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.