I stand in the doorway to Miles’ room, my shoulder leaning against the doorframe, and watch my baby boy sleep. I’ve been here for ten minutes or so, turning over the situation in my mind. Over and over and over. I’m so confused. So afraid.
I can’t pretend like everything is normal. Like I haven’t been watching the world shift and smooth out around me. Like I didn’t turn thirty-nine two years in a row while the world reset like the needle on a record player, shifted backward to replay a familiar song. Like I won’t turn thirty-nine again next year. How many times has it been already? How many times have I forgotten—been reset—just like everyone else. I suppose I will always wonder, but understanding the truth of reality is no longer my obsession. My eyes have been opened, and I can see what is truly important. What matters the most to me.
I step into Miles’ room slowly, quietly crossing to the bed. Miles is curled up on his side, facing away from me. I pull back the blankets and climb into the narrow bed. Miles groans softly and rolls over, snuggling against me. I curl myself around him, holding him close.
I love my kids, regardless of whether or not they’re real. If I have to choose between a simulated reality in which they exist, and a real reality in which they don’t…
A tear sneaks free, pooling against the bridge of my nose.
“I choose you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the side of Miles’ head. I breathe him in like I used to do when he was a baby and I would sit up with him late at night, cradling his tiny body snug in my arms.
My nostrils flare, and my chin quivers. I turn my face to stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and I don’t even try to sleep.