[ WP ] Traveling through parallel universes , you 've seen countless different outcomes , but have yet to see _______ live past the age of 2 . You finally reach a universe where you understand why ...

“ Hey Shauna, ” says Daniel the Travel Center receptionist. “ The guys upstairs want me to remind you your membership is almost up, but that we can now offer you a 50 % discount for next year if you ’ re interested. ” 
 
 “ Thanks, Daniel, ” I reply, “ but I just can ’ t afford it. This ’ ll be my last trip. ” 
 
 “ OK, well, have fun and make it a good one! ” he says enthusiastically. 
 
 Inwardly, I cringe at his wish for me to “ have fun. ” In fairness to Daniel, the Travel Center is mostly used frivolously. The power to send a person into a universe close to ours sounds like a powerful tool but it really isn ’ t, principally because the more a universe differs from our own the harder it is to get to. A Traveler might be able to visit a universe where they marry someone else, but they probably can ’ t access a timeline where they ’ re the president. For the same reason it ’ s very difficult to find a timeline where technology is significantly different from our own. 
 
 What ’ s more, Travelers are really just observers in the places they travel to. By physical law, our actions can ’ t change timelines. We can manage small interactions with the world, like opening doors or reading books, but these things go unnoticed. Talking to people is impossible. 
 
 So in fairness to Daniel, most Travelers are just wealthy thrill seekers. Traveling is better for the wealthy – they have more options in the day to day, and that means greater variety in the timelines they can visit. I ’ ve met people who have watched themselves fulfill their wildest dreams and fantasies. In contrast, even if I was tempted to “ have fun ” with this last trip, I couldn ’ t. In all accessible timelines, my husband is dead, and my daughter is dead or dying. 
 
 In each universe I ’ ve visited, my husband Robert died in 2014 due to a congenital heart problem. In this universe my own daughter Rachel died inexplicably when she was just a baby, 18 months ago. I invested my entire inheritance from Mom into Traveling, so that I could see her grow just a little older. 
 
 My technician Zoey greets me with a sad smile. “ I ’ ve been doing extra searches all week, ” she says, “ But I couldn ’ t find any timelines where she ’ s likely to survive. I ’ m so sorry, Shauna. ” 
 
 I know I should feel said. I am sad, really, but mostly I am very tired. “ I guess that ’ s not really a surprise, ” I say. Zoey gives me a small sympathetic smile, which I ignore. 
 
 “ I assume you ’ ll want the same universe as last time? ” she asks. 
 
 “ Yeah, thanks. ” 
 
 “ How long do you want? ” 
 
 “ Every minute you can give me. ” 
 
 “ I thought so. I ’ ve gotten permission from the guys upstairs to keep our station running well past closing, ” she says. 
 
 “ Thank you, ” I say, genuinely grateful. 
 
 Entering the new universe my senses are overwhelmed as always by bright light, crashing noise, and crushing pressure. When vision returns, I see Rachel lying in bed asleep. Something sticks in my throat, and I throw my arms over her – the closest thing to a hug I can manage with the restrictions of Traveling. 
 
 I want to cry so badly, but I can ’ t. I cried for weeks after my Rachel died. In the first universe I went to, she was alive but very sick. I went back to that universe every day, and when she passed I cried for weeks all over again. I cried less the next time and less the next. The Rachel in front of me right now is the eighth I ’ ve known, but I haven ’ t been able to cry since the fourth. 
 
 I crouch by the bed and hold her little hand for hours. I ’ m like a ghost in her world, but I pray that she can feel me and know she is loved. Her breathing is very shallow. I know this is the last time I ’ ll see her. Zoey tells me that in every accessible timeline, she dies before she turns three. The girl in front of me is two and a half. 
 
 Normally, I would have to leave by now, but Zoey ’ s giving me an extra-long night. The door opens behind me, and my Mom walks in. I smile, and something sticks in my throat again – in every timeline, Mom helps me take care of Rachel. 
 
 “ Good morning, Rachel, ” my Mom says. Rachel ’ s eyes open slowly, and she coughs a little. 
 
 “ Where ’ s Mommy, Gamma? ” she asks. 
 
 “ She ’ s working, sweetie. ” 
 
 “ Oh, ” my daughter responds, my heart aching. I stroke her hair. Her grandmother comes across the room, and feels her forehead. 
 
 “ You ’ re burning up, ” she says. “ I ’ ll get your some food and medicine. ” 
 
 “ OK. ” 
 
 This is my last chance to see Mom too, and I follow her out of the room. Mom whistles Camptown Races to herself almost cheerfully. I wonder what she thinks of me, and the fact that I ’ m working. It ’ s the only way I could pay for Rachel ’ s medical bills. Mom has to know that. These thoughts always hurt, so I push them out of my head and follow Mom to the kitchen. She puts a kettle on the stove, and places a bowl and a packet of oatmeal on the counter. She gets some rat poison from under the sink, and we walk around the house putting the tablets into the traps while she whistles. 
 
 We return to the kitchen and she puts the last tablet in the bowl, and then adds the hot water and the oatmeal. Mom goes back to Rachel ’ s room. 
 
 “ Here ’ s breakfast, ” she says. 
 
 “ Is there medicine in it? ” Rachel asks. 
 
 “ Yes sweetie. ” 
 
 “ Do I have to? I hate the medicine. ” 
 
 “ Yes sweetie, ” her grandmother says softly. “ It ’ s going to make you better. ” 
 
 “ It makes me feel so sick though. ” 
 
 “ Sometimes medicine does that, but you need to take it to get better, ” my Mom says sternly. 
 
 “ OK. ” 
 
 My Mom sits on the bed besides Rachel and strokes her hair and feeds her the oatmeal. 
 
 “ Taking care of you is the most important thing in my life, do you know that? ” 
 
 “ I know. ” 
 
 “ I love you. ” 
 
 “ I know. I love you too. ” 
 
 I cry. 

