Chapter 2: A Familiar Voice

A voice stirred him awake, gentle and warm, breaking through the darkness like a light at dawn. “Josh ... Josh, honey, are you awake? It’s time to get up.”

Josh blinked, disoriented, as he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, he lay there, still half-lost in the blur of memory, his chest tight with a residual ache he couldn’t explain. But that voice—he recognized it, and as he slowly turned his head, a wave of disbelief washed over him.

It was his mother’s voice. Dorothy. She had passed years ago, a quiet figure who had faded from his life long before he was ready to say goodbye. But here she was, calling his name as though it were any other morning. He sat up, taking in his surroundings. The room was unmistakably familiar: the faded posters on the walls, the scuffed-up furniture, the dusty old CRT television in the corner. This was his childhood bedroom.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, steady and real. How could this be happening?

“Josh! Get up, honey, you’re going to be late!” Her voice echoed down the hallway, sharper this time, filled with that tone of gentle urgency he remembered from when he was young.

“Yes, Mom,” he replied automatically, his voice thick with disbelief. He sat up slowly, his mind racing as he took in the room with fresh eyes. Every detail was just as he remembered it: the bunk bed he’d shared with his older brother, the old books and toys piled up in the closet, the faint smell of laundry detergent and worn wood that permeated the space. It was all exactly as it had been decades ago.

Josh got out of bed, his legs feeling shaky, like he was standing on unfamiliar ground despite being in the most familiar place he’d ever known. The narrow hallway was lined with family photos, each one a frozen snapshot of a time he thought he’d lost forever. There were pictures of his mother, her smile bright and full of life, and his brothers, William and Joel, each in various stages of awkward childhood.

As he moved toward the bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The face that stared back was young—far younger than he felt inside. His hair was thick and dark, his skin smooth, unmarked by time or sorrow. The man he’d been just moments ago, worn down by regret and age, was gone. Instead, he saw a boy of ten, his face full of youth and potential. I’m back, he realized, and I’m ten years old.

“Josh, did you hear me?” his mother called again, her voice closer now. She stepped into the bathroom doorway, a soft smile on her face as she looked at him with warm, questioning eyes.

For a moment, Josh was overwhelmed with emotion. He remembered the last time he’d seen his mother, frail and quiet, confined to a hospital bed. Her hands had been cold in his as he’d sat beside her, saying goodbye. She had been his rock, the steady force in a life that had often felt like it was falling apart. She had always been there, but in those final days, she’d slipped away, leaving an ache in his heart that he’d never truly healed.

And now, here she was—alive, vibrant, standing right in front of him.

“Mom...” His voice broke, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. She was right there in front of him, every detail of her so real, so alive. Without thinking, he reached forward, pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder.