I'm posting this chapter, after getting up the complete fic on AO3. Based on reads, I have very seriously debated whether to put up the whole thing here. I still expect to get it done, but if you really want to read ahead, you will know where to go.

Anya woke up in bed, entwined in a comforting embrace. She scratched an itch, and found that she had the clothes of a full-grown woman. She raised her head, and confirmed without surprise who was in her arms. Her mind had already processed a dichotomy of being. She was Anya Forger, student, official age 9. She was also Anya Glooman, age 32, psychiatrist and artist, and married for 15 years.

The man beside her was, of course, George Glooman, her husband. He already looked like his deceased father. She lightly touched his face and watched him stir. She smiled at a memory of them both stripped naked as firemen sprayed off spilled jet fuel, until she glanced down. She stifled a shriek when she saw that a part of him was already doing more than stirring. She was scrambling to rise from the bed when his hand closed on hers. "Morning, honey," George said. She allowed him to caress her lower back. She considered paintings of herself and George on the wall, both in the nude. Her eyes settled on a frame between them; it held a leaf preserved in wax, indifferently done and far worse for wear. "Mm, I love you," Georgie said. A backward glance confirmed that he was looking down. "So… wanna ride the early train?"

Anya scrambled to her feet, all the more quickly as it became clear that it would be entirely normal to accept his invitation. "Sorry, I just remembered I have an early meeting!" she called back. "I love you too! Um, if you have to take care of anything, just think about me!" He mumbled vaguely, disappointed but not unhappy.

Anya stood in a well-furnished bathroom after a hasty shower, staring at her nude body in the mirror. She had grown up into a petite woman a meter and a half tall. Her body was lean, fit and proportionately endowed with only a hint of a bulge in her lower abdomen. Her hair was freshly dyed the dark, rich brown that Becky had boasted. She blushed when George entered behind her. "I told you you're looking good," he said. He gave her a token swat on the hip. "You really burned that baby fat." He stepped into the shower with one more backward glance. She looked at him in the mirror long enough to confirm that he was reasonably fit himself. She scrambled away even faster than before.

A girl of thirteen and a boy of eight were already eating their cereal at the table when Anya hurried out. The girl had her mother's hair. Her name was Rebecca. The boy had his father's chin. He was Loidy. "Hi, kids!" she said. She set about making their lunches as expected.

"You know you can have the servants do that," the girl said.

"Yes, but I would be neglecting the family," Anya answered with a smile.

"You'd talk to us more if you weren't always rushing," her daughter countered.

Before Anya could protest, George came in holding their youngest, an 18-month-old named Amy. "Look who's up!" he said. The child gave a half-intelligible cry. Anya took her younger daughter in her arms, though the small hands immediately tugged at her jewelry and rumpled her expensive dress.

"Oh, who's my cuddle bug?" Anya cooed. She looked back at Rebecca. "Of course, I can always make time for you. Don't you have your test today?"

"Yesterday," Rebecca said. "I flunked."

"I'm sorry," Anya said. "You know, I'm sure we can hire a tutor. Or I can call Uncle Yuri."

"I'll look into it," George said. He took the toddler back. "Now, you do need to go." Anya glanced at a clock, cross-checked her memories, and realized she was in fact already late.

She took a train rather than trust her inherited muscle memory to drive the imported luxury car in the driveway of her home in the Hugarian capital city of Obda. Her mind-reading confirmed three passengers who recognized her despite her dyed hair, always as the Eden Girl. Twice, she passed prints of her works. She bustled into her psychiatric practice, 10 minutes after the official start of her first appointment. A receptionist halted her. "Your father called," she said. "He wanted to be sure you were still on for lunch."

"Yes, of course!" Anya said.

She coasted through her morning appointments. She used her telepathic powers to assess the emotions of her patients, mainly the survivors of wars in certain lands to the south. Her mind-reading also allowed her to fill in what did not come freely from her accessed memory. The most important fact was that Westalis and Ostania had completed a process of unification, five years after their final war. Since then, the new nation had added Hugaria to a growing federation. She also periodically examined the photographs on her desk and the memories they stirred up. There was a beloved snapshot of Georgie playing with Rebecca and baby Loidy, a picture of Yuri and Chloe with Yolanda and her four brothers, and one more of two brown-haired young women, Becky's sisters that her father had sired in his later life.

Finally, when her last appointment was done, she took out the scrapbook she had brought from home. The letters EDEN GIRL were more legible to touch than sight. She considered the clippings that had been added: Eden Girl and Boy confirm engagement… Eden Girl and Boy marry… Eden Girl and Boy welcome first child… Eden Girl unveils new painting…

The phone rang. The receptionist confirmed it was Georgie. She accepted the call. "Hi, Gloomy," she said. Her husband immediately laughed.

"You haven't called me that in a long, long time," he said. "So, I was thinking about this morning…"

"Are you seriously calling at work to guilt me for turning you down?" Anya said, still mostly joking.

Georgie only laughed again. "You know you wouldn't be worth it if you never said no," he said. "What I was really thinking was… You looked like you used to during our sleepovers."

Anya's face became utterly blank. "And you thought that was a good time to ask me on the early train?" she said. She winced as memories flooded in.

"We were already married," he said. "For a year. I never even asked…"

"But you never mind bringing that up now, do you?" Anya said.

"Look, I just wanted to ask you this," Georgie said. "We were always going to be together, weren't we? You know I loved you before I saved you. If none of that had happened, if everyone was here, you would still have loved me. Right?"

"Georgie, I really need to go," she said. She knew it was a question they had both asked and answered many times before, always in the blissful aftermath of passion.

"I'm sorry, this was the wrong time," her husband said, his voice even.

Anya sighed. "No, it's all right," she said. She spoke what came to her as the answer she had always known. "I love you, I need you, I'm never going to leave you… But no, Georgie, we wouldn't have." There was silence.

"All right," Georgie said. "I can live with that. I love you. I'll see you at lunch."

There was a click as he hung up. Anya slumped down onto the desk with a groan. Her eyes lit on one more thing, the now worn and corroded rocket ship. "Fock!" she shrieked abruptly. She grabbed a polished agate candy dish and slammed it down on the toy. One wing bent and the rear fuselage caved in. "Godammit all to Hell!" She brought the stone dish down again, and again, and again. She snorted when the exposed flint-steel mechanism that lit up the engines produced a shower of sparks for the first time in a decade. Finally, she threw the rocket across the room. It struck a brass bookcase and smashed into skittering pieces on the floor.

She buried her head in her hands, angrily wiping away her tears. In her purse, a wireless phone rang. She pulled it out with a literal snarl. "Dammit, Georgie, I said we would talk later!" she snapped.

"Anya," the cracking voice said. "It's Sylvia."