The next day was Saturday. I looked on as Rob did some gardening work in the front yard. I mostly just watched, admiring the way my new body looked in a crop top and denim shorts, giving Alvin a bottle whenever he cried.
That’s when I saw them. Me. Whatever “it” was. It was across the street. It was my body, with my family. My heart leapt into my throat.
I could barely breathe.
My wife was sitting on the porch, holding a mug of coffee. And there—oh God—there was my body, playing with my kids. He was pushing them on the swing, laughing with them, holding them.
I felt a rush of emotion, a flood of longing and disbelief. It was too surreal, too incredible. Was it Maggie? Was she happy there? I couldn't tell from this distance.
I needed to find out. I needed to see, to know.
"Hey," I said to Rob, trying to sound casual, "I'm just going to take Alvin for a walk."
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, "Want me to come with?"
"No, it's fine," I said, already strapping Alvin into the stroller, "I won't be long."
I pushed the stroller down the street, my pulse racing with each step. What would I say? How could I explain this? I had no plan, just a desperate need to get closer.
As I approached my house, my body and my wife fucking waved at me. Like nothing was wrong.
"Hey, Maggie," my wife called, "Beautiful morning, isn’t it?"
I forced a smile, my heart pounding in my ears, "Yeah! Just taking a walk with the little one."
My body waved, looking relaxed, comfortable. It was unnerving to see it from the outside, to watch it bend and move without me.
"How's your weekend going?" my wife asked, setting down her coffee mug.
Incredible. It was fucking incredible. She didn’t even realize it wasn’t me.
"Good," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "Busy with... you know, baby stuff."
My body laughed, and it was chilling to hear my own voice, the deep, familiar timbre, "Tell Rob he still owes me a beer from last weekend!"
I nodded, feeling lightheaded. I realized it couldn’t be Maggie in there. Like my body was just possessed by a copy of me. Or I was the copy.
My oldest came running out the front door, "Daddy! Come look what I made!"
My heart shattered as I watched my body turn away, following my child inside with an easy familiarity. They disappeared into the house, and I stood there, frozen, holding onto the stroller handle so tightly my knuckles turned white.
My wife waved once more before heading inside, leaving me alone on the sidewalk, staring at the home that was no longer mine.
I pushed the stroller back toward Maggie's house—my house now—my mind racing.
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