She answered a phone call from her own number.

Her thumb hesitated just above the green button, heart thumping with the echo of déjà vu. The screen glowed in the dusk light spilling through the window, illuminating the name Leisa Blair as if mocking her. Logic screamed spam call, spoofing, scam. But curiosity—wild, reckless, and aching for something impossible—pushed her to press “Answer.”

“Hello?” she whispered.

At first, there was only silence. Then, a familiar voice—her own voice—cracked through the line.

“Don’t go to the intersection of Main and Willow. Not today. Not at 4:17.”

Leisa’s breath caught. “What? Who is this?”

“You,” the voice said. “It’s me. From tomorrow.”

She wanted to laugh, but the chill crawling up her spine said otherwise. “This is a prank.”

“No, Leisa. I don’t have much time. Listen to me. You’ll want to take the shortcut, but don’t. Stay home. Hug your girls. Tell them you love them. Everything changes if you do.”

And then—click.

The call dropped.

Leisa sat in stunned silence, the phone trembling in her hand. The girls played with blocks on the floor nearby, giggling. The clock read 4:01 p.m.

She always took that shortcut to avoid traffic.

But today… today, she didn’t.

She stayed. She sat with her daughters. She watched the sunlight trace golden fingers across their curls and breathed them in as if it were the last breath she’d ever take.

Later that evening, the news reported a fatal accident at Main and Willow. A black SUV. Same model as hers.

She turned off the TV and held her girls tighter.

And whispered to no one, “Thank you.”

Leisa Blair

@Toni862

Staten Island NY

Leisa Blair has not written a story.