Mia stood by the bus stop with her paper bag lunch in hand, trying not to stare too long at the house across the street. It was a plain single-story home with peeling white paint, a mailbox crooked on its post, and lace curtains swaying in the kitchen window. The early afternoon sun cast long shadows across the sidewalk, stretching into the front yard where a figure was just emerging from the front door.
Sarah.
Mia's breath hitched.
The girl was smaller than Mia remembered, or maybe she'd simply never imagined her mother this young—twelve, maybe thirteen. Sarah struggled to lift a bulging grocery bag into her arms, wobbling slightly as the weight shifted. Her hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her thin arms trembled under the strain. From inside the house, a man's voice barked something unintelligible. Sarah winced and adjusted her grip, stumbling forward down the porch steps.
Mia instinctively stepped forward, then froze. She was supposed to be invisible. She couldn't interfere—not directly. Every instinct screamed at her to help, to say something, but she remained behind the shadow of a rusted bus stop sign.
A car drove by. The rush of wind tugged at Sarah's sleeve. She stumbled again, nearly dropping the bag.
Mia clenched the paper lunch bag tighter in her hands. Her nails dug into the thin cardboard. She felt shame, helplessness, and guilt rise in a tangle inside her chest.
This wasn't just a stranger. This was her mother.
Sarah reached the end of the driveway and turned toward the corner store. She didn't notice Mia, though they passed within ten feet of each other. The sun glinted off a bottle poking out of the grocery bag.
Mia followed at a distance, pretending to wait for the bus. Her mind buzzed with questions she wasn't ready to answer. Was this what her mother had shielded her from? A childhood of heavy bags and harsh voices?
She watched as Sarah entered the store, holding the door open with her back. Then Mia stepped across the street, careful not to be seen. From between the newspaper racks, she watched Sarah fumble through coins at the counter. The cashier barely looked up.
Mia noted every detail: the dusty floor tiles, the soft hum of an overhead fluorescent light, the clinking of glass soda bottles in a nearby fridge. A rack of comics near the register leaned under its own weight. On the wall, a handwritten sign advertised cigarettes for two dollars a pack.
Sarah handed over her coins one by one, then accepted change without looking up. Her face was impassive, eyes dulled with something that made Mia's heart break. A girl going through the motions.
When Sarah left, arms even fuller now, her pace had quickened. Her shadow trailed behind her like a second burden. Mia followed slowly, staying to the opposite sidewalk. A group of boys on bikes whizzed by, laughing too loud. One of them glanced at Sarah, muttered something, and the others laughed harder. Sarah kept walking.
Mia gritted her teeth. Her fingers itched to lash out, to freeze time and correct everything. But she did nothing.
They were nearing the house again when Mia felt a shimmer at the edges of her vision. A dull pressure swelled behind her eyes. The air around her shimmered faintly, the color of the world slightly off. She staggered for a breath, gripping the corner of a lamppost. The sidewalk swam for a moment, and then—
A memory ripple.
She knew the signs. She'd studied them. This one was small but undeniable.
As it passed, she looked up just in time to see Sarah glance back, pausing mid-step. Her brow furrowed, and for a heartbeat, Mia thought their eyes would meet.
But Sarah only shook her head and hurried inside.
Mia exhaled, slowly.
The sun had shifted. A breeze stirred dust across the porch steps. And just as she turned to leave, Mia noticed a faint echo—the ambient tension was different now. Something had shifted. Not much, but enough for her to feel it in her bones.
She stood still a moment longer, watching the door that had just closed behind Sarah. Then her gaze dropped to the sidewalk in front of her. A bottle cap lay there, flattened by time and weather. She picked it up, rolled it between her fingers, then tucked it into her pocket.
A past she thought she understood was reshaping itself.
She crossed the street slowly, re-entering the shadow of the bus stop sign. Its metal surface was warm from the sun. She leaned against it, allowing herself one long breath.
From the second window, a curtain fluttered. No one looked out, but she felt the air shift again. As if her presence was beginning to register, if only faintly.
She remembered a photograph—her mother as a child, face stiff with the effort of smiling, a hand awkwardly placed on her shoulder by someone just out of frame. That same stiffness had been in Sarah's posture as she carried those bags.
Mia closed her eyes.
Don't interfere. Not yet.
But even passive presence had weight. Even witnessing could stir the waters.
She opened her lunch bag and stared inside. She hadn't touched it. Her appetite had vanished hours ago. She pulled out a sandwich and took a mechanical bite, chewing without tasting.
A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. A lawnmower started. Life, ordinary and unaware, resumed its rhythm.
But Mia didn't feel part of it.
She finished the sandwich slowly. A beetle crawled across her shoe. When she shifted her foot, it turned and vanished into a crack in the pavement.
Time moved, even when she didn't.
And Mia, whether she meant to or not, had become part of it.