Ellen E. Sutherland

Every story begins long before the first page is written. Mine began at a family table that stretched across generations — a table filled with silence, survival, stubborn hope, and the small heirlooms that outlasted the people who held them.

My name is Jamie Poole. I time travel. Time doesn't run in a straight line — it gets slippy. That's my word for it and I'm keeping it. What I'm about to tell you is complicated. I'm going to walk you through it the way I walk through everything: one window at a time. One photo. One moment.

Readers ask me a version of this question a lot: "Is Brett Poole based on your dad?" The short answer is no. Brett Poole is not my father. He's an Egyptologist who used to be a paleontologist, for reasons no one — including his own daughter — can get him to explain. He disappeared when Jamie was six months old. He keeps secrets the way other people keep houseplants: quietly, persistently, and with a great deal of guilt he refuses to discuss. None of that is my dad's story.