Four years seven months after convergence crisis, Maya Chen woke 5:30 AM to alarm clock buzzing insistently. Wednesday morning. Work day. Normal routine continuing exactly as it had continued 1,673 days since David died during convergence collapse. She reached across the empty bed half automatically, a habit persisting despite years alone, then withdrew her hand, remembering the absence all over again before it reset, permanent, the next morning.
David gone. Maya continuing. Daughters needing her. Life persisting despite loss.
She showered quickly. Dressed efficiently. Walked downstairs finding Emma already awake preparing breakfast. Sixteen years old now. MIT freshman studying mechanical engineering. Home for winter break. Looked increasingly like David: same eyes, same smile, same determined expression tackling problems systematically.
