November 10, 1946
It was hours after the incident at the lab, and the haunting wail of ambulance sirens filled the air, cutting through the darkness as they transported the dead and dying to the hospital. Elizabeth sat quietly in the back of one of the ambulances, her heart heavy as she rode beside Dr. Fernsby—Everett—as he clung to life with his last few breaths.
Inside the hospital, she stayed by his side, refusing to leave him. She watched him struggle, his breathing shallow and labored. She knew, deep down, that his time was running out. Kneeling beside his hospital bed, her head resting against the blanket, she listened to the rhythmic but fading sound of his breath.
Then the breath stopped.
For a moment, everything felt still—too quiet. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her cheek against the cold, sterile bed, her grief soaking into the sheets.
—
November 11, 1946
Elizabeth returned home just as the clock struck midnight, its chimes loud and intrusive, marking the start of a new day. The wind had dried her tears, but her hair was tousled, her mind still clouded by the events that had unfolded. She had walked home from the hospital, hoping the distance would clear her head, but the weight on her chest remained.
When she stepped inside, she slumped onto the red couch, feeling the pressure on her shoulders momentarily ease. The familiar sound of tiny footsteps filled the air, and her two daughters approached her, their innocent faces a stark contrast to the tragedy she had just witnessed.
"Mommy, where were you?" Felice, the brown-haired one, asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clutching the edge of the couch.
Elizabeth looked at her daughters—Felice and Agnes. Their faces were a mirror of her past with Everett.
"Why are you both still awake?" Elizabeth asked softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice. "It's late."
"Dad fell asleep, so we waited for you to come home," Felice explained cheerfully.
A deep sadness tugged at Elizabeth's heart. "He's not your real dad…" she murmured, her mind briefly flashing to Everett's pale, lifeless face in the hospital. But then she stopped herself. "I'm sorry, children. Yes, he's asleep."
She didn't have the strength to explain it, not tonight.
—
Elizabeth's daughters had grown up believing that James, her husband, was their real father. It was a simpler story, one that kept the truth about Everett and the lab hidden. Years before meeting James, Elizabeth had worked closely with Everett at the lab, and their connection quickly deepened. Agnes was born from that brief, intense period when they thought love could overcome the chaos of their work.
But Everett's growing obsession with his research, and the increasing demands of the lab, took him away from his family. Two years after Agnes was born, Felice arrived, a surprise that further strained their relationship. Eventually, they parted ways—amicably—but their bond remained strong, even if they both moved on.
Elizabeth found solace in James, who, despite his paralysis, became a caring partner and a father figure for her daughters. He helped raise them, supported her, and brought stability to their lives. But a part of her heart had always belonged to Everett, even after they went their separate ways.
—
Days after Everett's death, Elizabeth discovered she had inherited everything—his wealth, his research, and the remnants of the laboratory. The weight of the inheritance was too much for her to bear. She refused to touch the money, let alone use the lab. The memories of what had happened there haunted her, and she couldn't bring herself to reopen that chapter of her life.
Years passed, and as her daughters grew older, she eventually told them the truth—about the money, about the incident in the lab, and the discovery of the parallel world. It was a burden she didn't want to carry alone anymore.
But Felice was horrified. She couldn't understand her mother's willingness to continue such dangerous experiments, especially those that involved human subjects. The very idea of using people to gain more knowledge about the other world repulsed her. She hated the thought of it—hated how her mother could justify it, even after all that had happened.
So, when Felice turned eighteen, she left. She ran away with her boyfriend, leaving her family behind, determined to escape the shadow of her mother's legacy. For years, no one heard from her—not even when she had a son of her own. She severed all ties, unwilling to let her family into her new life.
That is, until one Christmas, when Felice's world fell apart. Her partner had become an alcoholic, and when her and her son were evicted from their home, she had nowhere else to turn. With nowhere to go, she sought out her sister, Agnes, the only family she had left.
Agnes had taken over the lab's inheritance, using it to build an orphanage on the very land where the lab once stood. But the past wouldn't stay buried, and Felice's return only stirred up old, painful memories. Agnes, now in charge of the orphanage, had made her own choices—choices that Felice would soon come to regret as the horrors of their family's past began to resurface.
—
January 31, 1976
One day, as Mrs. Agnes sat in her office, rummaging through sorts of papers, she abruptly heard a knock on her door. Without her response, Sister Mary entered.
"Mrs. Agnes," Sister Mary began. "Your mother sent you a letter."
"Throw it in the bin. Like always," Mrs. Agnes said, not a hint of emotion in her voice, her eyes laid down on the paper in her hands.
"But she came here to give it to you in person."
That made Agnes' gaze slowly ascend. "She sends me a letter every birthday and knows I never respond," her gaze shifted to the bin in the corner of the room even though the letters she threw in there were already dumped somewhere else, "but now she shows up here in person?"
Sister Mary nodded nervously as her eyes met with Agnes' again.
"Get the letter and tell her to leave."
Sister Mary, without another word left the room. It felt nice to finally breathe some fresh air because the atmosphere near Agnes made her heartbeat grow on speed.
She told Agnes' mother to leave and the disappointed expression on her face that day was unforgettable. She took the letter and promised to give it to Agnes, claiming that she would read it. Though she didn't know if she would. Agnes hated letters because she was supposed to respond to them, otherwise it's considered ignorant.
When Agnes got the letter she didn't open it straight away, she took brief glances at it as it rested on the side of her table but did not open it.
Though, later that day, as dinner came to an end with the sunlight disappearing, she returned to her office with the intention of blowing out the candles. But in the beam of the warm lighting, a sight of the letter caught her eye. She picked up the letter, staring at it. To her own surprise, she opened it. The envelope was a basic white. Though the inside of it had a significant scent of lavender her mother loved. Her mother always used to say; Don't judge a book by the cover," so maybe that was the reason why her letters had a plain envelope but their inside was rich with emotion.
The letter was written in cursive, saying;
My Dearest Agnes,
I am writing to you on your birthday, not only to wish you joy but to remind you that it is never too late to change. I know of the path you have chosen, and I fear for the cruelty you have allowed into your heart. When I left you my inheritance, it was with the hope that you would carry forward what I could not—but without causing harm to others, without perpetuating my mistakes.
I hoped you would learn from them, not repeat them.
What you are doing is wrong, and deep down, you must know that. You have the power to turn back, to stop the hurt, and to choose a different path before it's too late. There is still time to make things right. Please, Agnes. You can still change.
I will always love you.
With all my heart,
Your Mother
When Agnes finished reading it, without thinking twice she crumpled the letter and threw it in the bin, missing and it fell next to the bin instead. Perhaps, the thought of how'd she continue the experiment should've missed her mind too. But it was too late now, she wasn't going to turn back after all this time.