Chapter 4: A New Reality

The first light of dawn crept into Josh’s room, casting a soft glow over the faded posters and childhood toys lining the shelves. He blinked, momentarily forgetting where he was—until he looked around and recognized every detail of his childhood room, down to the small airplane model hanging by a string from the ceiling.

Sighing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Everything felt different now, and even the routine of getting ready for school was surreal. He crossed the room, opening his dresser to pull out a neatly folded T-shirt and jeans, feeling an odd mix of amusement and discomfort as he noticed the bright cartoon characters on some of his clothes.

Moving slowly, he dressed in silence, buttoning his shirt with fingers that felt too small and yet, oddly familiar. A glance in the mirror showed a face he hadn’t seen in years—smooth and unlined, with wide eyes that still held traces of childhood innocence. He stared for a long moment, feeling the weight of his memories and regrets pressing down on him.

A clock on the wall ticked softly, reminding him that he needed to hurry if he didn’t want to be late. Normally, his mom would have been up by now, making breakfast and seeing him off. But these days, she worked late shifts, from 2 p.m. to midnight, and this morning she was still asleep in her room down the hall. Josh couldn’t remember ever having worried about her schedule as a kid; he’d never fully appreciated how much she did to keep their home running smoothly.

The house was quiet as he made his way downstairs, grabbing his backpack from the hook by the door. In the kitchen, he poured himself a quick bowl of cereal, taking a moment to look around at the little details he hadn’t noticed before: the chipped edge on the counter, the stack of unpaid bills sitting on the side table, the worn look of the linoleum floor.

He ate quickly, feeling the emptiness of the house press in on him. Just yesterday, he’d been living an entirely different life, caught up in his own regrets and solitude. Now, with a second chance to relive his childhood, he was determined to do it differently. But the weight of his old life lingered, and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he had a responsibility here—a chance to protect the people he loved in ways he hadn’t before.

Finishing his cereal, he rinsed his bowl and left it in the sink. He grabbed his jacket and, with one last glance down the hall toward his mother’s bedroom door, he stepped outside, determined to make the most of this new start, no matter how strange it felt.

The smell of cafeteria food and pencil shavings filled the air as Josh sat at his desk, staring blankly at the workbook in front of him. Around him, the classroom buzzed with chatter and the rustle of papers, voices occasionally rising with laughter or playful teasing. To these kids, it was just another ordinary day. But to Josh, it was like he’d been dropped into a strange, surreal version of his past.

His fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Thompson, stood at the front of the room, her voice cheerful as she launched into a lesson on multiplication tables, the numbers scrawled on the chalkboard with enthusiasm he found almost baffling. Josh forced himself to follow along, but each word felt like a distant echo. Decades of knowledge and life experience made these simple problems seem almost absurdly easy—remnants of a childhood he’d left far behind.

He glanced around, watching the students as they eagerly raised their hands, faces full of energy and anticipation. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place, like a stranger who didn’t quite belong. Being ten years old again had seemed exciting at first, but now, sitting here among children with minds untouched by the weight of regret and loss, the reality of his situation hit him hard. He felt an intense sense of isolation—a man with decades of memories trapped in the body of a fourth-grader.

I could solve these problems in my sleep, he thought, sighing quietly as he tried to look engaged. But he knew that if he drew too much attention, his cover would be blown. He’d have to play the part, to blend in, day after day.

Minutes crawled by, and his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall, watching the second hand inch forward with painful slowness. A restless impatience stirred within him, and he decided to test the wish Death had granted. Focusing his thoughts, he willed the system to display something more advanced than he’d learned in his own school days—geometry, maybe, or basic algebra, topics he’d never studied in depth before.

In an instant, a transparent screen appeared in his mind, filled with geometric diagrams and explanations of basic algebra, concepts he’d barely grasped before he’d left high school. He felt a small thrill as he scrolled through the information, navigating unfamiliar terms, angles, and variables. It was challenging, but satisfying, like a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved.

As he scanned through the information, he realized that this ability could open doors he’d never considered. Maybe he could finally master the subjects he’d struggled with, subjects he hadn’t thought he’d ever understand. But even with the knowledge at his fingertips, the realization struck him: he’d still have to sit here, day after day, pretending to be just another fourth-grader.

The weight of his situation settled over him. How long could he keep up this act, pretending to be one of them? How long before the routine wore him down?

Finally, the bell rang, jolting him from his thoughts. He practically leapt from his seat, eager to escape the confines of the classroom. He joined the line of kids filing out of the building, watching as they scattered toward the parking lot where parents waited to pick them up, their faces lighting up with excitement as they spotted familiar cars. Josh lingered, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Of course, no one was there for him. His mom would already be at work by now, starting her long shift, and his brothers were off doing their own thing. He hadn’t realized, until this moment, just how much he missed the comfort of having someone waiting for him, someone to greet him with a smile and ask him about his day.

For a moment, a pang of loneliness hit him. This life—this second chance—was his to navigate alone, a strange mix of familiarity and foreignness that left him feeling adrift.

The house was quiet and empty when Josh returned home. He set his backpack by the door, and the silence settled around him, heavy yet strangely comforting. Josh remembered this emptiness well—his mom at work, his brothers off with friends, and him left to his own devices. Back then, he’d been used to it, filling the silence with TV shows and video games. But this time, he felt the weight of his mother’s absence differently, the hours she spent working while he, her youngest, was here alone.

He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, greeted by sparse shelves with a few leftovers and basic ingredients. If he wanted a real meal, he’d have to make it himself—something he never would have considered at ten. This time around, though, he felt a quiet sense of determination to do more, to help in ways he hadn’t before. His mom had always worked tirelessly, sacrificing comforts and small joys to provide for him and his brothers. Maybe, he thought, he could ease her load, even if it was just in small ways.

Deciding to make dinner, he pulled open the fridge, scanning the sparse selection of ingredients. There were a few vegetables—some bell peppers, an onion, and a slightly wilted carrot. He also found a half-empty carton of eggs and a lone piece of chicken wrapped in plastic. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to throw together a simple stir-fry.

Josh set to work, slicing the bell peppers, dicing the onion, and chopping the carrot as best he could. He cut the chicken into small pieces, seasoning it with a bit of salt and pepper he found in the spice cabinet. Heating a pan on the stove, he added a splash of oil and tossed in the chicken, letting it sizzle before adding the vegetables. The kitchen quickly filled with the warm, savory aroma of cooking—a smell that felt oddly comforting, filling the empty space around him. It reminded him of evenings spent cooking with Katie, and he felt a pang of nostalgia, the bittersweet memory pushing him to be more present for the people still in his life