Lucian walked toward the kitchen.
The house wasn't big. The walls were close, and the rooms felt even smaller than he remembered.
Each step made him more aware of how quiet his body had gone, like he didn't want to disturb what was on the other side of the doorway.
When he entered the kitchen, he stopped.
Everyone was sitting at the table.
Jamie, his little brother, was already digging into his food. He was talking to himself between bites, cheerful and loud. He looked just like their mom, same soft face, same dark eyes.
Scarlett sat across from him, tired but focused. Her curls were tied back, and her arms were crossed as she listened to Jamie with half a smile.
She'd been the glue in the family for years, working multiple jobs and helping their mom cover bills.
She was also the one helping pay for Lucian's tuition. She always made it work, even when things were falling apart.
Then there was their mother, Helena Crowe.
She sat at the head of the table, wearing a faded T-shirt and an old scarf tied around her head.
Her face didn't smile easily, but her eyes always carried something strong. She had been through more than she ever talked about.
A single mother raising three kids, scraping by on shifts and favors, but she never gave up. Never ran.
Lucian stayed by the doorway, staring at them all.
It was real.
They were alive.
"Come on, join us and stop standing there," his mother said without looking up.
Her voice was sharp, not unkind, just direct, exactly the way he remembered.
Lucian stepped forward slowly and pulled out a chair. His hands still shook a little, but he did his best to keep it hidden. He sat down, nodding once.
"Yeah… I'm coming," he said quietly.
The food smelled simple.
Lucian began to eat. The food was simple. He didn't care much about the flavor. He just needed to keep his hands moving.
The room was quiet. Jamie hummed to himself as he chewed. Scarlett scrolled through her phone between bites. Lucian stayed quiet, trying to sort through the thoughts rushing through his head.
Then his mother spoke.
"Lucy, you're starting college very soon. Have you prepared everything?"
Lucian looked up. All three of them were now watching him.
He cleared his throat and looked at her. "Uhm, yeah. I'm ready."
She didn't respond right away. She just gave a small nod and looked back at her plate. But before long, she spoke again.
"We need to talk about something else," she said flatly. "You cannot smoke anything in my house."
Lucian froze mid-bite.
He stared at her, confused. He hadn't smoked anything, not at this age, not at that time. That wasn't something he did until much later, when things were already falling apart in his life.
"Mom, I don't smok—"
But she didn't wait for him to finish.
"If your brother hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known," she cut in, her tone rising as she slipped into her usual rhythm when she was upset. "I don't care who's doing what outside. In here, my rules. No weed, no cigarettes, nothing."
Lucian glanced toward Jamie, narrowing his eyes slightly. He set his fork down.
He didn't even bother to argue anymore.
Lucian kept eating, though the breakfast carried a slight awkwardness after the smoking accusation. No one brought it up again, and the conversation faded into silence.
Once everyone finished, Helena grabbed her worn-out bag from the corner and headed out the door for work. She didn't say much, just a reminder to keep the house clean and a warning for Jamie not to break anything.
Lucian stood up and started clearing the dishes. He brought them to the sink and began rinsing them without thinking much about it.
Scarlett blinked, then turned from the hallway and looked at him.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Washing the dishes?" he said without looking back.
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to?"
Lucian rolled his eyes and ignored her, scrubbing the plate under warm water. She scoffed quietly and walked off, but he could tell she was still watching for a second before she left the room.
He stayed focused on the dishes, though his mind wasn't on them.
The more time passed, the clearer it became, he was back in time. Not in a dream, not imagining things.
This was real. But unlike most people who wished for a second chance, Lucian didn't have any great knowledge to change the world or his family's life.
He didn't remember winning lottery numbers or stock tips. He didn't know dates of global disasters or business opportunities.
All he could do was try to remember what was going on around this time.
His mom was juggling two or three jobs.
Scarlett was working as well, barely sleeping while helping cover bills and paying for his school.
His father was in jail.
That part was complicated.
Helena Crowe, their mother, was originally from England. She'd grown up in Russia before her family moved back to England, where she stayed into adulthood.
His father was Afro-Dominican, born and raised in the Caribbean. Somehow, their paths crossed.
They moved together to Rodania, a small, multilingual country where English and Spanish were the dominant languages.
Lucian had grown up speaking English and Spanish fluently, with a bit of rough Russian picked up from his mom. His Russian wasn't good, but it was enough to understand a few words here and there.
The problem was his father.
He had been jailed years ago for something he claimed he didn't do. And maybe that was true. But Lucian remembered what the man who killed them had said "Blame your father."
It stuck with him.
Maybe his dad wasn't as innocent as he claimed. Maybe the truth was more complicated than they were told.
After he was sentenced, his father divorced Helena without hesitation. Just like that, he cut ties.
That was why all the kids carried the Crowe surname, their mother's name. It was English, and it was the only name that stayed after everything else fell apart.
Lucian rinsed the last dish, placed it on the rack, and leaned on the sink. His reflection in the window showed a younger face, but his thoughts felt older than ever.