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M emories flowed through my head like soup through my fingers. I tried to catch what I could, to hold onto the meaty details. Most of it slipped away. Some bits turned to mush.

But a few memories hit me completely in focus.

Holding my babies for the first time. My wedding. The first kiss I’d shared with Carson.

Being barefoot, five years old, legs smeared with dirt, lungs full of laughter, running through a meadow filled with wildflowers.

Someone ran alongside me.

Me.

She was the same age, with the same wide grin and the same beads clinking at the end of her braids. Only instead of brown, her skin was gold.

We rolled down a slope of moss so plush it bounced us like a soft trampoline. We didn’t talk about who we were. We didn’t question how we both existed. Just me and my not-me, playing in a world too beautiful to be real yet somehow more real than anywhere else.

She’d always been by my side. I took for granted that she always would be.

The memory washed away.

Another took its place.

Seven years old, barefoot in the grass, picking fresh peas in my grandmother’s garden with my best friend, my golden twin. Every pod Golden Erika collected, she handed to me.

She bumped her shoulder into mine as I mashed another sweet pod of joy between my teeth. If only the vegetables I had to eat at dinner tasted like this.

A sigh came from the open kitchen window—my mother’s sigh.

“It’s becoming a problem,” my mother said. “None of the other children her age have imaginary friends.”

She couldn’t be talking about me. I didn’t have imaginary friends.

“Her father was an artist. It’s artistic expression,” my grandmother said. “She’ll grow out of it.”

My father was an artist. That’s what they always told me, but he died before I was born. The pieces clicked. My father was a fairy—I felt the truth of it in my bones. He never had the chance to tell me, and my mother had never known. My stomach tightened.

Golden Erika reached a hand for me. She gestured for me to come with her toward the playground.

I shook my head, needing to hear the rest. My heart beat faster and louder in my ears.

“Erika’s isolating herself,” Mom said. “She’s not making real friends. She’s not getting invited to the birthday parties all the other kids do.”

I didn’t care about parties. I put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t let the words slip out.

“I’m afraid for her.” Mom’s voice cracked.

She was scared. She was sad. It was all my fault.

Golden Erika reached for me again. She smiled that bright smile I could never resist. Golden Erika was pure joy. She was freedom. She was the kind of friend only little kids could have.

I shook my head. I couldn’t see her anymore, not if it hurt my mom.

My heart broke, but I knew how to fix all of this.

I closed my eyes and I whispered into the wind, “I wish I couldn’t see magic anymore.”

When I opened my eyes, Golden Erika was gone.

I’d thought it was the right thing to do. I’d wished her away. I’d wished all of our fun away. It was over.

And it hurt.

“I wish I could forget.”

The memories were carried away on the wind. I’d forgotten all of it until now.

Golden Erika stood with me in place outside of time, outside of everyone who wasn’t us. There were no walls, no ceiling, only white. Memories flashed around us—pictures, feelings, a sense of what I’d lost by letting her go for so long.

I reached my hands for her. She took them.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her.

She smiled.

“I know,” she said without moving her lips. “It’s okay. You were who you needed to be when you needed to be.”

Was that true? Was I who I’d needed to be all these years?

I could have been more present with my family. I could have had a best friend with me my whole life. I could have been better had I not thrown it all away.

“You’re who you need to be now,” she said.

A sense of peace washed over me as golden light enveloped my skin. Golden Erika was me and I was her and everything was as it was meant to be. The memories faded along with the white nothingness.

And then we were in my apartment. Standing in the kitchen, me with my spoon and the feeling of rightness. My family surrounded me, wearing expressions of joy, concern, and relief all balled into one.

Carson enveloped me in a huge hug and kissed the top of my head. Adam and Micah got in on it, in a full family embrace. Micah must have landed back here before me.

I noticed my arm wasn’t glowing anymore, but it didn’t have to glow for me to feel her with me.

“I’m so glad you two are all right,” Carson said. Then in my ear, he added, “You did good.”

“Thank you,” I whispered back.

The boys let go and talked together in hushed tones.

Carson held onto my shoulders, like he was afraid to let go. He looked over my face, my arms, my torso, my legs as if searching for damage.

“I really am good,” I said. Weirdly so.

Someone cleared their throat.

By the entry to the room stood Tess with a huge grin on her face, and the burliest man I’d ever seen looming over her shoulder. He was as massive as she was tiny. They wore matching suits that I recognized as Librarian uniforms.

“Tess!” I dove at my bestie and gave her a hug.

“Carson called. We came right away.” She whispered in my ear, “This is Doomface. Do not say anything about magic in front of him that could get you in trouble.”

The way he narrowed his eyes suggested he’d heard that.

“I hear everything,” he said, more barely audible growl than words, though it was possible I imagined it.

“Well, everything is totally resolved,” I said. “Sorry to drag you two here for nothing.”

“What happened after you sent us back?” Adam asked.

“Apparently Mom’s a fairy,” Micah said.

Tess’s eyes turned to saucers. She choked on her spit.

“I, uh, ran through a field,” I said, sparing Doomface a glance.

“And the witch?” Carson asked.

“There’s no witch,” I said. “It was me. Always me.”

“You kidnapped Micah?” Adam asked.

“Kind of. It’s a long story.”

“Well, we’ll be going, since everything’s fine.” Tess grabbed Doomface’s arm and pulled.

He didn’t budge.

She hiked up her pants, rolled her sleeves, and put all her weight behind giving him another pull.

He still didn’t budge.

“So it’s over now?” Carson asked.

“Yeah,” I said. And a new chapter for us was about to begin.

“Let’s be a family again,” Carson said. “Come home with us.”

“Finally,” Adam said.

“Can we eat dinner first?” Micah asked. “And also, we were in the middle of a game.”

“Please,” Tess softly begged Doomface. “Can we please let them be?”

Doomface’s cheek twitched, like he wasn’t used to hearing the word “please.” He blinked, grunted, and let her lead him away.

Tess might hate his guts, but it seemed Doomface might just have a soft spot for her.

When they reached the door, she gestured her hand like a phone and mouthed call me.

I nodded. Of course I would. I couldn’t wait to share everything with my best friends. But first, I needed to answer Micah and Carson.

“Yes, we can eat dinner,” I said, eyeing the still-hot stove and the half-prepped stir-fry I’d been about to cook. I turned to Carson, “Yes, I want to come home with you. There’s nothing I want more.”

The look he gave me then, I hoped would become the new official the look.

Forget furrowed brows, exasperation, and disappointment.

It was adoration and sparkling hazel eyes, a small, private grin.

It was a look forward, one that said this is why we’re meant to be together, Erika.

It was a look that made me believe that maybe sometimes it’s okay that bad things happen and that we don’t have to do everything perfectly.

It made me kiss him. It made me believe that this version of us, this love, was always meant to be.