Author's Note: I do not own Winnie, Jesse, Miles, Ma Tuck, Pa Tuck, Mrs. Foster, Mr. Foster, or any of the characters created by Natalie Babbitt in her original novel, Tuck Everlasting. Any characters not created by Natalie Babbitt come from my own imagination and may not be used by anyone else. This story may not be sold, reproduced, or used in any way without my permission.

Tuck Everlasting is a wonderful book with a wonderful ending. I do not think the ending should be changed in any way. However, my abundance of time coupled with an obsession with the book and upcoming movie has spawned an alternate ending to the story. I mean no disrespect to the author with this piece. I hope everyone enjoys my story.

Chapter One: Seventeen

"Winifred! Your supper is getting cold!"

Winnie Foster turned toward the mirror and sighed. Using the tips of her fingers, she smoothed out her long brown hair and adjusted the yellow ribbon that held it back. Then she moved her hand up to her face and traced her fingers along her jaw line and underneath her eyes. The skin beneath her eyes was puffy and slightly purplish from lack of sleep, but there were no wrinkles. Not yet, anyway.

"Winifred! What are you doing up there?" Her mother's shrill message rang in Winnie's ear like a blast from a train whistle. Winnie broke her gaze with the mirror and walked swiftly toward the door. Her shoes thudded softly on the mauve carpet as she made her way down the stairs and into the dining room.

Her mother gave her a cursory glance as she sat in her chair beside her father. "Well, I'm glad you finally decided to join us, dear. I never did like my chicken warm."

Winnie blushed and lowered her eyes to the plate in front of her. She started to pick up her fork, but the sound of her mother clearing her throat stopped her. Winnie replaced the silverware to its proper place and bowed her head while he father blessed the food.

When he was finished, Mr. Foster turned to Winnie and smiled. "How was your day?"

"It was wonderful. Thank you."

"That is always nice to hear, isn't it, Martha?"

Mrs. Foster didn't look up at her husband. She returned her spoon to the bowl of soup and dabbed her mouth with the cream colored napkin. "Of course," she replied stiffly, and took another sip of broth.

The rest of the meal was taken in silence as the family concentrated on the food in front of them. Winnie picked at the chicken and spread the potatoes around with her fork, but did not have the appetite to eat much of it. After twenty minutes of this, she looked up at her parents and asked to be excused.

Her mother cast a disapproving glance at the half-eaten food on her plate. "But you haven't finished your dinner. Eat the rest of your chicken."

"I'm really not hungry, Mama."

"It doesn't matter if you are hungry, Winnie. You are a growing girl and you need to eat. You're already too thin as it is. Skipping meals won't help matters any." Mrs. Foster locked eyes with her daughter and nodded towards the plate. "Go ahead. Finish your chicken."

Winnie's father set down his fork and looked to his wife. "Now, Martha, if she isn't hungry, then we can't force her to eat."

Mrs. Foster gave her husband a withering stare. "She is seventeen. She needs her nourishment. If she gets any thinner, she won't be able to have children and if she can't have children, then she won't find a husband." Her voice was so cold and steely that Winnie shivered.

"That's absurd and you know it. She may be thin, but she isn't deformed. There is no sense in trying to force food down her throat when she obviously doesn't want it. Perhaps she simply isn't feeling well." Winnie's father turned and gave her a concerned look. "Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Winnie nodded and said softly, "Yes, Father, I'm fine."

Mrs. Foster's eyes flashed in anger as they settled on her husband's face. "Yes, Robert. Go ahead and be sympathetic. Be a good father. Obviously I am not doing a good enough job as a mother." She placed her napkin beside her plate and rose from her chair. Mr. Foster opened his mouth to answer her, but she had already disappeared into the kitchen.

Winnie cleared her throat. "May I be excused?"

Mr. Foster jumped at her words, as if he had forgotten she was still sitting beside him. He nodded. "Go ahead."

Winnie placed her napkin on the table as her mother had and pushed her chair in behind her. When she reached the doorway, she stole one last glance back at her father, who was still seated. His elbows rested on the table and he was leaning forward with his head supported by the palm of his hand. Winnie felt a rush of pity and almost went back to hug him. However, she thought better of it and walked swiftly toward the back door of the house, careful not to make any noise should her mother decide to leave the kitchen. Shutting the door softly behind her, Winnie gathered her skirts and ran down the path that led her through her mother's rose garden and past the iron fence.

To the forest.