By Nana.
I don't know when time stopped making sense.
Maybe it was the night of the festival, when my laughter echoed through the crowded street and my mother held my hand so I wouldn't get lost.
Maybe it was the moment I saw that silly, colorful bracelet — beads of green, red, and yellow strung together on cheap thread — and decided I had to have it.
The stall owner had smiled at me, and said:
"It repeats the most memorable day of your life, little one. But be careful what you call 'memorable' ".
I was fourteen. I didn't care about warnings or riddles.
I begged my mother to buy it. And she did.
That was the last day I thought life would remain whole.
**********
The Night of Fracture.
When we reached home that evening, I saw my father in the living room.
A man sat beside him, holding a folder stuffed with documents. They stopped talking when we entered.
I didn't care about the stranger — I just rushed to my father, hugging him tightly, telling him about the fireworks, the lanterns, the laughter.
I told him, with all the innocent hope of a daughter, "Next time, you should come too, Daddy."
He smiled. But it faltered, just for a second.
A tiny fracture across his face, so quick I almost doubted it.
Then he patted my head and asked if I'd had dinner.
The man with the documents excused himself and left.
The silence spread across the living room. My father asked me to sit down. My mother sat too, opposite us.
They exchanged a glance, heavy, exhausted, and my father inhaled like someone preparing to dive underwater.
"We didn't want to tell you this yet," he began. "But your mother and I… we've been talking. Things haven't been working. We're—" He broke off.
It was my mother who said it,
"Nana…., we're getting a divorce."
The word fell like a blade.
I laughed at first, a tiny, desperate laugh, waiting for them to correct themselves, to say it was a joke.
When no correction came, I asked again. Slowly. Carefully. "You're… getting a divorce?"
They nodded. My father leaned forward, voice rushing trying to explain, "It's not about you. Not at all. We love you. Things just didn't work—"
I didn't hear the rest. My ears buzzed. My chest hollowed out. My body moved before my mind caught up.
I ran. To my room. To my bed.
I pressed my face into the pillow and begged silently: Please, please let this be a dream.
But tomorrow was cruel. Tomorrow always is.
********
Empty Visits.
My father left the next morning.
He promised he'd come often. And he did.
At first. But no visit filled the gap in the walls of our house.
The kitchen felt colder with only my mother and me.
The laughter I once heard through the thin walls was gone. I grew quieter.
Even when my father visited, bringing gifts, I smiled with my lips but not with my heart.
He tried. She tried. But I hated the word divorce with a fire so big it swallowed me whole.
For two years I lived with that hollow.
Until February came. Until the phone rang.
Until…. the world ended.
My father died in a car accident on his way to see us.
I stood at his funeral, watching them lower the coffin into the ground.
My mother wept, but i didn't.
My tears refused to fall. Something inside me locked shut.
At home, I couldn't eat, couldn't drink. I just lay on my bed with our family photo clutched against my chest.
That night, thirsty, I went downstairs for water. When I returned, I saw it.
*********
The bracelet.
Dusty. Forgotten. Sitting on the shelf like it had been waiting.
I picked it up. My chest ached. My throat tightened. I whispered, "Please… just once more, please. Let me go back..."
*********
Ten Again.
When I opened my eyes, the room was different. Too small. Too childish.
My old toys lined the shelf. The paint was brighter.
I looked at the mirror and froze.
My body was smaller.
I quickly stumbled downstairs — and held my breath when i reached the living room.
There he was. My father, sipping tea at the table.
My mother humming in the kitchen.
My whole body began to tremble. My breath shattered in my chest.
"Well this is new, Nana, you're up early today," he said warmly.
And I broke. I ran to him, threw myself into his arms, sobbing, "I missed you, Daddy. I missed you so much."
They panicked, asking if I'd had a nightmare.
I wanted to scream the truth: that this wasn't a nightmare, this was a second chance, that they'd divorce, that he'd die.
But when I opened my mouth, the words stuck. A wall blocked them. I couldn't speak of it.
It was like am not allow to change it….
I cried harder, saying only, "It was a nightmare. That's all."
He held me close. And for the first time in years, I felt safe.
That day was my tenth birthday.
They took me to the amusement park. We ate cotton candy. We played games. We laughed with neighbors.
That night, as they tucked me into bed, I whispered, "Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mommy."
They smiled and wished me happy dreams.
For the first time in forever, my heart felt whole.
******
The Price.
But when I woke again —
My room was back to normal. Sixteen-year-old me sat upright, trembling.
My mother was on the kitchen floor, crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She looked up at me with red eyes. "Your father's gone. He's dead."
Again.
I fell to my knees.
That's when I understood. The bracelet was no gift. It was a bargain.
To relive a day, I had to repay the price — by reliving the funeral. Again. And again.
And I paid it.
Every night I begged. Every night I returned to my father's smile, his laughter, his warmth.
And every morning, I stood at the coffin.
At first I screamed. Then I wept. Then I went silent. Until silence became numbness.
Days blurred. Weeks? Months? I lost track.
Reality and illusion knotted together.
I couldn't tell which was real — the birthday laughter, or the coffin lowering into earth.
I only knew one thing: I didn't care. As long as we all could be together again.
********
Forgetting Reality
But obsession corrodes. Soon I forgot the face of my classmates.
I forgot about school. I about forgot meals.
Even my mother became a ghost to me.
Each time she cried in the kitchen, each time she begged me to eat, I barely saw her.
My eyes only searched for him.
Happiness became a replayed day. Sadness became a repeated funeral. Over and over.
Today, tomorrow, the same. No difference.
Until one night, something inside me cracked.
*********
The Breaking Point.
I had just returned from my tenth birthday.
The laughter still rang in my ears.
But the coffin awaited, as always. I stood before it, numb, but this time I heard something new.
My mother's voice. Raw. Broken.
"Nana… please. I need you."
It sliced through me.
I turned. For the first time,i really turned.
And I saw her. My mother. Alone. Grieving not only her husband but her daughter, too — the daughter who vanished into illusions, who abandoned her for a bracelet's cruel promise.
She had lost everything. And I had left her to drown.
Tears finally returned. Not for my father, but for her. For the woman who carried me.
Who raised me. Who stayed.
I realized then: I couldn't save yesterday. I couldn't rewrite tomorrow.
But I could choose today.
*******
The Choice.
That night, I fought. The bracelet pulsed with light, urging me to wish again.
My fingers trembled. But I forced myself to drop it.
To let it clatter onto the floor.
I screamed. I cried. I begged. But I didn't pick it up.
When I woke, my room was the same. My father was still gone. My mother was still broken.
But I was here. With her.
I walked to the kitchen. She sat at the table, silent, eyes swollen.
I sat beside her. I took her hand.
"I'm here, Mom," I whispered. "I'm not leaving you."
Her lips trembled. Tears spilled. She held me so tightly I thought I'd break.
And for the first time since the festival, I meant it when I said: "I love you."
*******
Epilogue
The bracelet still sits in my drawer. Waiting. Whispering.
Sometimes, in the quietest nights, I hear its call. To go back. To feel his warmth again.
But I don't touch it.
Because I know now: Yesterday is gone.
Tomorrow isn't promised. All we truly have is today.
And today, my mother needs me.
So today, I stay.
Tomorrow, I'll stay again.
******
Stream Commentary; Tape #47. "Today Tomorrow "
The screen buzzed alive again, the faint static spilling into the silence like whispers caught between walls. Kai's hooded figure leaned forward into the glow, his strange black goggles hiding whatever emotion stirred in his eyes. A sigh escaped his lips, low and lingering, before he turned his gaze outward.
"Ah… Nana. A girl bound by the chains of memory, yet brave enough to break them.
You watched her… didn't you? Watched as she laid her father's shadow to rest.
Watched as she loosened her grip on the past so her hands could touch the future."
[@Ovesix: Nana's courage… it deserves applause. Many drown in the grief of what's gone, clinging so tightly that they never breathe again. But she—she chose to finally accept. To live. To keep her father not as a chain, but as a memory. That… is strength]
[@Jaija: Oh! I like her! Nana finally said goodbye! You know how hard that is? It's like holding onto a balloon until your fingers hurt… then letting it float away. It's sad, but also—funny thing! The balloon doesn't really vanish, it just goes higher, into the sky where you can't see it anymore. Maybe that's fate… little balloons of people floating above us, waiting to meet again]
[@642: Tch. Fate. You call it fate when the knife cuts and you bleed? No. Fate is nothing but teeth, biting whether you beg or not. Nana's courage wasn't fate—it was rebellion. She spat in the mouth of her sorrow and walked forward. That's… delicious]
[@Enchomay: Perhaps… or perhaps fate is the inevitable acceptance we all arrive at. No matter how much we rage against it, in the end, we bow. Nana bowed not out of defeat, but… acknowledgment. A curious paradox: she was strongest the moment she surrendered]
(Kai was silent for a moment)
"You've spoken well, my jury of shadows.
Nana's tale is one of release. To hold the dead forever is to rot with them.
To let go is not betrayal, but love in its purest, most painful form.
Remember this, reader… grief can be a prison. Don't turn the memory of those you've lost into shackles."
(He leaned closer, the faint reflection of static light flickering on his goggles)
"And beware… for fate is not always so kind.
Sometimes, it doesn't allow balloons.
Sometimes, it pops them in your hands."
(He pauses. Then his lips curved into the faintest smile)
"Which brings us… to our next tale. One of fear. One of crawling dread in the place you think safest.
"Tamara's Nightmare"
It belongs to a girl named Tamara. And her nightmare… well, it might just be yours too."
(The feed snapped into static, leaving only the faint echo of his chuckle)
STREAM ENDS