Six months later – June 24, 2026
Lena woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom curtains, the kind of golden morning that made the world feel newly made. Marcus was already up; she could hear him humming in the kitchen downstairs, the clatter of coffee mugs and the sizzle of bacon. Ordinary sounds. Safe sounds.
They had moved house shortly after the chapel. Not far—just across town—but far enough to leave the old echoes behind. New walls, new mirrors, new memories to layer over the fractured ones. Therapy helped. Time helped more. The whispers had stopped. The reflections behaved.
Most days, Lena believed it was truly over.
She padded downstairs in one of Marcus's old college T-shirts, smiling as he slid a plate of pancakes toward her.
"Morning, Mrs. Reed," he said, kissing the top of her head. The name still sent a small thrill through her. They had kept it after the remarriage, a quiet defiance against the multiverse.
"Morning, Mr. Reed." She stole a piece of bacon from his plate. "Big plans today?"
"Finishing the backyard fence. Then maybe we finally pick out that grill we've been talking about." He grinned. "Normal couple stuff."
Normal. The word tasted sweet.
They spent the afternoon in the yard, laughing as Marcus wrestled with crooked posts and Lena handed him tools like an overeager assistant. Sweat, sunshine, the smell of fresh-cut grass. For hours, everything felt perfectly aligned.
Until dusk.
Marcus was packing away the tools when he paused, staring at the new fence. "Huh."
"What?" Lena followed his gaze.
There, in the fresh wooden slats, a faint scar ran diagonally across one board—a thin, pale line that hadn't been there an hour ago. It looked exactly like the scar the alternate Marcus had carried on his cheek.
Lena's stomach dipped. "Probably just a knot in the wood."
"Yeah," Marcus said slowly. "Probably."
They grilled steaks anyway, drank wine on the patio, watched fireflies blink into existence. But the scar lingered in the back of Lena's mind like an itch.
That night, as they lay in bed, Marcus spoke into the darkness. "I dreamed about him again last night."
Lena's heart stuttered. They had agreed not to talk about the echoes anymore unless they became… persistent.
"The scarred one," he continued. "He didn't say anything this time. Just stood at the foot of the bed, watching us. Like he was… checking we were okay."
Lena turned to face him. "It's just a dream, Marcus. Residual memory bleed. Elara said it could happen for a while."
"I know." He pulled her closer. "Doesn't feel like just a dream, though."
They fell asleep tangled together, as they always did now—anchoring each other to this reality.
At 3:17 a.m., Lena woke with a start. The room was silent, but something felt off. She reached for Marcus—he was there, breathing steadily. Yet the air carried that faint ozone scent again, the one from the chapel.
She slipped out of bed and walked to the window. Outside, the backyard was bathed in moonlight. The new fence stood neat and ordinary.
Except for the figure leaning against it.
Him.
The scarred Marcus. Solid, real, no flickering this time. He wore the same clothes from the chapel night—jeans, dark jacket—but he looked… healthier. Less hollow. He raised a hand in a small wave, the gesture gentle, almost shy.
Lena's breath caught. She glanced back at her sleeping husband, then at the echo outside. He pointed to something on the grass near the fence.
A single white lily lay there, freshly bloomed though they had planted none.
The scarred Marcus smiled—sad, fond, relieved—and mouthed two words she could read clearly even through the glass:
Thank you.
Then he stepped backward into the shadows of the yard and simply… wasn't there anymore.
Lena stood at the window a long time, tears sliding down her cheeks without sound. When she finally returned to bed, she pressed herself against Marcus's back, holding him tightly.
Morning brought bright sun again. The scar on the fence board had vanished, as if it had never been. The lily was gone too—no petals, no trace.
Marcus woke cheerful, no mention of dreams. They made love slowly, lazily, the way people do when they know they have all the time in the world.
Later, over coffee, Lena almost told him. Almost.
Instead she said, "I think we should plant lilies along the fence."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Random, but sure. White ones?"
"White ones," she agreed.
They spent the weekend in the garden center, choosing bulbs, laughing over how many they'd need. That night, they fell asleep exhausted and content.
Somewhere beyond the thin veil of reality, a single thread—once frayed, once sacrificed—glowed softly, woven now into the greater tapestry not as a loose end, but as a quiet reinforcement. The Weaver moved on, satisfied.
And in their small backyard, under soil and sunlight, the lilies waited for spring.
The echoes had finally found peace.
The End