“I knew it was a mistake the moment it was over.”
The words echoed in my mind as I stared at the faint glow of the Interface, its translucent edges flickering in and out of focus. My hands hovered over the reset panel, trembling. The room around me seemed to hold its breath, a sterile silence broken only by the hum of the machine.
It had started as an experiment. A chance to correct the smallest regrets—the things that keep you awake at night and pile like dust on the edges of your life. The Interface was supposed to change everything.
Literally.
“Just a second,” I’d said when the technician warned me about cascading effects. “All I need is to fix one second.”
One second. That’s all it took to lose her.
I’d stepped out to answer a call that night. When I came back, the car was gone, and so was Amy. It wasn’t until the next morning they found the wreckage, a crumpled heap of steel at the bottom of the canyon. They told me she’d probably been fiddling with the radio, that it wasn’t my fault.
But it was.
And now, here I was, watching that second dissolve into the past. The Interface spun the moment like thread, rewiring history in a pulse of light that made my teeth ache. I braced myself for the jarring dizziness they’d warned me about, the disorienting rush of a life altered.
When the glow faded, the first thing I noticed was the absence of the machine. The Interface was gone. The room, once clinical and bright, was now dimly lit and warm, the walls lined with wooden shelves filled with books. A clock ticked softly on the mantle, the sound unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.
I heard a soft laugh behind me.
“Did you forget about dinner again?”
My heart stopped. I turned, and there she was. Amy. Alive. Smiling. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, and she wore a sweater I’d never seen before, but it was her.
“Amy…” I managed, my voice cracking.
She tilted her head, amused. “Yes? Are you okay? You’re staring at me like I’ve grown another head.”
I wanted to tell her everything—to fall to my knees and explain the impossible—but before I could speak, my gaze caught something else. The picture on the wall.
It wasn’t us.
It was Amy, her arms wrapped around a man I didn’t recognize, standing in front of a small cabin. I scanned the room, noticing other details that didn’t fit—objects that didn’t belong to me, photographs of people I’d never met.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes.
I tried to piece it together, my mind racing. The Interface had worked. It had rewound time, shifting that pivotal second. But I’d misunderstood something crucial. The timeline didn’t just erase my mistake—it had erased me.
This wasn’t my life. I wasn’t the one who had saved her.
My legs buckled, and I sank into the nearest chair. Amy rushed to my side, placing a hand on my shoulder. It was warm, real.
“Call someone,” I said hoarsely, my throat dry
“Who?” she asked, alarmed.
I met her eyes, my voice a broken whisper. “Whoever I am now.”
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