The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and warmth when Lysander came downstairs for breakfast. His mother was humming softly, a sound that had once been background noise in his first life but now registered as a precious melody. She turned as he entered, her smile brightening the room more effectively than the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains.
"Good morning, honey. Sleep well?"
"Pretty good," Lysander replied, sliding onto a chair at the breakfast table. His siblings hadn't appeared yet—unusual for Sophia, who was typically the first one ready in the mornings.
Isabel placed a plate of golden pancakes in front of him, the familiar comfort food stirring memories from both timelines. "I wanted to talk to you about something before the others come down," she said, taking the seat across from him.
Lysander paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," she assured him with a gentle smile. "Your father and I were talking last night about the Taekwondo classes you're interested in."
Lysander's heart sank slightly. He'd been careful not to emphasize the cost when discussing the classes, but he knew that even the relatively modest fees would strain his parents' budget—a budget he remembered all too clearly from his first childhood, where unexpected expenses often meant hushed, tense conversations between his parents after they thought the children were asleep.
"We've looked at the numbers," Isabel continued, "and we want you to know that we can manage it. You don't need to worry about the money."
"But Mom—"
She reached across the table and covered his small hand with hers. "This is important to you, and that makes it important to us. Your father is pleased to see you taking interest in something like this, and frankly, so am I."
Lysander studied his mother's face—the gentle lines around her eyes, the strength in her expression that he'd never fully appreciated in his first life. How many sacrifices had she made that he'd never even noticed? How many times had she put her children's interests ahead of her own comfort without complaint?
"I could help," he offered, the words coming before he could consider how strange they might sound coming from a ten-year-old. "Maybe do extra chores or something."
Isabel's expression softened with affection and amusement. "That's sweet of you, but that's not necessary. We're your parents—supporting your interests is part of our job description." She paused, then added with a wink, "Though I certainly won't turn down offers to help around the house."
Emotion welled up unexpectedly in Lysander's chest—gratitude, love, and a heavy awareness of time's precious nature. In his adult life, he had wielded wealth and influence with casual authority, yet here was his mother, making what he knew to be a significant financial sacrifice without hesitation.
Without thinking, he rose from his chair and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder. "Thanks, Mom," he managed, his voice muffled against her sweater.
Isabel seemed momentarily surprised by the intensity of his reaction but quickly enveloped him in a warm embrace. "You're welcome, sweetheart," she murmured, running a hand gently over his hair. "You know we'll always support you."
The moment was interrupted by the sound of Sophia bounding down the stairs, already talking about a theater audition scheduled for that afternoon. As the kitchen filled with the familiar morning chaos of his siblings preparing for school, Lysander felt a renewed determination. The financial strategies he was developing weren't just about securing his own future anymore—they were about ensuring that his family's generosity would be repaid many times over.
Lysander now on the school bus as it rumbled along the route, its familiar mechanical groan providing background noise to the chatter of students. Lysander sat near the middle, gazing out the window at the neighborhood scenes passing by—scenes that existed now only in his most distant memories in his first life. It was still disorienting sometimes, these overlapping realities—remembering places that had changed or disappeared in his adult timeline.
His contemplation was interrupted by a commotion several seats ahead. A group of boys from another class had clustered around a seat, their postures suggesting something less than friendly interaction. Their target appeared to be a girl with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her shoulders hunched inward as if trying to make herself smaller.
"Come on, weirdo, nobody wants to hear about your stupid books," one of the boys was saying, his voice carrying above the general noise of the bus.
"Yeah, why don't you just stay quiet like always?" another added. "Nobody even notices you anyway."
The girl didn't respond, keeping her eyes fixed on her lap where a book lay open, though Lysander doubted she was actually reading it.
He frowned, trying to place her. Despite his efforts to recall classmates from his first childhood, her face simply didn't register in his memory banks. This wasn't entirely surprising his younger self had been self-absorbed, focused primarily on his own interests and a small circle of friends. Many classmates had existed as little more than background figures in his perception.
Leaning toward his friend, who was talking with somebody on the seat in front of them, Lysander asked, "Hey, Marco, who's that girl they're bothering?"
Marco glanced up briefly. "Hmm? Oh, that's Gabrielle something. She's in our grade, I think. Keeps to herself mostly. Real quiet kid, always in the corner with a book."
That explained why Lysander couldn't place her—someone perpetually on the periphery wouldn't have registered in his self-centered childhood consciousness.
The boys' taunting grew louder, and Lysander saw Gabrielle's knuckles whitening as she gripped her book tighter, her face carefully blank in that way children develop when trying desperately not to show hurt.
Something in Lysander shifted—a recognition of the cruelty that children could so casually inflict, amplified by his adult awareness of how such moments could shape a person's sense of self-worth. Without conscious decision, he found himself standing up.
"Can you all be quiet?" he called out, his voice carrying more authority than a ten-year-old's should. "All this shouting is annoying everyone."
The bus seemed to fall momentarily silent, the unexpected intervention drawing attention. The boys turned toward him, clearly surprised that someone had challenged them.
The tallest of the group a stocky kid with a perpetual scowl that Lysander vaguely remembered from his school days started moving toward him, despite the rocking motion of the bus.
"Mind your own business, Everett," he growled.
Before the confrontation could escalate, the bus driver's voice cut through the tension. "Hey! Everyone sit down right now! No standing while the bus is moving!"
The boy hesitated, then scowled and returned to his seat, muttering something Lysander couldn't hear. As the regular buzz of conversation resumed, Lysander caught Gabrielle looking at him. She offered a quick, shy nod of acknowledgment before quickly returning her attention to her book, her cheeks flushed.
Before Lysander could consider approaching her, the bus lurched to a stop, and in the resulting rush toward the exit, one of the boys deliberately bumped hard against his shoulder, nearly knocking him into a seat.
"Watch yourself, hero," the boy muttered before disappearing into the stream of students.
Marco appeared at Lysander's side, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you get involved in other people's drama?" he asked, adjusting his backpack strap.
Lysander shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just got tired of the noise and all."
His friend gave him a skeptical look but didn't press the issue. "Ok but be careful. If things get rough you know you can ask us for help. We'll kick their butts for trying to mess with you." Marco said to Lysander as he couldn't help feeling proud at his friend standing up for what is right. But as they descended from the bus, Lysander caught a glimpse of Gabrielle hurrying toward the school building, head down, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone accustomed to making herself invisible. Lysander didn't even have any time to even talk to Grabrielle. "She always does that, Don't sweat it too much Ly. lets just go to class" Marco said beside him urging him to just go to class.