Four year-old Stuie bounded down the staircase with five loud thuds, while I put my two- year old daughter Julia in her highchair. I plastered on a fake smile for the kids, "What do you want for breakfast Stu?" He thought about it for a moment before asking for his new favorite cereal Cheerios.

I got the box out, along with two bowls. I filled them and gave them to each child, then went to fix eggs for Malone and I. As I cracked the eggs into the pan, I heard the small voice of Stu, "Mummy, I want to go back home. When can we see daddy?" Hearing him talk about home felt like a stab in the chest, and I just about broke down right there and then.

"Stuie, aren't you enjoying our visit with your grandpa?" I asked, not having the nerve to face him. When we first arrived and I found out the children could see Malone, I couldn't think of anything better to call him, so he called "grandpa."

I turned around and saw the boy couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Yeah, I love helping him in the record shop! It's just that, I really miss daddy." He finished sadly. I sniffed, "Me too Stuie, me too." Julia who was getting more chatty everyday, asked, "Mama where's Johnny?"

I wasn't in the mood to remind her to call him daddy, so I just said, "He's at home Julie, with Uncle Paulie, Uncle Georgie, and Uncle Ringo."

How could I tell them that they might never see their father again? How could I explain that three times? I thought rubbing my stomach.

Malone knows. I confided in him the night I was so cruelly pulled from the time I adopted as my own. I had been gone from 2008 for about seven years, but time had only progressed five years into the future. So here I was in 2013 with two children of mine and John Lennon's, and another on the way.

I put the eggs on two plates, and slipped into the living room of my small apartment that seems so foreign to me now, to look for Malone, while on the brink of a meltdown. "You know I never meant for this to happen." Malone said stepping out from what seemed like nowhere. I handed him a plate, "But it did and I need to get back, Malone. The kids seem to know that this isn't right, especially Stuie. Malone there has to be a way to send me back!" I shouted angrily.

Malone pushed his silver hair off his face and sighed, "Child, you know I'm working hard to help you find a safe way back. The only way, and I mean the only way I could possibly send both you and the children back is extremely risky. Especially in your… condition." He said pointing to my stomach.

"Besides, what I mean by I never meant for this to happen is you falling in love, getting married, and having children with a man who's DEAD in your time! This time!" Malone said removing his sun glasses.

I sighed, "I know Malone, neither did I. I realize I was just there to reverse John's fate, but it all seemed to happen on its own." Malone smiled, "Annette dear child, like everything else fate can change. Even as old as I am I still have to realize that. I don't know everything, but I do know that I will help you get back to him, even if it's the last thing that I do."

I smiled sadly, "Thank you Malone. I mean this sincerely thank you for everything." Malone shook his head, "No child, thank you. You can live thousands of years and still learn things from humans. There is one thing I wish to know though, how did it happen?" He asked, pushing the dark shades back over his eyes and sitting on the small sofa.

I smiled and sat next to him, "Where should I start?" Malone let out a hearty laugh between bites, "The beginning is always a reliable place to start." I nodded, "Well, I suppose my life started when I met you, so I'll begin there. I suppose you remember that day?" I asked. "Of course, how could you forget a day that you watched history change?" Malone exclaimed.

I scoffed, "You had a big part in it too, if I do remember."

He smiled a warm grin, "It's in my nature Dearest Annette."

"Oh Malone, you're just a two-thousand year old trouble maker," I teased, "Anyhow, I remember exactly what I did that day, and it started in this ratty old apartment…"

The old floorboards creaked in sorrow as I walked into the kitchen to seek some form of nourishment. This place was pitiful from its faded puke green wallpaper, to the weakened floorboards, and the little furniture that came with it. It's all I can afford on the salary of the dead-end job I worked at a low-end department store though.

I peaked in the two old crooked cupboards and the mini-fridge that occupied my "kitchen," and found nothing, absolutely nothing, not even a crumb small enough for a mouse.

I guess I have to go the store, I thought bitterly.

I quickly changed into plain jeans and my favorite shirt, which just happened to have the cover of 'A Hard Day's Night' on it.

You see I really love The Beatles. They're my escape of the 'hell on earth' bullshit I go through everyday. No one seems to appreciate good music anymore. All I hear in modern music are auto tuned leeches, getting paid millions for music they hardly even created.

The Beatles are also important to me, because they remind me of my father, who had all of their albums. When I was little he told me facts about each song and stories about their career. We watched all four of their movies together many times. I remember one particular Christmas he gave me one of my very few dear possessions my CD 'The Beatles Greatest Hits.'

I closed the door, not even bothering to lock it. Let them steal everything; I thought dryly, I have the only two possessions I truly care about with me at all times anyway, my Beatles cd, and a small gold locket my mother gave me just before she died last year. Inside it holds a picture of my parents and I, happily standing outside our house when I was eight, almost a decade ago, coming up next year.

You see, I'm seventeen years old and I've lived alone for almost three years, it's shocking I know. In fact, it even shocked me. Two years ago I never would have imagined I'd be on my own, and some days I still can't believe it.

"My mom was the nicest lady they'd ever met." That's what her friends had said to me at her funeral, and I completely agree with them. She had a heart of gold and had the power to brighten a room with just a smile. It broke my heart to see her cry when my father's heart gave out, after suffering for three years, when I just was thirteen. He was her soul mate, with his sharp wit and intelligence.

I was just as sad as my mother, but after crying over it for three years, it seemed my tear ducts were dry. We knew it was fatal about six months after he was diagnosed with a failing heart. The disease was too far along for any treatments to have effect.

Unlike my father's death, my mother's passing had been quite sudden. She was in a car accident at the fault of a drunk driver, and died on impact. The memorial service had been short, since it was just me, a couple close friends, and my only living relative Great Aunt Hilda, who both my mother and I never liked.

In her will, my mom had made it quite clear that everything she owned would be left to me, and noted that she saved quite a lot of money in the bank to make sure I could pay the bills, get through high-school, and even college, comfortably on my own. But Great Aunt Hilda made a big point at the reading of her will, (which was just the two of us accompanied by mom's lawyer, Gene) that I had only just turned sixteen and couldn't look after myself legally for another two years.

Great Aunt Hilda didn't care if I lived alone; all she cared about was the money. That's why mom had distanced herself from her aunt after she asked for one-to-many "favors." No one seemed to see it though, so the money and I were both sent to live at Great Aunt Hilda's neat and snobby town house.

I remember the first day perfectly too. We walked through the front doors where she promptly told me that, "She's willing to let her niece's bastard child live here as long as I followed all her rules and didn't cause her any trouble."

She gave me the small pantry to sleep in, even though she had an extra bedroom. When I asked her about it, she screeched, "If you want that bedroom give me five hundred dollars!" Great Aunt Hilda held that same policy about eating, too.

After two weeks I couldn't take it. One night, when my dear old Aunt Hilda went to play bingo, (which she whole-heartedly thought was going to make her a millionaire) she forgot her purse.

I know what you're thinking and you're right. I did steal from that old hag, but in my defense, she cheated me out of hundreds of thousands of dollars, so taking three thousand dollars wouldn't put a dent in her bank account.

I worked fast that night. I knew that when Aunt Hilda came home she'd check her purse right away, and when she see it was stolen from, and 'the bastard child' nowhere to be found, the police would undoubtedly be called.

So I quickly packed up my things, (which wasn't all that much, just my Beatles Greatest Hits Cd, my Walkman, my locket, and two outfits) called a cab to meet me five blocks down, left a particularly nasty note for my dear Aunty, and ran like hell before she came back.

Thankfully I got out without a hitch. The cab pulled up not five minutes later, and I was on my way to the airport to catch the cheapest flight from my hometown Toledo Ohio to Chicago Illinois.

When I arrived in Chicago, I had my plan figured out. I would rent a cheap furnished apartment where, hopefully they let minors stay alone, then I would apply for a job so I would have enough money to live on after my Great Aunt Hilda "donation" was used up, and get into the nearest school to finish my education.

As they say, two out of three ain't bad. I managed to rent an apartment just outside of Chicago, and landed a mediocre job that would just barely manage to pay the rent and about two meals a day. As for school, there was no way I could go and still work full time.

I'll admit at first it was exciting, living near a big city all alone with no supervision, but soon I felt homesick and not for Great Aunt Hilda's "home." I missed my school where all my friends attended. I missed being a kid with no responsibilities and no rent to pay. But, I mostly missed my parents who were so cruelly taken from me.

So here I am almost three years later; I thought walking out of my apartment. I don't know how I'm going to keep living like this. Next year kids my age will have their diploma and where will I be? I will mostly likely be here, in this shitty apartment.

But little did I know that I wouldn't need to worry about next year, because by tomorrow I would be almost fifty years in the past.

AN: Hi! You might recognize this story from when it was titled 'The Fate of the Time Traveler,' but I really despised that title, so I took it down tweaked a couple things, and reposted. Also, if any of you are following Dear Mr. Lennon (hint hint) the next chapter will be up tonight. If you're still reading this long ass author's note please remember to review! Peace, Love, and Lennon- RRR