At the hotel, the receptionist greeted me as Jessica Parker, handing over key cards with a practiced smile. I took the elevator up to the fourth floor and found her room. Modern décor—crisp lines and muted colors—greeted me as I opened the door.
I dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her suitcase sat ominously in the corner. I didn’t dare touch it. Those were not my things after all.
The phone rang again: “Alex”
Her husband, I assumed.
I picked up, “Hi.”
“Hey. Did you get settled in?”
“I just got to the hotel, yeah,” I focused on keeping the words light, normal.
“How’s your room?”
I blinked at the walls, forcing my eyes to take in details.
“Nice,” I said finally.
There was a long pause. Was he expecting more? I had no idea what Jessica would say.
“Great,” Alex filled in when I didn’t elaborate, “Kids are already missing you. Penny made you a card.”
I imagined the little girl with her bright toothless smile, coloring furiously at a kitchen table. Imagined her waiting for a mom who might never come back if this body-switching madness didn’t reverse itself.
“That’s sweet!” I managed.
“Yeah,” Alex said, “I’ll send you a picture later.”
Another pause. I heard the distant clatter of Legos.
“You sound tired, babe. Maybe get some sleep?”
“Sure.” I almost laughed at the suggestion I could sleep through this.
“Love you,” The words came easily for him.
“Uh, love you …honey” I echoed, cringing at the awkwardness.
“Talk to you later,” he said, oblivious.
Silence filled the room like an echoing void. I stared blankly at the phone, at the tiny reflections of my fingers on its glassy surface. They looked so thin and deft—Jessica’s fingers.
I buried my face in my hands. This was insane. Completely insane.
I missed my own kids. And Candace…
I needed to figure out what the hell happened and fast.
I rifled through her purse, searching for clues amid gum wrappers and receipts. A business card caught my eye: “Madox Corp.,” it read, “Jessica Parker, Event Coordinator.” A conference, then. That’s why she was here.
All the while, I could feel her bra digging into my ribs, unfamiliar and constricting.
“Shit…” I sat up and stared at my reflection in the darkened TV screen, the face looking almost ghostly in the dim light.
Jessica was, if I were honest, quite a beautiful woman. I studied the reflection in the TV, captivated against my will. She was striking. I could see in the dimmest light the soft curve of her narrow jaw, the luminous, sea-blue tint of her eyes. Her skin looked polished and flawless even in shadow, and her hair fell with a natural silken grace I knew Candace envied.
With my hands on her body, tracing contours utterly unlike my own, a tug of fascination blended into the panic. Would I exist now forever in this strange, alluring body? Would these hands, this lithe frame, the swell of these breasts—would they all somehow become mine?
She obviously found time to work out, too. Her body was toned and curvy, impressive for a mother of two young children. And completely unlike my own aging male body.
The phone's screen lit up again, this time with a text: "Good luck at the conference! You’ll nail it like always."
No pressure, Jessica, I thought bitterly, rubbing my temples.
I sat up, the foreign weight of her breasts shifting under my shirt. There had to be a way out of this. But for now, I was stuck here.
I took a breath and opened her suitcase. Clothes. Neat stacks of tops, a few dresses, bras and panties, expensive, professional.
“Oh boy…” I muttered, lifting them gingerly.
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