Chapter 8: First Birthday

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, with sunlight streaming through Emily’s butterfly curtains. She woke naturally at 5:50 AM, feeling different somehow–lighter, more settled.

The spell was permanent now. She was Emily Morrison, forever and always. There was no going back.

The thought didn’t scare her. It felt somehow right.

Emily sat up in bed, Mr. Hoppers tumbling into her lap, and took stock of herself. She had two complete sets of memories in her head–twenty-three years as Lars, and ten as Emily. Both felt real, both felt like they’d actually happened to her.

Lars was still there. She could remember everything–the apartment on Maple Street, hanging out with Jake and Marcus, working at the electronics store, the casual cruelty that had defined his interactions with everyone. Those memories hadn’t vanished; they were as clear and accessible as Emily’s memories of playing with Lola or learning about moon phases.

But that was exactly what Emily had wanted. When she’d made her choice at midnight, she’d wished–almost prayed–to keep both sets of memories. To never forget Lars, never forget what he’d been like, so she could always remember to be different. To be better. Or until she knew how to be better.

The magic had granted that wish.

It was strange, disorienting at times, but also oddly empowering. She knew things most ten-year-olds didn’t know. She understood the world in ways her classmates couldn’t yet grasp.

But she was also genuinely ten. Her body was ten, her emotions were ten, her social world was ten. The Lars memories informed her choices but didn’t control them. She was Emily Morrison, with a unique perspective that made her who she was.

She got out of bed and went to her window, looking out at the quiet Sunday morning street. Tomorrow she’d go back to school. Monday would be just another normal day–math with Mrs. Patterson, playing at recess with her friends, art class, the whole routine.

The thought made her smile. She was actually looking forward to school. Lars had dreaded work, had called in sick constantly, had found every excuse to avoid responsibility. But Emily genuinely enjoyed school–the learning, the creativity, the social connections, even the structure and routine.

Tomorrow she’d see Lola and Tiffany and Erika. They’d probably ask about her weekend, and she’d tell them about having Lola over–she would embellish the story, making it sound even more fun than it had been. They’d play at recess, maybe work on their self-portraits in art class, learn something new in science. Normal, everyday, wonderful things.

Emily got dressed in comfortable clothes–leggings and an oversized sweate–and headed downstairs. Sarah was already in the kitchen, making pancakes.

“Morning, Em,” Sarah said with a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Emily said, climbing into her chair. “Really good, actually.”

“No regrets?”

“None,” Emily confirmed. “Lars is still here–” she tapped her temple, “–but he’s just memories now. I’m Emily. That’s who I want to be.”

Sarah set down a plate of Mickey Mouse pancakes, and Emily giggled at the familiar shape. “Thanks, Sarah.”

They ate breakfast together, comfortable in each other’s company. Their parents came down eventually, and the morning passed pleasantly–church, then lunch, then a quiet afternoon where Emily worked on her art while Sarah did homework.

That evening, as Emily was getting ready for bed, she realized she was actually excited for tomorrow. Not nervous, not dreading it, but genuinely looking forward to going to school.

Lars had never felt that way about anything. But Emily did.

The weeks that followed established a new normal. Emily went to school every day, walking with Sarah in the mornings, being picked up by Sarah in the afternoons. She did her homework diligently, played with her friends at recess, excelled in art and reading, struggled but persevered with math.

Lars’s memories were always there, but the knowledge never seemed to come with them. It was a constant presence in the back of her mind. She’d be sitting in class and suddenly remember something from her adult life, a conversation with Jake, a scene from a movie she’d watched as Lars, the layout of the apartment she’d never see again. The memories would surface, linger for a moment, then fade back into the background.

But as November progressed into December, Emily noticed something changing. The Lars memories weren’t disappearing exactly, but they were ... fading. Not in clarity–she could still recall specific details if she tried–but in emotional weight. They felt more distant, more like a story she’d heard rather than experiences she’d lived.

Meanwhile, Emily’s memories grew stronger, more immediate, with each passing day. The field trip to the science museum. The art project where she made a clay sculpture. The time Tiffany fell on the playground and Emily helped her to the nurse’s office. These memories felt vivid, important.

Lars’s life was receding into the background, becoming less relevant to who Emily was now. She was outgrowing him, moving beyond him, becoming more fully herself with each passing day.

By mid-December, Emily rarely thought about Lars unless something specifically triggered the memory. And when she did think about him, it felt like remembering a past life–real but distant, important but not current.

She was becoming, simply and completely, Emily Morrison.

January arrived with cold winds and the promise of snow. Emily’s eleventh birthday was approaching–February 14th, Valentine’s Day. She’d been born on Valentine’s Day, which had always seemed appropriate for someone so full of love and joy.

Wait. When had Lars been born?

Emily tried to remember and found the memory fuzzy, uncertain. August something? Or was it July? The date slipped away from her grasp like water.

But February 14th felt solid. That was her birthday. That had always been her birthday.

The realization should have been alarming–she was losing pieces of Lars, forgetting details–but instead it felt like relief. Like setting down a heavy burden she’d been carrying.

As her birthday approached, Emily grew increasingly excited. She’d be eleven! That felt so much older than ten, so much more grown-up. She’d be in fifth grade this year, in the upper elementary grades. She was growing up.

She made a wish list, writing carefully in her neatest handwriting: