
Seven years ago, I gave up my system's return ticket. I stayed in this world to be Arthur’s wife and Leo’s mother. Then Arthur's supposedly fragile childhood sweetheart came back. My husband started lying about where he spent his nights. My son began calling someone else Mommy. Tonight, a red countdown appeared in front of me. Before it reaches zero, I will find out whether either of them would still choose me.

The rain was loud against the study windows when the countdown appeared. It materialized in the corner of my vision, a red number burning at the edge of the world only I could see. Seven days. Six hours. Forty-one minutes. And falling. [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: RETURN TICKET ACTIVATED.] I put down the teacup I had been holding and pressed my palm flat on the desk until the tremor stopped. It had been seven years since the system last spoke to me uninvited. "System," I said quietly, because the house was empty and there was no one to think I was mad. "Explain." [TRAVELER EVELYN HARPER: YOUR RESIDENCE PERMIT IN THIS WORLD WAS ISSUED WITH A CONDITIONAL TICKET. ONCE, YOU REFUSED THE RETURN JOURNEY. THE TICKET HAS REACTIVATED. IN SEVEN DAYS, IT EXPIRES.] "Seven days," I repeated. "And then wh
