Tim's sister

Dr. Saunders had initially refused to let Tabitha see Jennifer. "She's fourteen. This is too much for a child."

Tim had nearly punched him. "She deserves to know her mother is alive."

So they compromised. Tabitha would be "prepared" first. A child psychologist was brought in. Diagrams were drawn. Gentle, clinical language was used to explain the impossible. And through it all, Tabitha sat in the small consultation room, her face carefully blank in the way that meant she was processing too much, too fast.

"So Mom is alive," Tabitha said finally, after the psychologist had finished talking. "But she looks different."

"Yes," the psychologist said gently.

"Like, completely different. Because she's in someone else's body."

"Her brain was transplanted, yes."

Tabitha looked at Tim. "The girl who used to bully you. Lindsey."

Tim nodded.

"Huh." Tabitha picked at the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit she'd had since childhood. "Can I see her now?"

The psychologist glanced at Dr. Saunders, who was observing from the doorway. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"She's my mom," Tabitha said simply. "Whether she looks like herself or not, she's still my mom. So yeah, I'm ready."

Jennifer was dozing when they entered, her face peaceful in sleep. She looked even younger like this, Tim thought. ****.

"Mom?" Tabitha's voice was small.

Jennifer's eyes opened immediately, caramel irises focusing on Tabitha. For a moment she just stared, then her face crumpled.

"Tabby," she breathed. "Oh, baby."

Tabitha approached the bed slowly, studying Jennifer's face with open curiosity. "You really do look completely different."

"I know." Jennifer wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I know this must be so strange."

"It's weird," Tabitha agreed. She reached the bedside and stood there, examining Jennifer like a puzzle. "You sound different too. Younger."

"This is Lindsey's voice. Her body." Jennifer swallowed hard. "But it's me inside. I promise, sweetheart, it's me."

Tabitha tilted her head. "Tell me something only Mom would know."

"What?"

"Prove it's you," Tabitha said matter-of-factly. "Tell me something only you and I know. Something not even Tim or Dad would know."

Jennifer blinked, then a small smile tugged at her lips—strange to see on Lindsey's face, but there was something maternal in it that Tim recognized. "When you were six, you snuck into my makeup bag and tried to give yourself a makeover. You ended up looking like a tiny clown and got mascara in your eye. You cried and made me promise never to tell anyone because you were embarrassed."

Tabitha's eyes widened. "You swore you'd take that to your grave."

"I died and came back in a different body," Jennifer said wryly. "I think that absolves me of grave-keeping obligations."

Tabitha laughed—a startled, genuine sound—then burst into tears. She flung herself at the bed, wrapping her arms around Jennifer's neck. "You're really alive. You're really here."

Jennifer pulled her daughter close, and Tim watched them cling to each other. Tabitha was fourteen, just four years younger than the body Jennifer now inhabited. They looked almost like peers embracing—older sister comforting younger, rather than mother and daughter.

But the way Jennifer stroked Tabitha's hair, the gentle soothing sounds she made, the "shh, baby, I've got you" whispered into Tabitha's hair—that was pure Mom.

"I'm here," Jennifer murmured. "I'm here, Tabby. I've got you."

They stayed like that for several minutes before Tabitha pulled back, wiping her face. "This is so messed up."

"Yeah," Jennifer agreed.

"Your face is really pretty though," Tabitha added, studying her critically. "Like, weird to say about your mom, but objectively."

Jennifer laughed wetly. "Thanks?"

"Can you still do mom stuff? Like, are you still going to make me do my homework and tell me I can't wear makeup to school yet?"

"Yes," Jennifer said firmly. "I'm still your mother, even if I look like I should be worrying about my own homework."

Tabitha nodded slowly. "Okay. Good." She paused. "Is it true you have to live with the Giffords?"

Jennifer's smile faded. "Yes. Legally, I'm their daughter now. Lindsey Gifford."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, Tabitha still holding Jennifer's hand. Tim watched his sister process, watched the wheels turning behind her eyes.

"Tim said sometimes another personality comes out," Tabitha said carefully. "The real Lindsey."

"Sometimes," Jennifer admitted. "I can't control it. One moment I'm here, the next I'm..." She struggled for words. "I'm watching from inside, but she's driving."

"That must be scary."

"Terrifying."

"For both of you, I bet," Tabitha said thoughtfully. "Like, you're scared of losing control, but she's probably scared of being erased, right?"

Jennifer blinked. "I... hadn't thought about it that way."

"She's probably really freaked out," Tabitha continued. "I mean, she died, and now she's stuck sharing her body with someone else, and her parents are probably being super weird about it. That sucks for her too."

Tim stared at his sister. Leave it to Tabitha to have empathy for Lindsey Gifford of all people.

"You're right," Jennifer said slowly. "She is scared. When she surfaces, she's... she's genuinely terrified."

"Can I meet her?" Tabitha asked suddenly.

"What?" Tim and Jennifer spoke simultaneously.

"If she's part of this now, and you're going to be sharing a body, then I should probably meet both of you. Right? I mean, it's weird, but... I don't know. It seems fair."

Jennifer looked uncertain. "Tabby, I don't control when she comes out. And when she does, she's not always—she can be cruel. Mean. She might say things that hurt you."

"She used to bully Tim," Tabitha said with a shrug. "I know. But maybe she won't be mean to me. We're closer in age anyway." She looked at Tim. "No offense."

"None taken?"

"I just think..." Tabitha frowned, searching for words. "If you're both stuck like this, maybe it would help if she had someone to talk to who isn't her parents or doctors or therapists trying to fix her. Someone who doesn't have, like, an agenda."

Jennifer opened her mouth to respond, then her expression shifted. Her eyes went distant, unfocused. Her grip on Tabitha's hand loosened.

"Mom?" Tabitha asked.

Jennifer's body went rigid. Then she blinked, and when her eyes refocused, everything about her had changed. Her expression hardened, her posture straightened, even the way she held her hands looked different—less maternal, more guarded.

"What—" The voice was the same pitch, but the cadence was different, the tone sharper. Lindsey looked around the hospital room, at Tim standing by the door, at Tabitha still holding her hand. "Oh god, not again. Why do I keep—" Her eyes landed on Tabitha and narrowed. "Who are you?"

"I'm Tabitha," Tabitha said calmly. "Tim's sister."

Lindsey yanked her hand back. "Tim Connors' sister. Great. Just great. How many of you people are going to parade through here?" She looked at Tim. "What do you want? Come to gloat? Your mom's inside me, so you get to watch me break down whenever you want?"

"Lindsey—" Tim started.

"Don't." Lindsey wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that looked **** despite her aggressive tone. "Just... don't. I can't deal with this right now. I don't even know how long I have before she comes back and I'm—" Her voice cracked. "I'm just gone again."

"That must suck," Tabitha said.

Lindsey's eyes snapped to her. "What?"

"Being stuck like this. Not knowing when you're going to lose control. It must really suck."

Lindsey stared at her, suspicion and confusion warring on her face. "You're, what, fourteen?"

"Yeah."

"So you're still in middle school?"

"Freshman year actually. I skipped eighth grade."

"Smart kid." Lindsey said it without malice, almost absently. She was still studying Tabitha like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"I'm not being nice," Tabitha corrected. "I'm being honest. This situation sucks for everyone. My mom died and came back in your body. You died and came back sharing your body with my mom. Tim's watching his mom turn into someone else. My dad can't even look at her. It all sucks."

Lindsey's expression flickered—something raw and almost grateful before she shuttered it. "Your dad couldn't look at her?"

"He freaked out and left," Tim said quietly.

"Oh." Lindsey's arms tightened around herself. "My parents are probably freaking out too. I don't even know what they've been told. The doctors keep talking about 'integration' like I'm going to be... what, blended with her? Erased?" Her voice rose. "I don't want to disappear."

"Neither does my mom," Tabitha said.

"Yeah, well, someone's going to." Lindsey's voice was bitter. "That's what integration means, right? They're going to **** us together until neither of us exists anymore."

"Maybe," Tabitha said. "Or maybe you'll both exist. Just... differently."

Lindsey laughed harshly. "That's a nice way of saying we're both getting erased, kid."

"My name is Tabitha."

"Tabitha," Lindsey repeated, almost mockingly. But then she sighed, and the mockery fell away. "Look, I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not going to be your mom's friend or whatever. I'm stuck in this nightmare just like she is, and I'm trying to survive it."

"I don't want you to be anyone's friend," Tabitha said. "I just wanted to meet you. So I know who else is in there with my mom."

Lindsey looked at her for a long moment, then something in her expression softened fractionally. "You're weird."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Your brother tormented me for years," Lindsey said suddenly, looking at Tim.

"What?" Tim's voice was sharp. "I never—you're the one who bullied me!"

"You existed," Lindsey shot back. "You were poor and mediocre and you had a girlfriend and you rejected me in front of everyone, and every time I saw you I was reminded that I wasn't good enough for some middle-class nobody." She laughed bitterly. "So yeah, I made your life hell. Because you made mine hell just by breathing."

Tim felt like he'd been slapped. "That's not—I never asked you to—"

"I know." Lindsey's voice went quiet. "I know it wasn't your fault. It was mine. I was awful. I am awful." She looked down at her hands—Lindsey's hands, with their painted nails and delicate fingers. "And now I'm stuck sharing a body with your mother, who's probably the nicest person I've ever met, which makes it even worse because I can feel her in here and she's so much better than me that I don't even—" She cut herself off, tears welling.

"You're scared," Tabitha said softly.

"Of course I'm scared!" Lindsey's voice broke. "I'm eighteen. I just graduated high school. I was supposed to go to college, I was supposed to—" She wiped angrily at her eyes. "And now I'm disappearing. Bit by bit, I can feel myself disappearing, and everyone keeps talking about how they're going to help me 'integrate' like that's a good thing, but it just means I'm going to stop existing."

"My mom is scared of the same thing," Tabitha said.

"Good," Lindsey spat. "She should be. Because they're going to erase both of us and pretend like it's a happy ending."

They sat in tense silence. Tim wanted to defend his mother, wanted to tell Lindsey she was wrong, but the words stuck in his throat. Because she wasn't wrong. Not entirely.

"I don't have an agenda," Tabitha said finally. "Like I said. I just wanted to meet you. So... hi, Lindsey."

Lindsey stared at her, then let out a shaky breath. "Hi, Tabitha." She paused. "You're really not going to yell at me? For what I did to your brother?"

"Oh, I think you're a bitch for that," Tabitha said cheerfully. "But you're also a scared eighteen-year-old who's dying slowly from the inside out. So I figure the bullying stuff can wait."

Lindsey blinked. Then, incredibly, she laughed. It was short and bitter, but genuine. "You're definitely weird."

"So I've heard."

Lindsey's eyes started to drift again, her expression going slack. "She's coming back," she whispered. "Your mom. I can feel her—"

Her eyes rolled back. Her body went limp for a moment, then straightened. When her eyes opened again, they were warm and confused.

"Tabby?" Jennifer blinked rapidly. "What happened? Did I—was she here?"

"Yeah," Tabitha said quietly. "She was here."

"Oh god. Did she say something horrible? Did she hurt you?"

"She was fine," Tabitha said. She squeezed Jennifer's hand. "Actually, I kind of liked her."

Jennifer stared at her daughter like she'd grown a second head. Tim was pretty sure he was staring too.

"You liked her?" Jennifer repeated incredulously. "Tabitha, she's cruel and manipulative and—"

"And she's terrified," Tabitha interrupted. "Just like you. And she's stuck in an impossible situation, just like you. And honestly, Mom, I think you might need each other more than either of you wants to admit."

Jennifer opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked at Tim helplessly.

Tim could only shrug. His fourteen-year-old sister had just befriended—or at least established neutral ground with—Lindsey Gifford. The girl who'd made his life miserable. The girl currently sharing his mother's consciousness.

He had no idea if that was a good thing or a terrible one.

But watching his mother's troubled expression as she processed Tabitha's words, Tim had a sinking feeling that his sister had just planted a seed that would grow into something none of them could predict.

"She doesn't want to disappear," Tabitha said quietly. "Just like you don't. Maybe instead of fighting each other, you should be fighting the people trying to erase you both."

Jennifer's breath caught. "Tabby..."

"Just think about it," Tabitha said. She leaned forward and kissed Jennifer's forehead. "I love you, Mom. No matter what body you're in. And I'll be here however this turns out."

She left the room, leaving Jennifer and Tim staring after her.

"When did she get so wise?" Jennifer whispered.

"No idea," Tim said. "But I think she just complicated everything."

Jennifer laughed weakly. "Everything was already complicated."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "But now it's complicated in a different direction."

They sat together in silence, both wondering if Tabitha had just thrown a wrench in the doctors' integration plans—or accelerated them in a way no one had anticipated.