When Mikey stepped into the room, she almost didn’t recognize him.
The Mikey in Jon’s memories had been a wiry blond kid, always bouncing off the walls, chasing soccer balls across the yard, yelling too loud and too often. But this Mikey was different.
He wore glasses now, thin frames that gave his face a thoughtful edge. His hair was longer, shaggy in the right way, swept to the side and hanging low over his forehead. Not the cropped, sports-team cut she remembered but something looser, a little wild, like he belonged on a skateboard instead of a soccer field.
And he was tall—almost her height already. Boys really did grow fast.
He grinned when he saw her, teeth flashing, his voice cracking awkwardly between child and teenager. “Hey, Karyn. It’s great to see you.”
Before she could answer, he closed the distance and hugged her.
Her breath caught. Mikey had never hugged her when she was Jon—at least, not in the memories she carried. But here, his arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, warm and real.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe… maybe she really was Karyn. Maybe this was more real than anything she remembered as Jon.
When he pulled back, his face softened. “Jon would’ve wanted me to give you that, Karyn. But… it’s really good to see you out of that place. You look great.”
For a fleeting second, his eyes dipped lower, to the curves she still hadn’t gotten used to, and heat bloomed in her cheeks. She pretended not to notice, reminding herself that teen boys couldn’t always help themselves.
So she smiled, letting it pass, and asked him about his life.
He brightened immediately, telling her about school, his friends, his grades. His voice carried the easy rhythm of someone who just wanted to share, to catch her up on everything she had missed. She listened intently, soaking it in.
Then, carefully, she admitted: “I don’t remember my real life. Not past about a week ago. Since I… woke up.”
Mikey nodded, not looking surprised. Instead, he lifted the small box in his hands. “That’s why I brought this. I think Jon would want you to have these right away.”
He set the box on the bed and opened it.
The first thing she saw made her heart fracture.
An ultrasound picture.
She froze, staring at the grainy black-and-white image, the tiny shape suspended in shadow. Jace. Her son.
The name came back like a wound reopening. She felt the weight of loss slam into her chest—loss of something she hadn’t even known she missed until this second. Her hands trembled as she held the picture.
Five seconds, maybe more, before she forced herself to place it carefully beside her.
The rest of the box was filled with photographs.
Her and Jon—always her and Jon. Smiling at school dances, walking hand-in-hand in parks, holding each other on couches and at picnics. Ordinary moments, the kind that stitched a life together. Two of the pictures even included Mikey, grinning proudly beside them like he belonged in their happiness.
Then there was a hoodie. Jon’s hoodie.
Karyn frowned, confused.
Mikey smiled gently. “You always wore that. I asked you once why, and you said it was because it smelled like him. So… I thought you’d want it back.”
Her chest ached again. She pressed the fabric to her face, and though it smelled faintly of dust now, she could imagine the ghost of Jon’s scent clinging to it.
At the bottom of the box lay a necklace, a diary, and a bundle of love letters—her own handwriting staring back at her, the words of a girl in love with a boy she couldn’t remember being with.
She flipped through them slowly, smiling despite herself. She could almost feel it now—the shape of the relationship, the rhythm of how they had belonged to each other.
“You two were great together,” Mikey said quietly. His voice cracked again, but not from puberty this time. From sadness. “I really miss him, you know. Maybe it’s good you don’t remember him… because Mom does. And she’s not in the best place right now. Home isn’t great.”
Karyn looked up, her heart twisting. His eyes looked older than thirteen should. Too much grief had settled there already.
“But I’m glad you’re back,” he added quickly, forcing a smile. “Even if… your probably be moving out soon. You’re eighteen now.”
The way he said it—like he was already bracing for losing her—stabbed at her.
She didn’t know what her plans were. The doctor had mentioned money from Jon’s insurance, enough to live comfortably. But the idea of leaving this boy right now, who clearly needed her, felt wrong.
Mikey shifted awkwardly, glancing down. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that. Hey—do you wanna watch Robo Wars? That’s what me, you, and Jon always used to do together. It’s still pretty cool.”
His face lit up with hope, though he tried to play it casual.
She couldn’t help smiling. “Sure.”
His relief was so obvious it made her chest ache again.
He ducked under her bed and pulled out a pink laptop she hadn’t even known she owned. “Fingerprint, my lady,” he said, smirking like it was an old inside joke.
She pressed her thumb to the sensor, the screen unlocking instantly.
“Perfect,” he said, grinning as he queued up the show. Then, without hesitation, he nestled down beside her on the bed, leaning against her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh,” he murmured after a second, suddenly aware. “I guess… you dont know we normally do this, back in the day.”
Karyn smiled softly, wrapping an arm around him. “It’s fine, Mikey. Really.”
And as the mechanical clangs and roars of battling robots filled the room, she let herself relax for the first time the week of waking up as Karyn week.
For a while, she wasn’t lost between two lives. She was just a sister-in-law—maybe a sister—watching Robo Wars with a boy who seemed to need her, with thinking more and more that being jon realy was just a dream a metal episode of her life and this is her life now.
