A cold wind is blowing and the air is unusually hard and dry, whipping the leaves from the branches. Juliet's hair, wispy and pale in the moonlight, falls over her shoulders like a veil. She's on her way home, and "home" is a funny word for the place she's going, but it's not make-believe, not like playing house even though that's the phrase she used herself; no, this home is as real as the one she left behind so many years ago, so many years into the future. Home is where the heart is, they say, and somewhere along the line she gave hers away.
That's the point, really; she's home, now. There is no Ben keeping her against her will, there is no more unborn children to add to her list of failures, no more work to be completed. She's been putting down roots, and her long winter has come to an end. Her heart is burning with love again and it changes her; she is not so cold as to sacrifice a child for the slim hopes of undoing the winter years. The desperation has given way to stability, things that are slow, ordinary, enduring.
She is not someone who would kill a child. Not even the child that becomes Ben.
Reflecting on these things, her feet takes her past the swing set, and she's not surprised to find him there, a black silhouette against the treeline beyond. Eyes cast downward, the boy rocks himself through the air, one foot occasionally pushing against the ground. It's not an unusual sight; she's seen him there often, marking time as his father back home works up to a drunken sleep. Somehow it's almost a relief, that that at least, hasn't changed.
He will lose his innocence. He will be one of us, forever.
She finds herself on the swing next to his, offering a sad smile. He looks up, and his eyes shine with a different light; he looks right through her, in a much too familiar way. He seems suddenly wildly beyond his years. Her smile falters; she has to look away.
"Did you ever change overnight? Like, have you ever gone to bed one night, and woken up in the morning, a completely different person?"
Julien flashes before her eyes, Julien and Rachel. Goodwin reaches for her from his resting place, hands cold and gray, like his face and his dried up lips.
"We all change, Ben. That's what life does to us. We just… have to remind ourselves of who we are, and stay true to that. Change will take us places we don't want to go, if we let it".
He shakes his head violently, "No, that's not what I meant," struggling to find the words now, "it's like… like when I woke up, with the bandages wrapped around my chest, it was the first time I woke up, ever, and everything that came before… wasn't real. Like it didn't really happen to me, like it was someone elses life entirely. Yeah, that's it – like I woke up from a dream. Like I suddenly remembered something I didn't know I'd forgotten."
He stands up, suddenly, facing Juliet. He reaches for her hands, and she looks up at him, finally, horror and recognition written across her face, and he squeezes her hands in his, his small boy hands, and says, "You're right, I've changed. But it feels good; I like it."
"Wha…what did you remember?" Her lips tremble. Regret gnaws at her.