The alarm went off at seven.

     It wasn't for him. Trevor was a writer. He could get up and go to bed whenever he felt like it. The alarm was for Helen. She was the one with the office job and the solid paycheck and the medical insurance for the family. Helen was a sound sleeper. She'd slap the alarm a few times before it woke her up enough to get her out of bed. 

     Trevor went into the kitchen to make some toast. The kids would soon be rising to prepare for school, and, by then, Helen would be up, dressed, and halfway through her own breakfast. 

     They followed the same routine every workday morning.

     So why did everything seem so strange all of a sudden? 

CONTINUE