Permutation - 7. Epilogue

December 25th, 2020

The world outside was eerily silent. The streets of New York City, once a symphony of horns, chatter, and life, now stretched like an empty, snow-dusted canvas beneath the weight of the ongoing pandemic. From the window of our apartment, I watched the cityscape, its quietness a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much was out of anyone’s control.

Tommy and I had taken every precaution over the past several years: disposable masks, hand wipes, hand sanitizer. We'd stocked up on supplies early, relying on the faint whispers of future memories to guide us. Despite the risks posed by our work at the community health center, we’d made it this far without getting sick. For that, I was endlessly grateful. But the losses the world had endured, the fear that loomed over everyone, had left an indelible mark on my heart.

Behind me, the apartment radiated warmth and love. On the walls hung reminders of how far we’d come: a marriage certificate from 2016, framed proudly, and an adoption certificate from last year that bore the name of our ten-year-old son, Toby Treborn-Miller.

Tommy was in the kitchen, humming softly as he prepared dinner: macaroni and cheese casserole with ground beef and canned corn on the side—a simple, comforting meal that felt right for a Christmas like this. On the couch, Toby, our ten-year-old son, sat curled up with the latest Percy Jackson novel, his small body bathed in the colorful glow of the Christmas tree lights.

The tree itself was a little plastic one, decorated with love but limited by the realities of the pandemic. And there, perched proudly at the top, was our old glittery pink elf. Its sparkle had dimmed over the years, but its charm and meaning hadn’t faded a bit. It was a relic of our shared history, a reminder of how far we’d come.

I leaned against the window, watching the snow begin to fall in soft, lazy spirals. It was peaceful here, in our little world, but I knew better than to let the peace fool me. Beyond these walls, the world was struggling. Lives were lost, and families separated. Even before the pandemic, we had faced so much heartbreak.

My mom… five years had passed since we lost her to cancer. I’d known it was coming—her illness had appeared in every timeline I could recall. Her genetic predisposition had made it inevitable, and I had come to terms with her fate long before it arrived. Tommy and I had stayed by her side until the very end, holding her hand, and offering what comfort we could.

Then there was Kayleigh. Despite my attempts—and even Tommy’s—to pull her out of the darkness, she had fallen victim to the unforgiving grip of addiction. She overdosed three years ago on a street-made opioid, her fragile body finally giving out under the weight of years of pain and struggle. It hurt more than I cared to admit, even now, knowing we had tried everything to help her.

Still, not all was sadness among our loved ones. Lenny, our old friend and eternal optimist, had found love with Shelia, a fellow D&D enthusiast he’d met at a convention. Their wedding plans had been postponed due to the pandemic, but at least Lenny wasn’t facing isolation alone. Knowing he had someone who truly understood him made me smile, even on the hardest days.

“Evan?” Tommy’s voice called me back to the present. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face. “Dinner’s ready.”

I glanced once more at the snowy cityscape before turning away from the window. The quiet sorrow outside could wait; here, there was love, warmth, and family. As I walked toward the dining table, Toby closed his book and joined us, his face lighting up at the sight of the food.

We ate together, laughing softly at Toby’s stories about the book he was reading. The weight of the outside world seemed lighter in this little bubble of happiness. After the plates were cleared and the leftovers packed away, Tommy turned to me, his hand brushing against mine.

“So,” he asked, his blue eyes bright with affection, “did you get everything you wanted this Christmas?”

I looked at him—at the man who had been my anchor through so many storms, at the co-father of our son, at the love of my life. I thought about Toby, our boy with an endless curiosity and a laugh that could light up any room. I thought about the tree, the glittery pink elf, and all the memories we’d built together.

“Yes,” I said softly. “I did.”

And then it hit me.

The world around me shifted. My body froze, unresponsive to my commands. I wasn’t in control anymore.

The familiar pull of a flashback surged through me, but this time, it felt different—darker, heavier. Instead of the usual clarity that accompanied these moments, I was plunged into a space filled with shadows and echoes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was listen.

Two voices cut through the void.

“No, it can’t be another dead one!” cried the first voice, trembling with despair. It was my mother’s voice.

“Sorry, madam,” the second voice replied, calm and detached. “We tried many times to resuscitate the baby. He was fighting for a few hours, but it wasn’t enough.”

My chest tightened with horror. The realization hit me like a lightning bolt: they were talking about me.

This wasn’t just any flashback. This was the moment of my birth—no my death. I had heard my mom had several miscarriages before I was born, but I did not realize what it meant for me. The odds of complications from someone with my mother's patient was quite high. Were all my timelines and all my struggles just the final thoughts of a dying infant? No, it couldn't be. My life, Tommy, Toby, Lenny, Kayleigh, and everyone I've met or interacted with, were real.

I fought against this strange pull on my mind in this moment. I was desperate to escape this suffocating memory, I want to go back to Tommy and Toby in our apartment.

But no matter how hard I focused or attempted to visualize the future, I couldn’t break free of this moment. The voices faded, and all that remained was silence. The blackness around me seemed infinite, stretching in all directions. I felt my consciousness dimming, my sense of identity dissolving into the void. It was an existential nightmare.

“No,” I thought, or perhaps screamed, though there was no sound. “Please. Let me go back.”

Images of Tommy and Toby flashed in my mind, their smiles, their laughter, their love. They were my world, my everything even in the depths of a pandemic lockdown. I couldn’t leave them behind. I wouldn’t leave them behind.

But the void was unrelenting. My body, my mind, my soul—everything was slipping away. And as the last threads of my consciousness unraveled, one final thought surfaced, clear and strong:

Please if someone can hear me. Let me return to that little piece of heaven.

For a moment—if time even existed here—there was nothing. No light, no sound, no feeling. Just a vast, endless emptiness.

And then, like the faintest flicker of a candle in the dark, warmth returned. A voice—Tommy’s voice—was calling my name.

“Evan? Evan, wake up.”

I gasped, my eyes snapping open. I was back in our apartment, lying on the couch. Tommy was kneeling beside me, his hands gripping mine tightly, his face etched with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling. “You just… you zoned out for a second, and then you weren’t breathing—”

I pulled him into a tight embrace, my heart pounding in my chest. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t care. He was here. I was here.

“I’m okay,” I whispered, though my voice cracked. “I’m okay.”

From the corner of the room, Toby’s small voice piped up. “Dad? Are you crying?”

I laughed through my tears, pulling him into the hug as well. “Yeah, buddy. But it’s okay. I’m just… I’m so happy to be here with you.”

As the three of us held each other, the pink glittery elf atop the tree seemed to twinkle just a little brighter. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the city in quiet beauty. And in our little apartment, surrounded by love, I knew I had everything I could ever need. Even if all of this was just the final flickers of a dying mind, it's a happy permutation among all the alternatives.