I wasn't always Jessica. I used to be a man. A husband. Father of two small kids.
That flight changed everything. It started out like any other business trip.
A quick kiss on the top of my son’s head, a squeeze that ruffled my daughter’s hair. My wife standing at the curb with a strained smile as I pulled away in the taxi, suitcase thunking against the trunk. “See you Thursday,” I called, but she was already turning back to rein them in.
The plane was packed, but I was used to it. Used to traveling for work, for days at a time, always leaving just when things were settling down at home. Candace had stopped complaining about it years ago; she knew just how far that got us both.
It was a short flight as usual. Roughly two hours.
I felt my eyelids getting heavy as we lifted into the wide, gray sky. I let them close, let the dull rumble of the engines lull me away from crying kids, from phone calls, from deadlines.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened my eyes. Long, straight brown hair shielded my vision like a curtain. My hands rose to brush it away, and I froze, fingers grazing my own face—soft skin, an unfamiliar contour. Panic flared. Breaths came shallow and fast, and I struggled to sit up, pulse pounding in my ears.
I looked down at myself in horror. A young woman's body. Slender frame, jeans hugging lean legs, a snug T-shirt. Nothing like the chest and belly I’d grown into over the years. I clawed for the seatbelt, fingers trembling, finally wrestling it free.
The airplane hummed obliviously around me, passengers snoozing or lost in their tiny screens. No one else seemed distressed. No one else seemed to notice what had just happened.
“What the hell…” I whispered, voice strange and high in my ears.
I slipped into the restroom and locked the door, staring into the mirror. Lit by a harsh fluorescent glare, a woman’s face stared back—no, my face. I blinked furiously, desperate to wake up. To shake off what had to be a dream.
I rummaged through her pockets, pulling out her passport. There it was in block letters: Jessica Parker. The picture matched the face in the mirror, though with a more genial smile than I could muster now. Twelve years younger than me—than I used to be, at 32-years-old.
I felt a hard and frightened gulp as my eyes glazed over the womanly figure in the mirror, lingering dumbfounded on the unfamiliar curves of my body, her breasts swelling under the thin fabric of her shirt.
I gingerly cupped them, a tremor in my fingers. My hands closed slowly over the impossible fullness, tentatively clasping. They felt dense and alive, real beyond denial.
I let go, breathless.
I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes, willing myself to remember. To piece together what happened. The memory was an oily smear: boarding, sitting, the sleepy lilt of takeoff, and then… this.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up, quickly stifled by rising dread.
I fumbled to open the door and stumbled back to Jessica’s seat, clutching the passport like a lifeline. The young woman beside me glanced over impassively before returning to her tablet.
The plane started its descent and dread coiled in my gut. Was anyone waiting for Jessica Parker at baggage claim? Was she on a business trip like me?
I found her phone and turned it on as soon as we landed. A photo of two young children —about the same ages as mine, if a bit younger— filled the screen.
A little girl with a wide grin missing front teeth. A boy, still a toddler, cheeks puffed out in a toothy baby smile. The background was blurry, but it looked like some sort of amusement park.
Jessica was a mom.
The phone buzzed in my hand, a name flashing on the screen: ALEX.
I hesitated, watching it vibrate like an angry wasp. The call went to voicemail and my heart thudded with relief. Almost immediately, it began to ring again.
A man’s voice this time, “Hey, babe! Hope you had a good flight.”
I stared at the phone, mouth dry.
“Jess?” he prompted gently when I didn’t answer,“You there?”
“Uh—” I coughed, “Yes.”
“Are you heading to the hotel now?”
She must’ve been on a business trip, too.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, steadying the stolen voice, “Just landed.”
“Awesome. Call when you get checked in?”
“Sure,” I said, the word barely escaping.
He hung up with a lighthearted “Love you,” and I lowered the phone.
Shit. I had been so distracted by the call, I had forgotten to look for my real body.
I walked through the terminal in a daze. Jessica’s carry-on bounced lightly against my hip as I wove through the crowd. Everything felt like a half-formed dream.
A sea of chauffeurs lifted signs with names scrawled in bold letters. I scanned them desperately: “Miller,” “Jansen,” “Parker.” I stared at that one, a balding man in a suit holding it expectantly. My heart sank and my skin prickled with fear. I was Jessica Parker now.
He smiled as I approached. Not a hint of surprise in his eyes as he took her carry-on.
“Miss Parker?” he asked smoothly.
I nodded dumbly.
“Welcome to Denver,” he said. “Hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, following him to the sedan.
I sank into the plush backseat, head spinning. The city flashed by in a blur of glass and steel, unfamiliar and unreal.
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