One night as we lay in bed together, Peter turned to me with a serious expression on his face.
“Marion,” he began tentatively, “I want to talk about something.”
My heart pounded nervously in my chest as I waited for him to continue.
“Marion,” he said softly, taking my hands in his, “I know this situation is unconventional and confusing, but I want you to know that I am falling in love with you.”
“I know this is all…temporary,” he continued carefully choosing his words, “But I can’t help but wonder... what if it wasn’t? What if you really were my wife and we could spend our lives together?”
“Peter…” I began, unsure of how to respond.
“I know it’s crazy,” he continued, “And there are so many things standing in our way. But every time I look at you, I can’t help but think that maybe this was meant to be.”
“Peter, what about the real Marion?” I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to navigate this emotional minefield, “She’s your wife, and I’m just… I’m just a kid in her body.”
He sighed, “I know. But you’ve captured my heart in a way that feels real. These last few days with you have been the most fulfilling of my life. It’s hard to deny the connection we’ve cultivated.”
“You can’t mean that,” I replied, panic rising in my chest, “You can’t fall in love with someone who’s not really her!”
“You’ve become her in every way that matters. You’re loving, you’re playful… You’re everything she is and more. You are everything she has ever been and more because you’ve brought an authentic connection back to our marriage. You are falling for me, too, aren’t you?”
I hesitated, my thoughts racing as I struggled to find the right words. What did it mean to fall for someone? Hadn't I been pretending all along?
“I don’t know,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
A knot tightened in my stomach at his words. The weight of what he was saying settled heavily on my shoulders. I had been enjoying this strange life with him—being treated like an adult, existing in a body that felt foreign yet empowering. But it was built on a foundation of deception.
“Peter,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care, “I like being with you. I really do. But I’m not Marion in here. I’m still me. I’m still Jacob.”
I tapped a finger against my temple.
“No, no, you’re right,” he said, rubbing his temples as if trying to release a weight that had settled between us, “I should have known better than to project my feelings onto you. It’s just… these last few days with you have felt so real.”
I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, “Let’s just enjoy it while it lasts.”
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