Chapter 8: The Pressure of Hope

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Hearing those three long-missed words, I was stunned. "Huh? Tyler's seat?"

The words echoed in my ears, sharp and surreal. I glanced down at the battered swivel chair, the faded sticker on the armrest—his, without a doubt.

"Yeah," he nodded, "didn't you just send him back to school?"

Marcus leaned in, eyebrows raised, waiting for my reaction. The other boys looked at each other, uncertain.

Hearing that, my nerves instantly tightened, like a string pulled taut.

A wave of dread swept through me. My palms grew clammy, my mouth dry. Was I reliving the same day?

"Just now... I sent him... back to school?"

The words tumbled out, shaky and unsure. My heart raced as I waited for confirmation.

"That's right, sir. By the way, could you not tell the teachers about us?"

Jayden piped up, his voice a mixture of hope and fear. He fidgeted with his game controller, biting his lip.

The boy in front of me looked so sincere and innocent.

His eyes—so open, so trusting—reminded me of Tyler's the first time he asked to stay up past midnight.

In that moment, I suddenly understood what was happening.

It hit me all at once: this was no memory, no daydream. I was here—really here—on the day it all went wrong.

Could it be that I had traveled back in time?

I looked around, searching for any sign that this was some elaborate prank. But everything felt too real—the weight of the chair, the tang of pizza grease, the hum of old computers.

Back to that gaming lounge, five years ago?

The question echoed in my mind, impossible but undeniable.

To check if I was dreaming, I slapped myself hard.

The sting was immediate, sharp and electric. The boys stared at me, wide-eyed.

My cheek stung.

A flush crept up my face, but the pain was proof: I was awake. I was here.

I couldn't wake up—no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wake up.

No matter how many times I pinched myself, blinked, or tried to force the world to dissolve, it stayed stubbornly real.

Realizing this wasn't a dream, my hands began to tremble.

They shook so badly I had to grip the edge of the table. The boys exchanged worried glances, but I barely noticed.

"He’ll kill us if he finds out we let a grown-up touch his keyboard," Marcus muttered, forcing a crooked grin. The others snorted, and the tension broke for a split second.

I'm back. I've actually come back...

A wild, desperate hope lit up inside me, burning away years of grief in an instant.

I looked toward the direction of my son's school, my breathing growing rapid.

I could see the clock on the wall, ticking down the minutes. I had to act—fast.

My mind was filled with a single thought.

There was only one chance, one mission.

This time, I must save him. I must stop the fire.

Whatever it took—lie, cheat, beg, steal—I would not let this day end the same way.

I must save every kid in that classroom.

Not just Tyler—every one of them deserved another shot. I wouldn't let another parent go through what I had.

My chest ached with something sharp—hope, maybe, or just the old guilt sharpening its claws.