Six months passed.
The days settled into a rhythm she cherished — school drop-offs, Marcus's kisses before work, family dinners, weekend picnics in the park. She'd stopped wondering how she got here. All that mattered was that she stayed.
But the silver box never left her nightstand.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she swore she heard it hum softly, like it was breathing. Marcus never mentioned it. She never asked.
One stormy evening, she sat in bed with a book while Marcus brushed his teeth. Rain lashed against the windows. Lightning flashed.
That's when she noticed the box.
The engravings on its surface were moving again — swirling into new shapes she had never seen before.
Her breath caught. "Marcus…"
Before he could answer, the lid began to rise on its own, a sliver of golden light spilling out, casting strange shadows on the walls.
And in that light, she thought she saw something — a glimpse of another place. Another life.
The lid snapped shut.
She stared at it, heart pounding, realizing the truth: the box wasn't done with her.