The clinic door clicks shut behind me, but the doctor’s words still echo—$80,000. Without it, Lily has six months. My hands tremble as I step into the downpour, the letter crumpled in my fist. Then I see him.

Philip stands under an awning across the street, adjusting his tie like he hasn’t a care. Six years vanished in a heartbeat. I turn to run, but my heel snaps on the wet curb. He turns. Our eyes lock.

He starts toward me. I should disappear again. But Lily’s face flashes in my mind—the way she smiled this morning, unaware.

He reaches me, voice low. "Kelly? Is it really you?"

I open my mouth, but no lie comes. Just the truth, raw and terrifying: "I need your help."

And I know—this moment will either save us or destroy everything all over again.