As I drew back the curtains and looked across the fields, I felt sure something was different. The mist hung low, the sun drowned beyond it; a white circle bleached into the grey skies. As I rubbed away the vestiges of sleep, I thought I glimpsed something out in the field. But no, the world was not yet awake. I looked back at Carol sleeping, Toby lying next to her as usual for this hour. It always gave me a sense of control to be the first awake, and today more so. For today was my last day in this world.

These past months, we'd ridden a wave of emotion. In our ten years together, Carol's scientific mind had kept her increasingly detached. So it was with mixed feelings that I now saw the woman inside. But my painful choice was the only way to avoid the cancer's unstoppable marauding, and the eventual ignominious end. With Carol's chemistry, we had prepared the serum that would make my transition swift.

Carol stirred. Toby rolled over as she left the bed, murmuring in his sleep. Carol hugged me tightly, as if clinging on for dear life. We had planned to make love that morning, but now the moment wasn't right. Instead there was a stillness between us that went deeper than mere physicality.

We dressed quietly and crept downstairs. No anxiety now; inevitability brought its own freedom. But as we trudged into the cornfield, our wellingtons making crisp footprints in the frost, Carol's fears erupted. "Have we thought this through? I mean analysis, scenario projection, God - have we thought of what could happen to me?" I smiled, in spite of myself. It was a welcome glimpse of how she'd once been, before science had made her a few degrees colder.

We stood in silence for a moment, watching our clouds of breath float skyward. "It's time", I said.

Carol pulled out the needle; one of her own designs. I watched her prepare the device for use, amused that I was more afraid of taking the shot than of its effect. "Ready?" she asked in her scientist's voice. I exposed my wrist. "Ready", I replied.

"Don't go yet!" It was Toby dashing across the field. "Here" he panted, "I brought your watch, Daddy. You might need it for your journey". I finally broke, the tears pouring out of me as I embraced this wondrous boy for the last time. "Go back inside Toby", I said. He looked at his mother, but found no appeal. "Go on", she said. He turned, kicking at the frozen ground as he shuffled back to the house.

Carol's eyes met mine as the needle broke skin. I felt the burn of the serum spread quickly up my arm. "See you in the next life", she said, then turned and ran toward the house. I started to lose vision. Quietness descended. As I focused on the house beyond, I imagined for a moment I saw myself staring out from the bedroom window. And then the sun, which had risen only an hour before, sunk completely below the horizon. I was gone.

***

After some time, I felt sensation in my eyes. As I opened them, a kaleidoscope swam before me. The ground was warmer, the frost gone. I coalesced into consciousness and saw the house. Different now; smaller. The sky was a brilliant orange, and the autumn leaves danced at my feet. I took in the sweet air and became aware of my own renewed vigour. My pain had gone; I hadn't felt like this in years. I looked down at the watch in my hand and I knew Carol's plan had worked. I ran now, giddy to tell her.

"What took you so long?" Carol said, looking up from her small beige monitor. She laughed, and I saw that she was young. I scanned the room and knew instantly where I was. When I was. "I'll bet you never noticed I was gone", I teased. "Actually, I did have a good day", she said. "I'm close to a breakthrough on the timestream. I think the streams can be broken into units - clusters. It could even be possible to bump into clusters and enter them".

"Carol, that's great. You know I think your work is important, and this work, well - let's just say 'keep it up'. But speaking of units, there's a little bump that I'd like to discuss with you". She laughed again as I scooped her into my arms and carried her up the stairs.