Four years seven months after convergence crisis, Maya Chen woke 5:30 AM to alarm clock buzzing insistently. Wednesday morning. Work day. Normal routine continuing exactly as it had continued 1,673 days since David died during convergence collapse. She reached across empty bed half automatically—habit persisting despite years alone—then withdrew hand recognizing absence again temporarily before remembering became permanent resetting daily.
David gone. Maya continuing. Daughters needing her. Life persisting despite loss.
She showered quickly. Dressed efficiently. Walked downstairs finding Emma already awake preparing breakfast. Nineteen years old now. MIT sophomore studying mechanical engineering. Home for winter break. Looked increasingly like David—same eyes, same smile, same determined expression tackling problems systematically.
