The Inheritance Paradox
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 34 (My Story)
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 34 (My Story) - A gripping tale of time travel, family secrets, and redemption. Nathaniel Holbrook uncovers his father’s extraordinary past, spanning centuries and shaping humanity’s future, while confronting profound truths about legacy, love, and identity. A thought-provoking journey through time, history, and the enduring bonds of family.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Historical Time Travel
NATHANIEL VINCENT HOLBROOK, born March 11, 1981. Me. I was born seven and a half months after Mom and Dad were married.
Dad dropped the piece of lead back into his treasure box and sorted around in it until he pulled an envelope off the bottom of the box. It looked pretty old and had a broken red wax seal on it.
“Share this with Brenda,” he whispered. Tears were leaking from his eyes. “You want more proof? Go look in the Forest Hill Cemetery. You’ll see.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t want to dredge up so many sad memories for you.”
“The memory of Sarah is one of the happiest I have. Leaving her was what was sad.”
I felt I needed to write down the story about the Civil War before I could deal with the letter Dad gave me. Meg wanted me to tell her everything right away, but Brenda understood that sometimes I needed to write things before I could tell them. She convinced Meg to let it rest until I’d written it all down, then we could read it and all start discussing it and asking questions from the same base. Meg huffed a little, but said she understood. She was the same way with her research. If she presented a theory too soon, her colleagues would tear it down with arguments that belonged much further down the line in her investigation.
“The agency the Institute hired found me a nice apartment,” Meg said while reporting on her own activity this week.
“That’s wonderful!” Brenda said. “Not that you wouldn’t be welcome to stay here as long as necessary.”
“Except Zach should be home by Friday and I can’t move in until Monday as it is. Of course, there isn’t much to move. Just the suitcases I brought. The apartment is furnished. Maybe I should move to a hotel when Zach gets home. He shouldn’t be denied his room because I’m here,” Meg said.
“I think Zach would be upset to think you moved to a hotel so not to inconvenience him for a couple of days. I’d guess he’ll find an apartment to share in Dearborn before the week is up. Driving in traffic every morning is going to get old real fast,” I laughed.
When we all got ready for bed that night, I went back into my study and got my journal out.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Brenda chided me as she kissed me on the head. I pulled her to me.
“I promise. I’ll set an alarm for midnight and come to bed then.”
“Okay. You need to be rested before you go to work tomorrow.”
I kissed her lovingly and she quietly extracted herself from my arms so she could go to bed. We’ve been married twenty years, and I still can’t keep my hands off her. I almost skipped the alarm and just went to bed right then. But I’d committed and sat to write.
I was absorbed in the story and almost missed the alarm when it rang. I reluctantly put the journal aside and joined my wife in bed. As soon as my weight hit the mattress, she rolled to meet me and held me tightly.
I finished the story Thursday night but had no time to discuss it or type it. I forwarded the scans to Brenda and Megan. Zach got home Friday and we all went out to dinner to celebrate his getting back. He looked in pretty good shape and there wasn’t a scratch on the car. Both good signs.
“Was the trip okay?” Dad asked. “No problems with that old car?”
“No. It was cool. I discovered a school in San Francisco that has a certification program in classic car restoration. I stopped by to see if there was a possibility I could transfer out there,” Zach said. “They looked at the Corvair and said I’d done a good job.”
“And?” I prompted. “About transferring out there?”
“They advised me to complete the full year of my qualified mechanics’ course in Dearborn, then they would be happy to have me transfer to the specialized restoration program,” he said.
“So, you plan to move to California next year?” Brenda asked.
“Well, you know Val and I are really committed to each other,” Zach said. “I guess it will depend on whether she thinks having me out there would distract from her studies. We’re discussing it and I think we’ll have a better idea after she gets through her first term at Stanford. She’ll be back here in mid-December and we’ll sure be talking about it all then. Not that we aren’t talking already.”
“I’ll bet,” Megan laughed. “I suppose you’d like your room back in the meantime. I can move into my new apartment tomorrow. My lease doesn’t start until Monday, but since that’s a holiday and the unit is vacant, they’ve given me the key and permission to move in.”
“Oh, I thought that wasn’t going to be until Monday,” I said.
“Well, it’s a good thing I can get in tomorrow. I’m going to fly back to North Carolina on Sunday. I need to meet with the board and then I’m driving my car back. I didn’t want to do that initially. I wanted to make sure everything was set up correctly first. I’ll be making a massive transfer of files and test results now that my computer at the university is set up,” she said.
“I could ... uh ... housesit for you while you’re gone,” Lisa volunteered.
“Miss, you are still only sixteen,” Brenda said. “If you went there for the week or ten days, I’d have to go with you.”
“And if your mom went, I’d have to go, too. That would leave poor Zach to housesit our place while he’s trying to get his own term started,” I laughed.
“One thing always leads to another,” Lisa sighed. “Tell me again how old you were when you went to college in Boston, Aunt Meg.”
“I was a high school graduate and was in supervised housing,” Meg said. Yes, she’d been sixteen.
“Will you help me get accepted somewhere good next year?” Lisa persisted.
“Next year? Do you plan to graduate early?” Meg asked.
“Well, they told me I could. I haven’t decided yet whether I should.”
I knew this was going to lead to a long conversation.
Saturday, I helped my sister move her suitcases to the apartment, just a few blocks from her office at the university. She expected she’d do a lot of walking since the nearest faculty parking was almost as far from the Human Genetics Department as her apartment was. But she didn’t want to be dependent on other people and public transportation for the next few months.
Brenda stayed home and closeted herself in the study with my journal to read the Civil War story.
“Where’s the letter?” she demanded at once.
“I have it. And I haven’t read it yet. I wanted to get the story down the way Dad remembered it before I fed in some other evidence. You know, this will be a lot like reading Rachel’s letters. I’d guess it’s pretty personal,” I said.
“Except this time, we have Dad’s permission to read it, so I won’t feel guilty about it,” Brenda answered.
“Okay. Here it is. I’ll have to scan it and send it to Meg, too.”
“Let’s sit on the bed to read it.”
My Dearest Eugene,
If this letter has come into your hands, you have attained the age of thirty years, and I have been dead for fifty or sixty years. I feel mortality in my bones, though I’ve not often been ill in my life. Perhaps my time with you improved my own resistance to disease, as it seems to have affected our children. I have held your mission in my heart, even as I raised your children in our home. It is hard to believe the things you told me about the future, though already, I have seen horseless carriages on the streets of Ann Arbor and a new factory has started in Detroit. Those things solidified my commitment to helping avert the future disaster you worried about in any way I can.
We have a grandson-in-law who is an attorney. I explained that I wanted to leave our house and a small sum of money to help you in the future. He is a clever boy, and I am confident this trust will survive until your thirtieth birthday. Of course, if you are not found by your thirty-first birthday, the contents of the trust will be donated to a historical society. Somehow, I am confident it will find your hands by then.
You built this house with my father and brother. Over the years, it has been added to and remodeled. I hope you will fill it with children and a loving wife, just as I have loved you and raised our children here.
As I write this in 1917, we have founded a small clan. We have three daughters—Celestine, Miracle, and Lynn—eight granddaughters, twenty-four great-granddaughters, and fifty great-great-granddaughters. I can only imagine how many there will be when you open this in 1979 or 1980. I constantly quoted scripture to our progeny: ‘Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it.’ I wonder, however, if you have ever sired a son. Our direct line has been all women so far. I have compiled a record of our family and have given it to one of our granddaughters who has a good head on her shoulders.
I lived just three years with you by my side and fifty years with you in my heart. You will reside there until the last trumpet calls and I am taken to whatever reward awaits me. May you be blessed with many more children and grandchildren, my love.
Yours until the end of time,
Sarah
Brenda had taken over reading about halfway through the letter when I found my voice would no longer shape the words. How could we do anything but believe the stories now? No matter how absurd they seemed.
“Why?” Brenda whispered as we held each other for several minutes, the letter lying on the bed beside us. “Why did Dad have to spend a year traveling to so many different times and places?”
“He said it was to spread some genetic trait,” I said. “Perhaps that’s what Megan has discovered in her genetics lab. Dad has never been clear regarding the significance of the trait but says the fate of the world is in our hands.”
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