Later that night, after putting their younger selves to bed, they crept into the home office, a space that had always been off-limits as children. Abby flipped on the desk lamp, casting long shadows across the room.
"It feels weird being in here," James whispered, running his fingers along the bookshelf, "Even though I'm literally Mom."
Abby nodded, settling into the leather desk chair with unexpected comfort, "I know what you mean. But technically, this is my office now."
She pulled open the top drawer, rifling through folders and papers. James moved to the filing cabinet in the corner, the metal creaking as he slid open the drawer.
"What exactly are we looking for?" he asked, flipping through tabs labeled with mundane categories like "Taxes" and "Insurance."
"I don't know," Abby admitted, "Love letters? Evidence of affairs? Legal documents?"
James leaned over to open a drawer.
“Nice ass,” Abby snickered.
James looked back with a sly smile, rolling his eyes, "It's still strange to get those kinds of comments from you. From Dad."
"And yet you like it," Abby replied with a wink that was distinctly their father's.
James turned back to the drawer, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck. It was true—he did like it. The attention, the flirtation, the way Abby had taken to their father's mannerisms with disturbing accuracy. There was something thrilling about being desired in this body, about the way Abby looked at him with their father's eyes.
"Wait, look at this," James said suddenly, pulling out a folder marked "Personal." Inside were several letters, the paper yellowed with age. He opened one and began to read, his eyes widening.
"What is it?" Abby asked, coming to stand beside him.
"It's... a love letter.”
“From Mom?”
"No," James replied, his voice dropping to a whisper, "It's from someone named Catherine."
Abby's eyes widened as she peered over his shoulder, "Catherine? Who's that?"
James's fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the letter fully.
"My dearest Paul," he read aloud, his mother's voice giving the words a strange, discordant quality, "I know we agreed to end things, but I can't stop thinking about you. About us. What we had was real—more real than anything I've ever known. I understand your commitment to your family, but please know that I will always be waiting if you change your mind. All my love, Catherine."
A heavy silence fell between them as the implications sank in.
"Dad was having an affair…” Abby sulked.
James slapped her across the face.
“Ow! What the fuck was that for?"
“For cheating on me,” James winked.
Abby stared at him, momentarily stunned, then broke into a grin.
"Sorry, Monica," she said, her voice teasing as she rubbed her cheek, "I guess I deserved that."
“You sure as hell did,” James purred.
James gasped as Abby pushed him onto the desk, the papers scattering around them like a snowstorm of forgotten secrets. Her kiss was immediate and hungry, and James felt an electric thrill at how dangerous and exciting this was—making out with Abby, here in their father's office, right after discovering his affair.
“I’ve been thinking about it. About fixing things.”
“We're different people," she continued, “And maybe that means we get to have a different ending.”
James stared up at her, feeling the weight of their mothers breasts rise and fall with each breath, feeling how completely they had transformed, how completely they had become these people.
He let out a shuddering breath and wrapped his arms around his sister's neck, pulling her closer, “You know what? I love you, Paul.”
Abby grinned, a wicked glint in her eye, “I love you too, Monica.”
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