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I keep—I keep calling her Harriet. I hear it, feel the shape of her name in my mouth, and it feels…not wrong, but—well, I grew so accustomed to using her nickname—the nickname I had for her, the one that I’d use to talk about her to other people. But with her here, I find myself saying “Harriet” even when she’s not in the room. It’s…helping a little, in some ways. Helping me keep my distance, reminding me that she’s not just an abstract idea in my head, the way she has been the last year, but that she’s a real, three dimensional person who’s here and who I still…

We finally talked about your latest messages, Birdie. And she—she agrees with me. That you’re probably saying that Junior needs to die in order for us to go back to where we’re from. Because…well, in that timeline we’d be free people, wouldn’t we?

Are we? Do we exist back there too the way we do here? Are there infinite versions of us in infinite timelines? If we fixed things here the way that Fox says they can be fixed, would we just…be absorbed into whatever life we were in back there? 

I—I honestly doubt that Harriet and I even speak anymore. If we hadn’t escaped, we would’ve—according to Harriet—been let go and turned witness. I would’ve refused to testify and maybe…maybe that means the deal would’ve been bad and I’d just go to jail anyway. But even if I didn’t, even if I was somehow free, I don't think I’d have talked to her again after what she did. Fucking all of us over like that, out of some misguided fear about Pete…she’s the only other person in the universe who doesn’t want to kill me right now and I’m still not sure how to forgive her. If I can. 

Sometimes I think that maybe forgiveness isn’t necessary. For me to…for us to…

I wonder how many versions of us figure it out. Figure us out. I wonder if any versions do. Or if we’re fated to get close, but never step over the line. 

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