretched a wide park; blue sky, benches, children laughing in the distance. A fountain glimmered at the center, scattering rainbows into the air.
It was… normal. Too normal.
Talia bolted upright. "What? What's going on?"
Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't possible. Not after everything, the ruins, the decay, the constant struggle for survival.
She swallowed hard and lifted her hand. "Status window."
Silence.
Nothing appeared.
She frowned, trying again, louder this time. "System. Open!"
Still nothing. The space in front of her stayed empty, only disturbed by the soft shimmer of sunlight.
Talia's lips trembled. "…Why can't I open it? My status window…"
Panic crawled up her spine. The system had always been there ...an anchor in the chaos, the one thing that made sense. Without it… she felt naked.
A breeze drifted through the park, rustling the leaves overhead. Children's laughter carried on the wind, oddly distant, like an echo from another time.
Talia wrapped her arms around herself.
"Where… am I?"
For a long moment, she simply stood there, staring at the park as if it might shatter like glass.
But it didn't.
The fountain kept splashing.
The children kept laughing.
The sunlight kept shining.
It felt too real.
And yet, deep inside her chest, something wrong thrummed, like a thread pulled too tight.
"Talia!!"
Her heart lurched.
That voice. She knew that voice.
Talia whipped around, eyes wide.
There he was. Lev...except not the Lev she remembered. This Lev wasn't scarred by battle or weighed down by blood and ruin. He stood a few paces away, wearing a crisp button-up shirt and dark jeans, his hair neatly combed, his eyes bright and clean.
And beside him…
Talia's breath hitched.
A little boy, no older than six, was clutching Lev's hand. His green eyes sparkled beneath the sun, messy tufts of hair framing his small face.
"Kai…" she whispered, her throat dry.
Her knees almost buckled. Lev. Kai. Both of them. Alive. Whole. Clean.
"Lev, Kai...you guys are here," she stuttered, stumbling toward them.
But instead of the relief she expected, confusion flickered across their faces.
Lev frowned. "Lev? Who's that?" He glanced her up and down, his brows furrowing deeper. "Talia, did you hit your head? You're covered in dirt."
Talia froze, the air leaving her lungs. "…What?"
The boy tilted his head, tugging at Lev's sleeve. His voice was small, curious.
"Mommy… who's Kai?"
The world tilted.
Talia blinked at him, every word slamming into her like a stone. Mommy?
The boy smiled up at her with innocence only a child could hold.
He wasn't Kai.
Not here.
Her chest tightened, the thread inside her pulling tighter and tighter, until it burned.
This can't be right.
Talia's thoughts screamed as she stared at them. Lev's familiar face, but not Lev. The boy's wide eyes, but not Kai. Everything looked perfect, too perfect, like a picture that would crumble if she touched it.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Lev—no, not Lev—rested a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come on, Ethan," he said softly, smiling at her as though she were nothing more than his tired wife. "Your mom's just a little rattled. Let's go home, alright? We've had enough fun for today."
The boy nodded eagerly, his stomach growling loud enough for all of them to hear. "Yeah, Daddy. I'm hungry."
Talia's chest twisted so tight she could hardly breathe.
Lev or whatever this version of him was, offered her his free hand, the sunlight catching on his wedding band. His expression was warm, safe, loving.
"Let's go home, Talia."
The words nearly broke her.
Her heart screamed yes, but the wrongness deep inside her whispered louder: No.
She accepted his hand.
It felt warm and real.
And just like that, she let herself be led away.
They walked down familiar yet unfamiliar streets, the late afternoon sun painting the sky in soft orange strokes. Her mind screamed at her with every step, but her body followed him, followed Ethan, as though she belonged here.
Their "home" was a modest little house tucked on the corner of a quiet street. A garden bloomed along the walkway: bright flowers, healthy herbs, everything alive and untouched by decay. It smelled faintly of rosemary and soil, the air so painfully ordinary it almost made her cry.
Inside, Ethan collapsed on the couch, fast asleep before his head even hit the cushion. Talia covered him with a blanket, her trembling hands brushing his soft hair. He looked so much like Kai it made her chest ache.
From the kitchen came the sound of pots and pans clattering.
She followed the noise and stopped at the doorway.
There he was, standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring something fragrant. Steam rose into the air, carrying the scent of garlic and onions. He moved easily, like he'd done this a thousand times before.
Talia's throat felt tight. "…Um. Sorry. My memory's a bit fuzzy right now. What's your… name?"
He turned, brows knitting with worry. "You really did hit your head, didn't you? Let me check."
Before she could protest, he stepped close, gentle fingers brushing her hair aside as he examined her scalp. His touch was tender, achingly familiar.
"I… I am—yes. I hit my head. It hurts. I can't seem to remember much," she stammered.
He sighed softly, thumb grazing her temple. "You don't remember? Our wedding? How we first met? What happened when you gave birth to Ethan? Our café?"
Talia's breath caught. "I… don't remember. But ...we have a café?"
A smile tugged at his lips, warm enough to melt her defenses. "Yes. Our little business. Nothing fancy, but it's ours."
She tried to smile back, though her lips trembled. "That… sounds nice."
He turned back to the stove, giving the pot one last stir before glancing over his shoulder.
"Anyways…" His voice softened, like he was reminding her of something simple, something true. "I'm Adrian."
The name hit her like ice water.
Not Lev. Adrian.
Her fingers curled against her palms. The thread inside her chest pulled tighter, sharper.
This world wanted her to believe. To stay.
But something deep inside whispered: If I do… I'll never wake up.
"You should go rest. I'll handle the cooking today," Adrian said, giving her a reassuring smile as he stirred the pot.
"Oh… right. Yes," Talia managed, forcing a smile in return. She turned quickly before he could see how much her hands were shaking.
She slipped down the hallway and entered the bedroom.
Her breath caught.
On the nightstand was a framed wedding photo of her and Lev. No, Adrian. But it was Lev's face, smiling in a way she hadn't seen before. He looked younger, lighter, free of scars. She looked radiant in a white dress, her hand in his, laughter frozen in the glass. They looked so happy.
Talia's throat tightened. She moved closer, her fingers brushing over the cool glass.
Another frame sat beside it: her, round-bellied and glowing, holding her stomach with both hands.
The next was her cradling a newborn wrapped in a blanket. Kai. No… not Kai. Ethan.
Talia opened her mouth, but only nonsense came out. "Why the heck do I look so fat..." She stopped herself, squeezing her eyes shut. "Wait, that's not important right now."
Her voice trembled as she stared at the photos. "The important thing is… why am I here? Is this another timeline? Another world? Or something else?"
Her gaze shifted to the largest frame on the wall: a family portrait.
Her. Adrian. Ethan.
All smiling. A perfect, happy family.
Talia pressed her hand against her chest.
"But… we have a café. A happy family. A peaceful world…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "I think… I think I would love to stay here."
Her eyes burned with tears she didn't want to shed.
"After all… I never wanted to be pulled into the apocalypse in the first place."
She sank down onto the bed, clutching the frame to her chest. The warmth of the house surrounded her like a blanket, too soft, too perfect.
But deep inside, something wrong continued to thrum.
Like a heartbeat that didn't belong.