The warm, hazy sunlight drifts in through the thin curtains, warming her face as she snuggles a little deeper into the bed, pulling the thick, warm comforter a little more tightly around herself as she hangs on to the last remnants of sleep. She refuses to open her eyes. She knows that if she does she will wake up. Really wake up. And that is something she just doesn’t want to happen. She knows if this happens she won’t ever get back to sleep and she’s not sure it’s quite late enough to justify getting up when she has nowhere to be. On warm, sunny mornings like this one, mornings that hint at the promise of a beautiful day, she likes nothing more than to lie in bed and drift in and out of sleep. It’s not something she gets to do often, but when she does, she can’t imagine wanting to do anything else.

The content grin slowly making its way across her face suddenly turns into a frown as the events of the previous night come rushing back to her. She’s suddenly hit with an unwelcome barrage of angry words and even angrier faces.

The night had started out with promise. She and Roy had planned on spending the night at home, just relaxing and catching up on all the movies they hadn’t had time to watch yet. She’d reluctantly allowed him to meet up with his buddies for an hour or so while she ran some errands and made a trip to the video store to pick up some DVDs for their night.

She realizes now that she should have known to ignore his promise to be home early. After all, it was the third time this week that he’d met up with the guys, and the first two times he’d stumbled in well after midnight. But this time she’d been naïve enough to believe that he had actually meant it. She’d wanted to believe she was more important to him than his friends.

What a joke. She’d spent the night staring at the pile of DVDs, getting more and more angry with each minute that ticked by.

As soon as he’d fallen through the door a little after two in the morning, she’d started yelling. Loud, angry words that did nothing to wipe the drunken, satisfied smile from his face. The longer he stared blankly at her, the louder she got. Pam has never been an angry person, or a yeller. But every so often, whenever she feels particularly slighted, she lets it go, lets all of her anger flow from her lips, not bothering to control the words the anger forms, not caring what she says. All that matters, at times like that, is that she was says something. Anything.

She wasn't even angry, really. The fact that he had broken his promise to her stung, yes. Yes, she’d been upset that he had stood her up for their ‘date.’ But that wasn’t the point. What really bothered her was that he had given her so little consideration. It had seemed to her then, and still does, now, if she’s honest, that he no longer seemed to think she deserved his consideration, no longer thought she was worth it to try.

The memory of the previous night wiping away any contentment she may have felt at the thought of spending the morning in bed, she gives in to wakefulness, thrusting her arms out in a stretch, not bothering to open her eyes in case she ends up smacking Roy in the face. Accidentally.

Her hand meets his pillow and she notices with just the smallest amount of shock that it’s still slightly warm, the sheets rumpled with sleep. But no Roy.

She knows it’s still early and that he, in all ten years she’s known him, has not once gotten out of bed before noon on a Saturday, but the fact that he’s not there is not enough to surprise her. She remembers throwing his pillow at him as she stormed into the bedroom last night, telling him he could sleep on the couch if he was so happy not spending time with her. But, even in the midst of her rage, she’d known he would most likely come sneaking into their bedroom after she was asleep. He almost always did.

What strikes her as odd is that the pillow is there and he is not. If he hadn’t snuck into the bed, then is pillow should still be with him on the couch. Because he is most definitely still asleep. Roy has always been, if nothing else, a sound and deep sleeper.

She buries her face in his pillow, wishing that, just once, she could feel as though he actually cared that they rarely spent time together, just the two of them.

She inhales deeply and is rewarded with the faint, lingering scent of musky aftershave and her favorite cologne. A faint smile once again makes its way across her face as she fills her senses with this scent. She loves this smell. It’s at once soothing and exciting. Clean and crisp and yet still smells masculine in that delicious way that only he can.

She inhales again and freezes.

Something isn’t right.

She recognizes this smell. Of course she does. Although she would never admit it, it’s probably her favorite scent in the whole world. It’s familiar and comforting. She knows it in a way one can only know something after a lifetime of exposure. It conjures some of the most pleasant memories she possesses.

The only problem is that it’s not Roy’s scent. This is not his aftershave and he doesn’t even wear cologne. Noticeably absent is the stale smoke and beer scent that usually accompanies a night with his friends.

This scent is definitely not Roy’s.

And it’s a scent she misses. She hasn’t seen him in weeks, hasn’t spoken to him or laughed with him or smiled at his pranks. And despite her confusion, despite the fact that absolutely nothing is making any sense, all she can think about is the last time she was this close to this scent. Images of cards and blues dresses and dimly lit offices fill her mind. The feel of soft, new yet familiar lips on hers and the texture of silky hair running through her fingers invade her memory in the second before she remembers that she should not be smelling this smell.

So engrossed in her confusion and memories she almost doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway. The sound of a creaking floor as bare feet make their way across a bare hardwood floor invades her mind, a slight slapping sound accompanying each step. The sound is familiar, though she can’t figure out why. Her floors are carpeted.

 “Morning.” 

She starts at the deep, rumbling voice that breaks through her thoughts. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears and her breath catches in her throat as her eyes fly open.

She is met with the sight of a wide, lazy grin and floppy, sleep-tousled hair. A tall, lanky frame, clad only in blue plaid pajama bottoms leans against the wall, clutching two mugs. He sips from the dark green one, which she knows contains coffee. The other mug, white, hand-painted with crude flowers and some words written in a childish scrawl, has the string from a teabag hanging over the side. He extends it towards her, offering the tea that is clearly meant for her.

When she finally finds her voice, it comes out strangled, almost as though she is choking. Her throat is tight and she’s not sure she can breathe when she finally gets out the one syllable she is capable of uttering.

“Jim.”

She sits up quickly and wraps the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl.

He fixes her with a quizzical look, the one he usually reserves for the cameras whenever Dwight or Michael say or do the things that make them Dwight and Michael. His head tilts to one side and a slow, amused smile teases his lips.

“Pam.”

His tone is joking, almost mocking.

“What…”

She starts to speak but the rest of the question never makes it out. She’s just noticed something. Something big. Something important. Something she should have noticed by now, its delay in coming slightly frightening her.

She doesn’t know where she is.

She quickly scans the room, taking in her surroundings. This is not her room. Gone are the dull, white walls. Gone are the tacky curtains Roy insists they hang because they were a gift from his mother. Gone is the cheap brass bed that she’s had since college and the giant television that takes up the entire dresser-top. All of these things, all of the features that identify her and Roy’s bedroom as belonging to them (all the things she hates) are gone. Instead, she sees pale blue walls and thin white curtains that match the comforter she has draped around her shoulders. Her old bed and garage sale dresser have been replaced with a mahogany sleigh bed that matches the dresser, which matches the night tables. It’s the room she's always wanted but Roy has always said they shouldn’t bother with. She’s never been in this room before but it feels oddly familiar.

“Are you okay?”

His voice breaks the silence in the room and cuts through the thoughts rushing through her mind. He moves towards her and she instinctively recoils, though she’s not sure why. She regrets immediately, though, when she sees the hurt in his eyes and the concerned look on his face.

“No! I – I don’t know what’s going on!”

She can hear the confusion and slight panic in her voice as she manages to get out her first full sentence.

Jim moves towards the bed and sits next to her, handing her the forgotten mug of tea. He chuckles at the wary look she gives it before taking a tentative sip, as though she thinks it might be poisoned.

“What’s going on? Okay. Well, Maddie and Ben have been up for about an hour and have already eaten and turned the kitchen into a disaster. Seriously. Stuff everywhere. It’s being condemned as we speak. Now they’re watching television. I let you sleep in since I know you had a long day yesterday.”

Her mind races as she tries to decipher and digest the things he has just said. His casual tone and ease of manner make her think, not for the first time, that there’s something she isn’t getting.

Maddie and Ben?

She struggles to come up with even the slightest clue as to who they might be. She thinks of all the people he has ever mentioned, anyone who might be close enough friends to be spending the night at what she can only assume is Jim’s house.

Unable to come up with a single person, she lets her newest question escape.

“Maddie and Ben…?”

She only manages a few words before her mind shuts off again, trying to figure it out, willing him to explain.

“Have already eaten. Yes. They’re watching television, but you might want to hurry before they get into the rest of the pancakes.”

 He takes a sip of his coffee, watching her out of the corner of his eyes. As he lowers the mug back towards the hand resting in his lap, the sun glints off the thick, brushed white gold band resting on the fourth finger of his left hand. Pam’s eyes widen as they zero in on it.

 What?! When did he… 

Pam’s jaw drops and her breathing stops. Jim is married. And she is engaged. To Roy. Yet she is sitting here, in his house, in his bed, while two people she’s never heard of are downstairs watching television.

There are so many things wrong with the scene that she can’t pick just one to focus on. The searing heat of tea hitting her bare foot wins out at she realizes she’s just dropped her almost full mug on the bed.

Jim is back with a towel before she realizes he’s gone and quickly dabs at the angry red mark the tea has left on her foot, ignoring the widening circle of light brown liquid seeping into the sheets.

Pam reaches for the towel and attempts to clean the ruined sheets, sputtering apologies as she blots at the stain.

Her actions are halted as Jim puts one on top of hers and the other on her shoulder. Her eyes fly to his as he reassures her.

“It’s okay. We have plenty more tea and I was getting sick of these sheets anyway.”

The easy grin on his face and joking tone in his voice are too much for her and she casts her eyes downward, towards her hands. Towards where his hand still rests on hers.

She freezes. What she sees makes her throat close, her breathing stop, and her heart pound. It’s probably the tenth time this morning she’s felt that way but it doesn’t get any easier, any less terrifying.

Any less confusing. Because there, on the ring finger of her left hand, is the most beautiful ring she has ever seen.

It is not Roy’s ring. A white gold band, it contains one large square-cut diamond hovering above her finger, five tiny diamonds on either side of it, embedded in the band. It’s accompanied by a slim, simple white gold wedding band that matches the one currently on Jim’s ring finger.

It is definitely not Roy’s ring.

Her breathe comes in quick, short bursts and she thinks she might be having a panic attack as her eyes dart wildly around the room.

That’s when she notices it, looking so innocent. An unassuming silver frame in bright contrast to the dark wood on which it sits. It looks so natural sitting there, in a place of honor, on the bedside table in its simple frame.

The photograph is in black and white and was taken on a beach. Her arms are around his shoulders and his are around her waist. They are gazing into each other’s eyes, the water glittering behind them. Her strapless satin white dress reaches all the way to the sand and her long, loose curls dance on the breeze. He has already taken off his tuxedo jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, his tanned forearms a sharp contrast to the crisp whiteness of her dress.

Next to this photograph, set slightly further back, is a smaller but otherwise identical frame. The picture in this frame is in color and features two small, smiling children and one giant green blob that appears to be wearing some sort of jersey. The children have their arms around the blob, matching grins on their faces. The one on the left is a girl of about four wearing a Phillies baseball cap. Pam can see that her hair was perhaps once tied back, but a tangle of wild, light brown curls have escaped and are flying in the wind. Her bright greens eyes twinkle with obvious excitement above a familiar nose dotted with freckles.

The child on the right is a little boy, about two years old, also wearing a Phillies cap from which escapes a mop of reddish-brown hair. Deep green eyes peer back at her as she takes in the familiar curve of his jaw. She thinks she can see a baseball field behind his shoulder and vaguely realizes that the green blob is a mascot of some sort.

Maddie and Ben.

It’s not a question. She knows these children.

The ghost of a memory flutters through her mind but drifts away before she can grasp it.

She knows these children.

But she doesn’t know why or how or even when.

She can feel the beginning of tears prickling the backs of her eyes as a lump rises in her throat. Everything is so strange, so different, yet so familiar.

The tears threaten to spill over and run down her cheeks when she looks at Jim, who is still resting one hand on her shoulder and one hand on her hands, now tightly folded and sitting in her lap.

Noticing the look on her face and the tears in her eyes, he lets the hand on her shoulder slide across her back to the other side as he brings his other arm around her, firmly ensconcing her in his embrace. He gently strokes her hair and whispers in her ear.

“Hey. Pam. Really, are you okay?”

The concern in his voice is so genuine, so sincerely worried, so Jim, that she lets her arms make their way around him, hugging him back.

She blinks back the tears and whispers her reply.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where I am. I don’t remember…” She trails off, not able to finish, not really sure how to put it into words.

His hand rubs a slow, soothing circle on her back.

“I think maybe you’re still dreaming a little bit.”

She sighs, wondering if it might be true, though the red, angry welt on her foot, a reminder of her spilled tea, begs to differ.

“Yeah. Maybe I am.”

“Yeah. Maybe I am.”

She sighs and leans back. She doesn’t think she’s still dreaming, doesn’t think she has ever had a dream this vivid. It just feels too real. The sunlight streaming through the curtains is too bright. The warm weight of his arm on her shoulders is a touch too heavy. The place where his bare skin touches hers tingles a little too much.

He stands, pulling her with him.

“Come on. You go eat. I’ll take care of this.” He gestures towards the stain on the bed.

She moves towards the door, but stops at the feel of his hand on her arm.

“Hey.”

She turns to look at him.

“Good morning.”

He leans in and kisses her softly on the forehead as she instinctively leans in, smiling and closing her eyes.

Her eyes open as he breaks contact and pulls away, the spot his lips had touched on fire. He presses the mug into her hands.

“There’s more hot water in the kettle.”

She smiles softly and looks down at the mug, which has obviously been decorated by a child. She runs her fingertip softly over the messy daisies and sloppily painted words. She hadn’t noticed what the mug said before, she’d been too distracted by the photographs and they realization that she was with Jim, not Roy. Now, taking in the words, she feels a hint of pride, though she can’t explain where it comes from.

World’s Best Mom.

Her smile falters and she remembers that it can’t possibly be her mug.

She would remember if it were.

She walks down the hall towards the stairs, letting herself linger over the photographs hanging on the walls. They depict events she doesn’t remember, things she would have sworn had never happened if the proof that they had wasn’t staring her in the face, covering most of the wall space in the long, narrow hall. There are pictures of birthdays and picnics and first steps. Pictures of children she feels connected to, children she recognizes in a vague sort of way, but doesn’t know.

Tearing her eyes away from the photographs, she turns towards an open door on her right. She peeks cautiously in; afraid she might find someone in it. Thankfully, it’s empty and, with a relieved sigh, she steps in, eager to get an idea of who lives in it, hoping it will provide her with some clue as to what is going on.

She takes in the pale pink walls, the purple bedspread. She notices toys and books overflowing from the shelves against the far wall. There is a teddy bear in a pink tutu sitting on the bed and a picture on the table to the right. She steps over and takes a closer look at the picture. Though she thought she knew what she would see, she's still not prepared for it, and her hands shake as she looks down at the image captured. It is her and the little girl with the curly brown hair and bright green eyes. They are laughing smiling into the camera, making faces at whoever is taking the picture.

Pam is lost in the photograph. She stares into the green eyes of the little girl, so strange to her, yet impossibly familiar.

A sudden thump from the room next door reminds Pam of where she is and what she’s doing. She’s not sure why, but she thinks she needs to play along with whatever is going on. She doesn’t think anyone will give her answers, not sure they could if she asked them.

She hurries out of the room and towards the stairs; sorry that she won’t be able to explore the other rooms she passes on the way.

She wonders if this might be some sort of elaborate prank. She knows Jim would love it, though she’s not sure he would be able to pull off something of this magnitude.

Lost in the possibilities, she doesn’t notice she’s reached the bottom of the stairs until she tries to step down and stumbles, stubbing her toe as she does. She swallows her exclamation, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She’s hoping to find the kitchen without running into anyone.

The kitchen.

She realizes she doesn’t know where the kitchen was. She had been hoping that some innate sense of direction would just magically bring her to the kitchen, without her having to think about where it was or how to get there.

It doesn’t.

She sees that she has three choices. To the right there is a room that appears to be a family room of some sort. There are pictures on the walls, artwork that, as everything is starting to, feels familiar to her, internal, as though she had a hand in creating it. She can hear noises coming from the room. Cartoonish voices and childish giggles. She won’t be going right. She’s afraid to go right, not sure she can handle it. She thinks the people she can hear in that room will be expecting her know them and she knows that she won’t.

In the room to the left, she can see part of a table, some chairs, and a basket of fruit. Sunlight is pouring out of the room and into the hallway where she stands. She thinks this must be the kitchen.

In front of her is the front door. A beautiful, cherry wood door with an ornate glass center. She can see blurry images of the outside through the cut-glass designs. The blobs of green and splotches of blue, red, and beige captivate her and she stares at the door for a second too long.

She thinks about walking to the door, pulling it open, and leaving. Just walking right out of this house and away from all of the confusion it holds.

But she doesn’t have any idea where she is or how she got there. She can’t find her way back to where she was without knowing where she is.

She’s not sure she wants to. She’s confused, scared, and lost but Jim is here and nothing bad has ever happened to her when Jim was there. He wouldn’t let it. And part of her really wants to get to the bottom of what’s going on. She can’t leave.

She takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, turning left and going through the door.

A sigh of relief escapes her lips as she realizes she’s chosen the right direction. She’s made it to the kitchen. It’s a small victory and she savors the feeling.

Her eyes pan slowly over the room, taking in every inch of it, hoping it might provide some clue as to how she got here. She sees a cozy nook in the corner, a table and chairs set in front of a large window that overlooks the front yard and the street. There’s a large refrigerator across the room covered in pictures and portraits done in finger paints. She spots the stove in the middle of the wall to her left.

As she crosses the room towards the stove, she notices something familiar sitting on top of it. She picks up the teapot, smiling at the memory of receiving it. It’s been her favorite possession since he gave it to her at that ill-fated Secret Santa. She remembers her delight at each of the ‘bonus gifts’ that had been tucked inside, each one bringing back another memory, something she and Jim shared only with each other.

She pours the hot water into her mug and looks around, realizing that she doesn’t know where the teabags are kept. Her hand moves towards the cabinet above the stove, thinking that if this were her house, they would be there. It’s where she keeps them at home.

She’s rewarded with a box of her favorite tea, staring back at her. She drops a teabag into her mug and pulls open a drawer, grabbing a spoon.

The spoon is already in her mug before she wonders how she knew which drawer would hold the spoons.

Shaking her head, as if to shake the question from her mind, she spots a stack of fluffy-looking pancakes on the counter and heads towards them, grabbing a fork on the way.

She smothers them with syrup, making sure to cover every inch of pancake. The first forkful is halfway to her lips when she freezes, a tiny voice making her blood run cold.

“Can I have some juice?”

Pam whips around, dropping the fork on her way. She is met with the expectant stare of the small girl from the photographs. Looking at the girl, she realizes she never really thought it was a prank. Her features are too similar, her smile too familiar.

“Uh – I – Sure…” She stammers, not knowing what to say.

The little girl stares at her, the bemused look on her face making Pam swallow hard and take a sharp breath. The look is identical to the one she had received from Jim just a few minutes ago.

“Grape, please.”

Of course.

“Oh. O – Okay.”

She heads for the refrigerator, knowing the little girl is expecting her get the juice.

Maddie, she reminds herself. Her name is Maddie.

She reaches for the bottle of grape juice, noticing a slight shake to her hand as she does so, and looks around for a glass.

For the first time she notices how messy the room is. Jim wasn’t kidding when he said they’d destroyed the kitchen. Pancake batter had dripped all over the counter and stovetop. Dirty plates and silverware are scattered over the table and a dusting of flower covers the counter and everything on it.

She sucks in her breathe at the sight, but lets out of sigh of relief when she notices the dish rack next to the sink. It holds several clean, brightly colored plastic cups that are mercifully free of flour and batter. She reaches for the nearest cup.

“No! Not that one. I want the red one.”

The tiny voice startles her. She had almost forgotten that the little girl was there, that she was the one waiting for the juice in her hand.

Pam grabs the red cup and fills it with juice, handing it to the girl.

The little girl takes a sip and turns to leave, calling over her shoulder as she goes.

“Thanks Mommy.”

Pam freezes at this as the girl’s back disappears through the door.

Mommy?

Either this is a very well planned and executed prank, or Pam has somehow landed in some alternate universe.

Or something else.

Setting the juice on the counter, she abandons her pancakes and heads back towards the stairs, determined to find Jim and make him tell her what is going on.

Pam takes the stairs two at a time, her quick pace fueled by the overwhelming desire to confront Jim and get to the bottom of the situation. She moves blindly towards the bedroom in which she’d woken up. She thinks Jim must still be in there – she hasn’t been gone long and she doesn’t remember hearing him on the stairs.

She’s moving so quickly that she doesn’t notice the small, furry creature curled up near the top of the stairs. Her eyes straight ahead, never moving from her goal, her foot connects with the fuzzy mass, her screech of shock barely drowning out the started, angry yelp of the animal. The ball of hair shoots down the hall and into the bedroom toward which Pam stares.

Thrown off-balance, Pam stumbles up the few steps and falls into the wall, hitting her knee against the top stair as she slumps sideways against the wall.

She is sitting with her back to the wall, rubbing her knee when Jim runs from the bedroom, a pillow in one hand and a clean sheet trailing from the other.

“What happened?”

A look of concern crosses his face and he searches the hall for an injured child. His eyes land on Pam, rubbing her knee and clearly disheveled by her fall. She doesn’t appear hurt, just annoyed and a smirk quickly replaces his look of concern.

She glares up at him, seeing the barely contained smile on his lips.

“I kicked something small and brown and furry and gross. Then I fell.”

Jim snorts before he can stop himself.

“You mean Tinkerbell?”

Pam’s pounding heart slows slightly. That doesn’t sound like a name for a rat, which is what she had been thinking it was.

“Tinkerbell?”

“Yeah. She just ran into the bedroom and is hiding under the bed.”

Her mind racing, Pam stands and heads towards the end of the hall, entering the room cautiously. The last thing she needs is another unexpected encounter with this creature. She kneels on her still throbbing knee and peers under the bed.

There, glaring at her with a look of contempt is a small cat, its fur a mess of stripes and splotches in varying shades of brown. It looks rattled but otherwise unharmed.

Pam breathes a sigh of relief.

Hearing her sigh, Jim stares at her quizzically.

“I thought it was a rat.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly.

“Okay crazy lady. I’m gonna go work on the kids while you get ready. We need to leave in about an hour if we want to get there early.”

Pam’s head throbs and she searches for some idea of where they’re supposed to be going. She wonders if he might have mentioned it. She hopes it might explain why she can’t remember anything, why she thinks she’s supposed to be engaged to Roy and not married to Jim and apparently the mother of his children.

She doesn’t think it will.

“What?” She asks flatly.

His brows furrowing slightly, Jim tilts his head, not sure what she’s asking.

“Well, the game starts at about three so we should leave pretty soon.” He says this slowly, wondering if he’s on the right track.

She stares blankly at him, lacking the energy to form another question. 

Jim looks back at her, a similar look on his face. When he sees she has no idea what he’s talking about, he is dumbfounded.

“Pam. The game.”

Seeing her look, unchanged but for a bit of frustration, he continues.

“It’s the fourteenth. Phillies and Cardinals. We’ve had these tickets for weeks.”

Oh. Baseball.

She remembers the photograph next to the bed, the children in their baseball hats and t-shirts. She opens her mouth, trying to form words that don’t come to her. She needs to ask him what’s going on, but she’s no longer sure he knows. He doesn’t seem to think there’s a problem.

Seeing the slight look of recognition on her face at his mention of the Phillies, he takes it to mean that she understands they need to get moving.

“Okay. So I’m going to go get them ready while you shower.”

Pam can only gaze at him helplessly as he walks towards the door, each of his steps taking her chance at figuring things out further and further away.

“Jim – I…” He turns and she tries to form the rest of the sentence, tries to explain that she doesn’t belong here, as much as she’s starting to think she might. But the explanation eludes her and all she can do is stare at him.

She notices for the first time that he’d changed into jeans and a bright blue t-shirt, the word “Phillies” emblazoned across his chest in red letters. Staring at the word, she forms new resolve and spits out the words before they can get stuck in her throat.

“Wait. Can we talk for a second?”

Jim sighs loudly, a slightly annoyed look on his face.

“Can it wait, Pam? The kids are still in their pajamas, the kitchen is a mess, and we have to leave soon.”

Hearing frustration in his voice and not wanting to cause an argument with the one person she thinks might be able to help her, she gives him a slight nod and a small smile.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just get ready, then I’ll help you clean.” She figures cleaning is safe. She can help him clean and just avoid the children altogether. How much help could the kids really need, anyway? Surely not enough that she needs to get involved.

She looks down at her hands and absently turns the rings on her finger. It’s a habit she’s had for year – so long she rarely realizes she’s doing it. It’s what she does when there is something bothering her, when she needs to talk to someone about whatever is on her mind.

Jim notices the look on her face, a mixture of sadness and confusion and just a little bit of fear. He knows what it means when she plays with her rings like that, knows she just needs someone to listen to her.

He crosses the room and gathers her in a hug, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Hey. I’m sorry. We can talk now if you want to.”

Pam breathes in the scent of him, his aftershave mingling with his shampoo. Each of her nerves tingles with the unexpected contact and she can barely get the words out.

“No. It’s okay. It can wait.” 

She’s not sure it even matters. Sure, she might get some answers, but will it really change anything?

She smiles up at him, a genuine smile, the feeling of his arms around her washing away everything else. She can smell his cologne and knows he put it on just for her, just because she likes it. She thinks he always has and knows he always will, regardless of what the truth might be. That’s just who he is.

“You sure?” He looks down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile reaches them.

Pam can only manage a smile and a nod. She’s not used to this proximity to him, not used to being able to see the flecks of brown sprinkled in the deep green of his eyes.

“Okay.” He leans toward her, pressing a kiss into the top of her head and giving her a brief squeeze before stepping away and leaving the room.

Pam gazes after him, wondering how she got to be so lucky, wondering when she came to her senses and chose him.

With a start, she realizes she hasn’t. This isn’t real. She’s engaged to Roy. Whatever might be happening right now, she knows she’s still engaged to Roy. She’d been with him just last night.

She shakes her head, an attempt to clear the Jim-induced fog that seems to overwhelm her whenever he comes near. Realizing she’s alone, she takes the opportunity to get a closer look at the room, hoping something she sees will unlock the mystery and answer a few of the questions that have been racing through her mind since she woke up.

A set of double doors on the other side of the room catches her eye. She hadn’t noticed them before and she moves towards them.

The doors are glass and covered in the same billowy white curtains as the other windows in the room. She pushes aside the curtain and reaches for the doorknob, pulling open one of the doors.

A lump forms in her throat when she sees where they lead and she steps through them, into one of her own daydreams.

She finds herself on a terrace covered in potted plants and flowers. The reds and yellows and blues of the flowers swim before her eyes, a mosaic of nearly forgotten dreams. In one corner of the terrace is a small, white wrought iron table and two matching chairs. On the table sits a watering can, big and green with a long, thin spout. Just like the one in the book.

She runs her fingers lightly over the cool, bumpy surface of the table before turning back into the room, blinking away the tears that have formed in her eyes.

Closing the terrace doors behind her, she spots a purse on a chair next to her and reaches for it. She rummages through it until she finds her wallet. Her fingers numb, she flips through it, looking for the one thing she needs to see in order to know that all of this is real.

She finds it and, hands shaking slightly, pulls it from its plastic slot, staring at it.

There it is, confirmation in neat little print, next to her smiling face, just above her familiar signature.

Pamela Halpert.

She flips the license over, examining it to make sure it’s real. She really can’t tell, but she thinks that if it’s a fake, it's a good one. 

She sighs resignedly, knowing she should have expected it. It’s not as if she hadn’t spent the last hour trying to figure out what was going on, where she was, what she was doing there. And the entire time the answers have been in her face, looking at her expectantly with her eyes or his smile.

She stares at the words on the license, running her fingertip over the name. Pamela Halpert.

She knows it’s not a fake. No one could have taken that picture without her knowing. No one can sign her name quite like she does. The loop in the "P" is just a little too loopy, the curve of the "a" as it leads to the "m" a little too right. She signed this herself.

A loud thump in the hallway breaks her trance and she shoves the license and wallet back into the purse, throwing the purse back onto the chair as she crosses the room towards the bathroom.

On the way, she stops at the dresser and blindly grabs some clothes, barely surprised to find that she already knows which drawers hold her clothes and which hold Jim’s.

She showers quickly, not the least bit surprised to find her favorite shampoo and body wash in the shower.

She dresses and throws her hair into a ponytail, taking a step back to examine her reflection in the mirror. She notices that she chose an appropriate shirt for the day’s event and waits for the shock that doesn’t come. She’d chosen the bright, kelly green shirt because she liked the color. Now she notices that it says “Phillies” in large, loopy white scrawl across the chest.

She slowly pulls open the bathroom door, unsure of what she should do now. She knows what she would probably be doing if this were a normal day, if she actually remembered marrying Jim and having two children. If she remembered leaving Roy in the first place.

But this isn’t a normal day and she doesn’t know those children. She doesn’t know what the routine is here and she doesn’t want to deviate from it. So, rather than doing the wrong thing, she thinks it might be best to do nothing at all, to just wait for Jim to find her and give her a task.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Jim appears in the doorway, the little boy from the photographs on his hip.

Ben.

She knows who he is. She doesn’t have to think about it for a second. Her heart lifts slightly at the sight of him. He’s almost an exact replica of the man holding him, with just two exceptions – his nose and his hair. She recognizes her own features on the boy, knows he got those things from her.

“Oh, good. You’re ready.”

At the sound of Jim’s smiling voice she tears her eyes from the boy and smiles at him.  

“All ready.”

“Good,” Jim says, walking towards her. “The kitchen is clean. I’m going to leave this here with you while I help Mads find her shoes.”

“Ok.” Pam reaches out her hand, expecting him to give her the tube of sunscreen Ben is holding. Instead, he deposits the little boy in her arms and heads towards the hall, calling over his shoulder as he goes.

“He’s all ready. He just needs sunscreen.”

Holding the little boy awkwardly in her stiff arms, she looks down at him, unsure of what to do. The boy smiles up at her and holds up the tube of sunscreen.

Biting her lip, Pam sets the little boy on the bed and points to the tube.

“Can I have that?” She smiles sweetly at him, hoping he won’t notice how uncomfortable she is. She’s never been good with kids.

She takes the tube from him and squeezes a small amount of sunscreen into her palm. As she rubs it into his soft, pudgy arms, she realizes that he is dressed exactly like Jim, right down to his tiny jeans and matching hat. She smiles, thinking it sounds like such a Jim thing to do. She’s always known he would enjoy being a father.

She’s just finishing up, wiping the excess down her own arms and across her freckled nose, when she hears small footsteps stomp into the room, followed by much larger, much calmer ones.

Turning to face the commotion, she lets one snort of amusement escape before the look on Maddie’s face makes her get herself under control, stifling a giggle and hiding her grin behind her hand.

Maddie’s face is bright red, anger contorting her usually smiling lips into an enraged frown.

“What happened?”

The little girl’s curly brown hair is a tangled mess, huge clumps escaping the messy nest of a ponytail that sticks out, slightly askew, from the back of her head.

Maddie blows the hair from her eyes and swipes at it angrily.

“Daddy tried to do my hair.” Her tone is accusing and Pam stifles another giggle as she takes in Jim’s shrugging shoulders and sheepish grin.

“I thought it looked easy.”

Pam sits on the bed and gestures for Maddie to sit next to her. She delicately tries to extract the hair elastic from the tangled mess of curls. Once it’s free and she’s removed the worst of the tangles, she gathers the hair in her hands.

“Do you want a ponytail like mine?”

The girl nods, clearly relieved that she won’t have to go out in public with Jim’s attempt at fixing her hair.

Pam makes quick work of the ponytail then covers the girl in sunscreen and tosses the tube into the small red backpack Jim had been adding things to while she helped Maddie.

Though she’s never seen it, she knows what’s inside. Peeking in, she confirms her suspicions. There are a few small toys, some juice boxes, and various snacks, along with a camera, her wallet, and a cell phone. The tickets poke out of the side pocket, as she knew they would. Jim tosses two red and white hats onto the bed and Pam identifies them as belonging to her and Maddie. Pam groans as Jim throws a couple of diapers into the bag.

She really hopes she won’t have to deal with that today. She knows nothing about changing diapers, particularly on two-year-old boys.

Zipping the bag up, Jim announces that they’re ready to go.

With shrieks of joy, Maddie and Ben race out of the room.

“Walk, please.” The sound of her voice, gentle yet firm, startles her and she almost runs into Jim, not noticing he had paused in the doorway.

“Don’t forget your hat,” he says, pointing to where it still rests on the bed.

Smiling slightly, she reaches for the hat and follows him down the stairs, lost in a fog as she grabs the keys from the table near the door and locks up while Jim settles the kids in the car.

She gazes at the house as she gets into the car and fastens her seatbelt. She knows this house. Not just in the same, vague way she knows everything this morning, but really knows it. Located in Scranton’s historic district, she’s passed this house almost every day on her way to work.

She’s wondered about this house, with its wide porch and large, green lawn. She’s wondered about who might live there, who might swing on the porch swing or plant the flowers that border the walkway up to the door. She’s tried to imagine what sort of family might live in the house.

She’s always loved big, old houses like this one, always hoped she would live in one someday. They aren’t really Roy’s style, he prefers something smaller, thinks it would be less of a hassle. But she can’t remember why that matters.

They pull out of the driveway and into the street and Pam watches the house in the mirror as it grows smaller and smaller.

What sort of family does live there? She wonders.

Pam smiles as she lets the memories of the day flow over her. Her eyes are closed and she feels the cool, smooth glass of the passenger-side window against her cheek as she rests her head on it. Images flash through her mind, snatches of conversations drift in and out, as she relives the day.

***

Ben and Maddie grin and clap wildly as the Philly Phanatic dances across the field before them. 

*** 

Jim and Ben leave on a hunt for hot dogs and Jim steps easily over the seats in front of them on his way to the stairs. Ben’s laughter rings in Pam’s ears as Jim grasps him firmly by the hands and lifts him up, swinging him gently through the air, over the seats, and into his arms.

*** 

Maddie’s eyes are glued to the game playing out before her. She is oblivious to the bright green relish dripping off the end of her hot dog bun and into a puddle on her knee.

*** 

Ben struggles to fit a bite of hot dog into his small mouth. He grips the bun tightly and ketchup oozes through the gaps in his fingers. 

*** 

She grins as she relives these precious memories, happy she has something to remember. Something she knows actually happened. She loves that she has these images to pull into her mind and relive.

And then there’s the kiss. Of all the great memories she’s made today, the kiss is the one that stands out the most clearly. The one makes her heart pound and her lips curve into a smile. It had happened during a pause in the game. There were people smoothing out the sand in the in field and the jumbo screen showed shots of different kissing couples, framed by cheesy hearts and little cupids. They’d been having fun laughing at the couples and how the stadium would erupt into cheers whenever there was a particularly good kiss or adorable couple, when they suddenly spotted themselves on the screen. They’d looked like the perfect family, complete with a crazy-haired little girl struggling with a dripping popsicle and a rosy-cheeked baby boy who was (literally) bouncing on his father’s knee.

Heart thumping, fear and doubt filling her mind, Pam had turned to Jim, her smile faltering. But one look at him, with his wide grin and shining eyes, and she’d immediately felt at ease.

They’d leaned toward each other and when their lips met, Pam had felt like the overwhelming sensation of comfort and coming home. At that moment, all of the doubt and confusion she’d been feeling since she’d woken up melted away.

But a new kind of had doubt crept in. She’d begun to doubt that she would go back to what she was sure of, what she knew to be her life until this morning, even if she could. Because she knew that having Jim in her life, even if she was unsure of everything else, was far better than being without him, knowing exactly what her life was. She’d realized that she couldn’t go back to the way it was before – Jim in Stamford, her in Scranton, each of them broken-hearted and unable or unwilling to speak to one another.

She sighs and opens her eyes, turning her head slightly to watch Jim as he navigates the car down the highway. Her eyes drift over his features, shining a golden red in the rapidly fading sunlight.

She watches his eyes as they flicker to the rearview mirror. She knows he’s looking at the children, making sure they’re still there and asleep, safely strapped into their car seats. His gaze lingers on the sight in the mirror and as he smiles softly to himself, Pam knows, without a doubt, that she loves him. She’s sure this is where she’s supposed to be.

She sighs contentedly and closes her eyes again. The memories of the baseball game aren’t the only ones that have been running through her mind on the trip home. There are others – ones that are as vivid as the ones she’s created today, but which she has no real memory of ever having lived.

***

 She’s in Jim’s old apartment, the one he’d shared with Mark. There are takeout containers scattered across the coffee table and a movie playing on the television. She and Jim are on the couch, half lying, half sitting and she’s resting her head on his chest, their arms wrapped around each other, laughing at the movie.  

Still grinning, she looks up at Jim to find him gazing back at her, eyes shining and a hint of a smile on an otherwise serious expression. 

His eyes roam slowly over her face as her laughter dies out but her smile remains. She watches him, watching her. His eyes reach hers again and he takes a deep, calming breath. 

“I love you, Pam.”  

It’s not the confession of a moonlit parking lot, not an impossible request, but a statement of fact, the verbal expression of something they both already know but which has never before been spoken out loud. Of that, Pam is sure.  

Her smile widens and she tilts her head, gazing openly up at him for a second before responding.  

“I love you, too, Jim." 

Like his statement, hers is already a known fact, spoken aloud for the first time. His smile reaches his eyes and his arms tighten around her. He softly presses his lips to her forehead before she settles back into his chest and their eyes return to the movie. 

***

They’re on the beach, her at the end of a short aisle, a white dress swishing around her legs as she forces herself to walk slowly and calmly, when all she wants to do is run towards him.  

He’s standing at the other end, looking happier than she’s ever seen him, the breeze gently blowing through his hair. He’s watching her as she comes closer and closer, oblivious to the people surrounding them, the eyes that are watching what unfolds. All he can see is her, them, the future. She thinks she can see his eyes shimmering with barely contained tears and she wonders how she could ever have thought there was someone else out there for her.  

*** 

They’re sitting on the couch in their new house, her feet propped in his lap as Maddie toddles around the boxes waiting to be unpacked. Pam feels her stomach flutter and rubs a hand absently over the slight bump there, wondering whether it will be a boy or a girl, whether it will have her hair and Jim’s eyes.  

*** 

Pam is holding a video camera as Ben takes his first few tentative steps. Jim is standing a few feet in front of him, his arms out and a grin on his face, as Maddie cheers from the sidelines.  

*** 

She’d been startled at the first few of these images as they’d flashed through her mind in rapid succession, like a flashflood of memories. They felt unfamiliar, as though she’d never lived through them, yet, at the same time, they’d felt distinctly hers, a part of her past and her being.

Even more startling had been the realization that she’d forgotten things. Not things about Jim or Ben or Maddie. Not things about her life with them – those were the things that stood out the most vividly in her mind. She’d realized she she’d forgotten things about Roy and her life with him.

She can no longer remember what she and Roy had fought. The fight that she’d thought had only been the night before now seems a distant memory, almost as if she’d been thinking of a dream she’d once had but barely remembers. She can’t remember why they lived in the tiny, cramped apartment she’d hated, or why they drove that huge car she never liked. She’s not even sure when he proposed or whether they’d ever gotten around to setting a date.

She’d also realized that she doesn’t mind that she’s forgotten those things. Of everything she no longer remembers, the only thing that truly bothers her is that she can’t remember what finally gave her the courage to break things off, to admit to both him and herself that things weren’t working.

Her eyes fly open and she sits up, her mouth curved into a slight frown, her brows knitted together.

She turns, leaning her back against the door, and looks at Jim. She studies him, wondering.

“Jim…” She starts tentatively, unsure she’s really going to ask. “Do you remember our first date?”

He turns to her in surprise, a chuckle dying on his lips when he sees the expression on her face and realizes she’s serious.

His eyes return to the road, but he gives her another curious glance before responding.

“Of course I do. We went to Cugino’s for lunch. Your first day at Dunder Mifflin.”

She doesn’t speak and he takes it as a sign that he should continue.

“I mean, I know we didn’t officially get together for another couple of weeks, but I still like to think of that lunch as our first date.”

A slow, nostalgic smile crosses his face and he sighs, remembering it.

“It was a great first date.” He chuckles. “Until Roy showed up.”

She frowns, struggling to remember what had happened next. She knows the day he’s talking about – it’s one of the few memories she’s a hundred percent sure she actually lived through.

She remembers Jim shyly asking her if she wanted to grab some lunch, accepting because he’d seemed nice and she’d had no one to eat with – Roy’d had a weekly lunch thing set up with some warehouse guys and hadn’t wanted to cancel.

She’d let Jim choose where they would go and had immediately loved the place he’d chosen. She had been enjoying herself, laughing at Jim’s jokes and stories, glad she’d already found a friend.

Jim had been paying the bill and she’d just stepped out of the restroom and was waiting for him near the door when Roy entered, trailed by the guys he worked with.

***

 “Hey, babe!” Roy exclaims, just as startled to see her as she is to see him. “You here for lunch?” 

“Oh…um..” Pam stammers, trying to choose her words carefully. “Actually, we just finished. We need to get back.”  

She smiles at him, hoping he won’t ask questions, hoping he’ll walk away before Jim shows up.  

“’We?’” He smiles quizzically, scanning the restaurant, looking for one of her friends or someone he knows.  

Trying to come up with an answer that will satisfy him yet be vague enough that he won’t ask questions or grow suspicious, she doesn’t see Jim walk up. Pam knows that Roy can be jealous sometimes, and had wanted to get rid of him before he could see whom she’d eaten with.

Busy shoving his change into his wallet, Jim doesn’t see Pam talking to Roy until he’s come to a stop next to her.  

“Ready to go?” He smiles down at her, oblivious to the tightness of her forced smile and Roy standing in front of him, looking angrily back and forth between them. 

“What the hell, Pam!” Roy’s shout is loud enough to gain the attention of the entire restaurant, and startles Jim. He instinctively moves closer to Pam and has to stop himself from resting his hand on her back.  

“Is everything okay?” he asks, concerned etched on his face.  

Pam ignores his question, choosing instead to calm Roy.  “Roy, it’s nothing. We were just having lunch. Jim was just being nice.” She turns to Jim and explains that Roy is her fiancé, immediately regretting not mentioning it sooner.  

The shocked, hurt expression that flickers across his face tears at her heart a little, though she doesn’t know why.  

***

She bites her lip, remembering what had happened next. She’d turned back to Roy, annoyed at his anger and jealousy, annoyed that he’d shown up and ruined the best time she’d had in a while. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d told him they would talk about it later and his angry response had rung in her ears the whole trip back to the office, but what had concerned her more was the awkward silence that had filled the car. She remembers being inexplicably sad at the idea that she’d missed out on a great friendship.

She smiles now, remembering how her fears had been put to rest as Jim stopped by her desk on his way out for the day to tell her he’d enjoyed getting to know her. It was the first time he’d called her ‘Beesly,’ and she’d smiled for the first time since lunch. She’d liked how easily it had rolled off his tongue, how he smiled as he’d formed the word.

Her smile at the memory falters as she realizes that they couldn’t possibly have begun dating a few weeks later. She’d stayed with Roy for at least of few years after that. Hadn’t she?

“Then what?”

Jim turns to her, a confused look on his face, unsure of what she means.

“What?”

“What happened after that? After we ran into Roy at Cugino’s?”

After one more perplexed sidelong glance and a deep breath, Jim explains that she’d come to work the next day looking very tired but weirdly relieved, and without her engagement ring. He says that he’d wanted to ask her if she was okay, but before he could, she’d come up to him and apologized for what happened at lunch the day before and had told him that she and Roy were no longer together. He tells her that while he’d been thrilled to hear the news, he’d wanted to give her a little bit of space and time before asking her out, which he ended up doing a few weeks later.

Pam lets her eyes fall from Jim’s face, her face set in an expressionless look. She loses herself in her mind, wondering how this can be so clearly right, so perfectly laid out, while she’s sure that none of has happened to her. How can she be living one life now, when yesterday she was living a completely different one?

Concerned at her silence, her expression and the questions she’s been asking, Jim glances at her.

“You okay?”

Pam raises her eyes at the question. Am I okay? It’s a simple question and should have a simple answer. She should know whether she is okay, at the very least.

She lets her eyes meet Jim’s and suddenly she does know the answer.

“Yes.” She smiles, touched at his concern.

“Are you sure?”

She takes in the worried look on his face, the seriousness of his tone of voice and his convinced.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.”

She reaches over and grabs his hand where it rests on the divider between them. It feels warm and familiar and comforting as he squeezes her hand in response. She lets her eyes drift closed again, the smile still on her lips.

Pam wakes up as they pull into their driveway. She smiles up at the house, sure no other place has ever felt this much like home.

Stretching, she looks toward Jim.

“You want to grab Maddie and I’ll get Ben and the bag?”

“Oh sure. Make me carry the big one.” He grins as he says this, already out of the car and unbuckling the sleeping girl.

They carry the children to their respective bedrooms and Pam readies Ben for bed, smiling when he doesn’t wake up, even as she changes his diaper and puts him into his pajamas.

She settles him into his bed and lets her gaze linger over his sleeping face as she brushes aside the soft hair covering his forehead. She sighs happily before leaning down and giving him a goodnight kiss on his pink, chubby cheek.

“Goodnight, Ben,” she whispers. “Love you.”

She and Jim pass in the hallway as he moves to Ben’s room and she goes towards Maddie’s.

Jim has already changed her into her pajamas and Pam watches her as she sleeps, breathing evenly in and out, clutching a bear in one arm.

Pam brushed the hair out of the little girl’s eyes and she stirs.

“Mommy? Is it bedtime?”

Pam chuckles before responding.

“Yes, baby.”

The little girl snuggles into her pillow. “Okay.” She lifts her arms, a signal for Pam to give her a hug.

Pam leans down, kissing her forehead as Maddie’s arms wrap around her neck. When the little girl gives her a peck on the cheek, she squeezes her once more before straightening up.

“Night, mommy.”

Pam smiles.

“Good night, sweetie. Love you.”

“Love you, too, mommy,” Maddie mutters, already almost sleeping again.

Pam smiles and leaves the room, gently closing the door behind her.

She makes her way towards her bedroom and when she gets there, she finds Jim already in bed, sleeping. She changes into an oversized t-shirt and her favorite pair of Jim’s old boxers and crawls into bed.

As she snuggles under the covers, Jim’s arms snake around her from behind and she feels him press a kiss into her shoulder.

Running her fingertips over his hand and forearm, she whispers her love into the dark.

He snuggles closer. “I love you, too,” he murmurs into her hair.