“In fact, I’m not actually married,” she said, “not in this life. However, in a myriad of other worlds, I am. In other worlds, I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m an actor, I’m a cop, I’m a homeless drug addict. In other worlds, I’m not alive; I’m dead. And so are you. There are infinite copies of you in infinite worlds, making all of the choices you don’t make in this life. That’s what the theory says.”

Dr. Brier stopped in the middle of the stage.

“Is this crazy talk? The ravings of mad scientists trying desperately to explain why their elegant math doesn’t work in the real world? Well, maybe. Or maybe our vision of the universe is simply limited by what we can see. Until we had microscopes and could look at a drop of blood, nobody would have believed that there were so many other worlds living inside it. Millions of cells inside a single drop of blood! Impossible! But now we know it to be true. So is the idea of the Many Worlds an absurd theory? Or do we just need a better microscope?”

There was something magnetic about this woman. She wasn’t speaking to the audience as a whole. She was speaking to everyone in the room. Personally. Individually. Or maybe she was just talking to me, because that was how it felt. Standing on the balcony, I might as well have been alone with her in the giant ballroom. I felt her watching me. Staring up at me. Directing all her comments and thoughts to me. I expected her to use my name.

Dylan, you are not alone. You are part of many worlds.

You are infinite.