William Matson was a lost soul. Having always struggled with his identity, the loss of his parents, and the loss of his wife and unborn child, William made a sacrificial decision, to donate his perfectly healthy body to the Sacrificial Life Extension Project to give life to someone terminally ill. Christmas Eve is the day of the swap and Christmas Day is the day he wakes to find his reality altered in a way he never expected...
 

 

The Bridge of Souls

(formerly S.L.E.P. – Sacrificial Life Extension Project)

 

William

 

The woman across from me scanned my application in silence, her gaze moving over the handheld tablet with a detached precision that made my stomach tighten. She looked like someone halfway between a librarian and a natural foods store owner, someone who probably brewed her own herbal tea and composted religiously. Her hair was mostly brown, streaked heavily with gray that crept in like ivy, stubborn and unchecked, making her seem older than she likely was. I doubted she had ever considered dyeing it or eating anything not labeled organic.

As the seconds dragged, I found myself shifting in my seat, her silence magnifying my doubts. Did she see something in my application that she didn’t like? Her expression gave nothing away, and my mind raced to fill the silence with every possible reason she might look so unimpressed. I clenched my hands under the table, fighting the urge to interrupt her and demand to know what she thought.

Even though it had felt like a long time it was probably only a few minutes earlier she had introduced herself as Maggie Farnsworth, my S.L.E.P. concierge.

“How did you hear about the Sacrificial Life Extension Project, Mr. Matson?” Maggie Farnsworth’s voice was warm yet businesslike, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched me over the rim of her glasses, one finger tapping against her tablet in a slow, measured rhythm.

“Please, call me William.” I tried to soften my voice, but the formality of the room was making it hard to relax. “Mr. Matson makes me feel like my dad.” I gave a small smile, hoping to break the ice, but Maggie’s expression remained politely neutral. “It should all be there in the application,” I added, feeling her gaze still assessing me, searching for something the application might not contain.

“The application tells us what you wrote,” she replied, not missing a beat, “but not who you are, William.”

Her eyes, a shade of gray that mirrored her hair’s undertone, held steady on me, unflinching. I noticed the faint creases around them, lines carved by decades of experience in her field. She wasn’t about to let a vague answer slip by. I cleared my throat.

“I saw a television commercial,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “Your company does an excellent job of portraying people who are dying and in need of a second chance at life.”

She nodded, but her lips pressed together as if she had heard the line a thousand times before. She leaned forward, her voice dipping slightly, carrying a thread of suspicion. “I will be honest with you, William. You don’t fit the profile.” Her gaze sharpened. “Our average applicant is between forty-five and sixty-five years of age, and they’re at the end of their rope. You’re twenty-six, financially well-off, good-looking, and seem to have everything going for you. Why give up your life so someone else can live?”

I squirmed a little in my seat, her pointed words hitting me harder than I expected. But I had come here to tell my story, and I owed her honesty. “I’m sure you’ve read my application thoroughly, so I will try to fill in the gaps.” I hesitated, glancing down at my hands before continuing. “Yes, I’ve lived a life of affluence, and financially I have no worries, but that doesn’t mean my life has been easy.”

Maggie’s expression softened, just a touch, the hard line of her mouth relaxing as she listened.

“I lost my parents when I was seven,” I said, my voice lowering. “I’ve struggled for years trying to find my own identity.” I could almost hear the echo of my past, years of endless travel, lonely cities, and silent hotel rooms. “I’ve traveled extensively, done a lot of philanthropic work… I was even married briefly.” I paused, catching the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Two years ago, I lost my wife and unborn child in a car accident.”

A flash of sympathy crossed her face, her posture leaning ever so slightly toward me, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Most people would assume I’m depressed from my loss,” I continued, swallowing hard, “but the reality is that I’ve never found fulfillment or joy in my life.” I shook my head, my voice barely above a whisper. “I guess it all comes down to the fact that if my body can be used to give someone hope and a chance at a real life, then… I’m satisfied with that.”

Silence hung between us. Maggie’s sharp gaze softened further, shifting from cold assessment to something almost compassionate. She tapped her pen against her tablet once, then folded her hands over it, nodding slightly as if she had found something in me she had hoped to see.

She looked me over carefully, her intense eyes seeming to pierce straight into my soul. The silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding, as she studied me with a patience I found unnerving. After a long pause, she finally spoke. “You’ve indicated you’re open to a transfer to either male or female patients. Why is that?”

This was the one thing I didn’t want to talk about. “These people are at the end of their lives,” I replied, trying hard to keep my tone even. “What difference does it make? I will only have to live with the result for a little while, correct?”

Her expression tightened, and she leaned forward, her voice colder now. “Mr. Matson, William, if you’re not going to be forthcoming, I will deny your application right now.”

A flush of heat crept up my neck as anger bubbled beneath the surface. I felt exposed, my carefully guarded secrets cracking under her scrutiny. “This isn’t being recorded, is it?” I asked, trying to buy time.

“No. There are no recordings of these sessions,” she replied, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the only one who decides on your application, and right now, I’m inclined to deny it. People don’t just decide to give up their life, William. I’m not willing to risk our patients for someone running from something. How do I know you aren’t being hunted? Or maybe you’ve committed some crime that makes life feel unbearable? I need to understand your true motivation.”

I swallowed, wrestling with the impulse to stand up and walk out. “I saw your advertisement,” I said finally. “I just want to give someone else a chance at life.”

She rose, her movement decisive, and placed a hand on the doorknob. “We’re done here. You will receive official communication that your application has been denied.”

“Why?” The word escaped before I could hold it back.

Her hand paused, hovering over the polished brass handle. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to speak before she could shut me out completely. “Wait!” My voice came out more desperate than I had intended. “You want to know what drives me to give up my life? Fine. Yes, there’s a part of me that believes in this, a part that thinks sacrificing my life for someone else’s second chance is worth it. But that’s not the whole truth.”

I felt her gaze sharpen, and the words spilled out, raw and unfiltered. “The truth is, I’m miserable. All my life, I’ve questioned who I am. I have felt like I was born with the wrong body. I never belonged in my own skin, and no amount of money, travel, or charity work has filled that void. I tried to bury it, to be someone I thought I should be. I forced myself into a marriage with a wonderful woman, hoping that if I had a family, if I was a husband and father, it would silence the turmoil inside.”

She watched me, her expression unreadable, but I pushed on, the words coming faster. “When my wife and our unborn child died… I spent months in a haze of grief, but deep down, what tore at me most was the realization that I didn’t just miss them, I missed the chance to feel comforted, to feel held, to feel whole. But I’m a man, damn it,” I said, my voice breaking. “And society doesn’t let men admit they’re not enough, that they don’t even feel like themselves.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Maggie’s face softened, and her expression, though still guarded, was no longer cold.

“We will be in touch, William,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with something I hadn’t expected. Understanding.

Without another word, she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with the truth that had taken a lifetime to voice.

 

***

Samantha

 

“Samantha, honey, can I get you some more ice to suck on?” Her mother’s voice was soft, laced with tenderness and an underlying helplessness she tried to hide.

Samantha blinked her heavy eyelids open, her gaze settling on her mother. She took in the room without glancing at the dozens of bouquets, the “get well” cards, or the sterile white walls. Her focus was solely on the hand she reached out to take. She squeezed it as best as her weakened fingers would allow, offering her mother a gentle smile. Her voice came out scratchy, barely more than a whisper. “I’m fine, Mom. You should go home, be with Dad and the family.”

Her mother’s hand tightened in response, her thumb lightly brushing over Samantha’s knuckles. “I will not miss a second with you,” she replied, her voice breaking as tears traced familiar paths down her cheeks, flowing as freely as they had for days now. She tried to smile through the tears. “Christmas is in two weeks, sweetie. What’s your wish this year?”

Samantha’s lips curled into a faint, tired smile. “To last long enough to see your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in February,” she whispered. “With all the family together. That’s my wish.”

Her mother bit her lip, stifling the sobs that threatened to betray her fragile strength. She reached out to brush a stray lock of Samantha’s golden-blonde hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Samantha’s once-bright eyes were now dark and sunken, holding a quiet acceptance that broke her mother’s heart anew every time she looked into them. “I wish that too, sweetheart,” she managed, her voice thick with sorrow and determination.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, hands intertwined, broken only by the steady rhythm of the machines keeping a thin tether of life connected to Samantha’s frail body. Her mother closed her eyes, wishing the beeping could drown out the ache in her heart, if only for a moment.

A light knock at the door broke the stillness, and a nurse leaned in, offering a comforting smile. “Samantha, you have a visitor.”

Samantha turned her head, her gaze landing on an older man entering the room with a kind, gentle smile. His graying hair and warm eyes exuded a calm, professional demeanor. “You must be Samantha Rawlings,” he said, stepping forward. “I’m Henry Kopple, Director of S.L.E.P.”

Samantha’s brows furrowed in mild confusion, her voice barely audible. “What’s S.L.E.P.?”

Henry smiled apologetically. “My apologies. I assumed you might have heard of it. S.L.E.P. stands for the Sacrificial Life Extension Project. You have been selected as a recipient.”

Samantha’s face turned to her mother, who looked away, a small, apologetic smile playing on her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I… I applied for you.”

For a moment, Samantha lay silently, absorbing the words. Her eyes moved slowly between her mother and Henry, trying to make sense of this strange offer. “What does this mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Henry smiled, and he stepped closer to Samantha’s bedside, his tone warm and soothing. “It means there’s someone who wants to give you a chance to live, Samantha. Someone willing to let you have their body in place of yours. It means that, if you choose, you have a unique chance to be free of your illness and live a full and productive life. I have a catalog of people willing to trade their healthy body for yours.”

Samantha’s gaze fell to her lap, her mind reeling as she tried to grasp the enormity of what Henry was suggesting. Her fingers trembled, twisting the edge of her hospital blanket. The thought that someone, anyone, would willingly give up their life for hers felt impossible, almost wrong. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter the strange hope blooming in her chest.

“How…how does this work?” she asked, her voice rough with disbelief. “Why would anyone do that for me?”

Henry’s gentle smile remained steady as he took a seat beside her bed. He waited a moment, allowing her words to settle in the quiet of the room. “We have the ability to transfer your memories, your essence, everything that makes you who you are, into another person’s body. You go to bed as yourself one night and wake up the next morning as someone else, in a body strong and healthy, with a chance to live again.” His voice softened, filled with a kind of reverence for the people who made this possible. “People come to us for many reasons, Samantha. Some are seeking purpose, some redemption. Some have known their own kind of pain and feel that offering a chance at life to someone else is their way of finding peace.”

He placed a slim tablet on the small table beside her, its screen flickering to life with a soft glow. “On this tablet, you will find the photos and details of those who have volunteered. I can come back tomorrow to answer any questions you might have.”

Samantha’s hand drifted hesitantly toward the tablet, her eyes lingering on its screen, filled with faces of strangers who wanted to give her their lives. She could feel her mother’s steady, warm gaze on her, as if willing her to believe in the miracle before her. She looked up, meeting her mother’s tear-filled eyes, and for the first time in so long, a spark of hope flickered through her. A small, tentative smile touched her lips, fragile but determined. “Maybe my dream will come true after all,” she murmured, her voice carrying a softness her mother hadn’t heard in months.

 

***

Samantha

 

Samantha’s heart raced as she waited for her mother to step out of the room. As soon as she had, she reached eagerly for the tablet, fingers shaky as she swiped to unlock it. This was her chance, a miracle in digital form, and she was filled with an anxious mix of hope and dread as she pulled up the list of potential candidates.

She tapped open the first profile and was met with the face of an older woman, her eyes tired, her cheeks sunken. The woman’s hair was gray and frayed, and her expression hinted at a lifetime of struggle. Samantha’s heart sank. She swiped to the next profile, and another face appeared. An elderly woman with wrinkles deeply etched across her face. Photo after photo, the candidates seemed worlds away from the life she had lost, faces worn by hardship and age.

An image of a middle-aged woman flashed across the screen, her gaze shadowed by disappointments. She was post-menopausal, a detail that only added to Samantha’s sinking feeling. Next, a woman of thirty-five appeared, and Samantha’s heart lifted slightly until she read the details. The woman could not conceive, and Samantha’s heart sank.

Just when she thought there was nothing more for her, Samantha’s finger stilled as she reached the last profile. Her breath caught, eyes widening as the face of a young man appeared on the screen. His features were strikingly handsome with a strong jawline, neatly cropped brown hair, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a story of their own. Those eyes… they were filled with an indescribable sadness, almost an apology etched into the lines around them. Unlike the other candidates, he looked fit and healthy, his profile showed he was only twenty-six, a mere three years her senior.

She traced a shaking finger across his image, the screen gliding smoothly beneath her touch as she selected additional photos. His physique was lean but athletic, his shoulders broad, and his expression haunted but soft. There was a quiet strength about him, yet the sadness in his eyes mirrored her own, almost as if he, too, had known loss and loneliness. She imagined what her mother would say, envisioning her surprise and perhaps her disapproval at the idea.

For the first time, Samantha felt a small spark of hope. This man, this stranger, felt like a second chance. Her hand hovered over his image, and for the briefest moment, she allowed herself to believe that he, too, might be the miracle she had been hoping for.

 

***

Samantha

 

Samantha felt the intense conflict in her mother’s gaze, sharp with worry, as she clutched the tablet close to her chest. “But he’s a man! Samantha, what about the thirty-five-year-old woman? Isn’t she… a better option for you?”

Samantha took a deep breath, steadying herself as she looked into her mother’s searching eyes. “I know, Mom, she is an option. But she can’t have children, and I would be giving up twelve years of life right from the start. You know how much I have always dreamed of having children and a family of my own.” Her voice softened, a note of pleading slipping in. “And there’s more to it than that. I’m so tired of being weak, Mom. For nine years, my life has been defined by hospitals, by my frailty, by everyone else’s choices for me. This… this chance to be strong, to have a life where I’m not constantly held back by my own body… this gives me hope. I want to feel what it’s like to be in control for once.”

Her mother frowned. “But, Samantha, you say you want a family… How could you live as a man and find happiness? Have you thought about what that would mean? Could you… marry a woman?”

Samantha bit her lip, choosing her words carefully, holding back the frustration that bubbled up. “Did you even look at the other profiles, Mom? I don’t know what’s going to happen if I choose him, but I do know that these people, each of them, are making an unimaginable sacrifice for me. The least I can do is choose the one that gives me the best chance at a real life. I might not have answers to all your questions, but I know I would have more time… to be with you, with our family. And maybe, finally, I could live a life without always having to look over my shoulder, worrying about the next relapse or hospital visit.”

Her mother’s expression relaxed, the hardness in her gaze melting away as she took in Samantha’s words. She took Samantha’s hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If this is truly what you want, and if you believe you can live with this choice, then I will support you. We all will, no matter what.”

Samantha’s lips trembled as a wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you, Mom.” For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt the spark of something close to hope, fragile but real.

 

***

William

 

The call to return for another meeting with Maggie caught me off guard. Weeks had passed since my initial interview, and I had assumed they turned me down. But here I was again, back in the same room, this time facing Maggie’s gentle expression. Her face, once tense with suspicion, now held something else, concern, mixed with resignation. The shift in her demeanor set off a strange pulse of both relief and dread within me.

She folded her hands in front of her, eyes steady. “William, you have been selected by one of our candidates.” She paused, letting the words sink in as my stomach twisted. “It’s time to begin preparations for the transfer. This process is costly and requires your solid commitment, so, I need to confirm: are you still willing to participate?”

The moment of reckoning. My chest felt tight, but I managed to nod, my voice was steadier than I expected. “What can you tell me about the candidate?”

Maggie’s gaze was steady, almost apologetic. “That’s not something we are able to share. The patient has chosen you from a list of potential donors, but they’ve received very limited information, just your height, weight, age, any current conditions, and basic ancestry.” She leaned forward, emphasizing each word. “They will never know your name, your profession, or why you chose to participate. And absolutely no communication is allowed between you and the recipient.”

I frowned, struggling to understand the isolation this entailed. “But why? Why can’t we communicate, even just to understand each other’s intentions?”

She took a breath, her expression growing heavier. “William, this project isn’t only about logistics. It’s about giving a dying person a chance at life, pure and simple. If they knew too much about you, knew you beyond your sacrifice, it would likely become a crippling burden to them. Knowing someone else’s story, knowing that the very body they inhabit came from someone with dreams and regrets makes you more real to them and guilt would make them unable to make this decision. It is for their peace of mind.”

I let her words sink in for a moment. They had chosen me and I might never know why.

But still, I nodded, a quiet resolve settling over me. “I’m still willing. So, what happens next?”

“We need to work out the details for both donor and recipient,” Maggie began, her tone all business as she glanced between her tablet and me. “You have bank accounts, finances, identification, social media, and photos of you online. We will need to clear out every reference to you, prepare documents in advance to transfer financial holdings to your new name, begin creating new identification, and write a will.”

“We don’t simply swap identification?” I asked, the process sounding far more elaborate than I had anticipated.

She shook her head. “No, each of you will receive entirely new identities for the sake of maintaining anonymity. You will receive that information on the morning you wake up after the transfer is complete. We also try to ensure there is a significant geographic distance between you and the recipient to avoid any chance encounters with people who may recognize you. If either of you do run into anyone who used to know you, we provide you with a card. This card confirms that you underwent the S.L.E.P. transfer process. Most people are aware of us and will recognize the credentials, making it easier to avoid any uncomfortable questions.”

With that, Maggie tapped on her tablet and broadcast its screen onto a larger monitor on the wall. “Alright,” she said, looking over at me. “Let’s get started on the paperwork.”

 

***

William

 

The S.L.E.P. organization was adamant about not releasing any information regarding the recipient, and as the day of the transfer approached, a growing trepidation gnawed at me. I was, in essence, committing legalized suicide. It was surreal to think about it, yet the implications profoundly affected my thoughts. I could wake up in excruciating pain, or worse, without any mobility at all. The uncertainty of what I was heading into felt more daunting than the sheer idea of being brain-dumped into another person’s body.

But my thoughts were not only consumed by fear; I was also preoccupied with the idea of communicating with the recipient. Amid my apprehension, I discovered a loophole in the procedures. I was allowed to fill a suitcase with clothing for the patient, which would include documentation about any food sensitivities and carefully edited advice regarding my body, all vetted by S.L.E.P. The suitcase would undergo a meticulous inspection, but there was a small window of time between when I would be given a sedative and when the procedure would commence. During that fleeting moment, I would have access to the suitcase.

I devised a plan. I would slip a note into the suitcase. I made sure to keep it vague and impersonal, yet I felt compelled to express a few essential thoughts. It was a risk, but I needed to say what had been weighing on my heart.

When the day finally arrived, I was surprised to realize it was Christmas Eve. I was flown to New York and then driven to Norwalk, Connecticut, where I was given a room in the hospital. By the time I settled in, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and darkness enveloped the room. Just then, Maggie entered with the anesthetist, both wearing expressions that combined professionalism with a hint of sympathy. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as they prepared to administer the sedatives that would put me to sleep. The moment was nothing short of frightening, filled with unspoken fears and silent goodbyes to a world I had struggled to live in.

“You’re doing a wonderful thing, William,” Maggie said, her voice soothing yet firm. “Why don’t you lie back and relax? We will give you some time to yourself. In the morning, I will be right here when you wake up. It’s crucial for you to be fully aware of your surroundings and to take a moment to register the impact of what has transpired before you open your eyes. This will help reduce your shock.”

“I will,” I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Maggie exchanged a glance with the anesthetist, and their faces reflected the solemness of the moment, the moment someone willingly gave their life for a stranger. As they turned to leave, I felt a wave of grogginess wash over me from the sedative. I knew I had only minutes before I would surrender to the darkness. With trembling hands, I slipped the note I had carefully concealed into the suitcase, a final message for the person who would inhabit this body in the morning. It was a simple gesture, but it felt monumental, a connection across an unimaginable divide.

Returning to the bed, I extended my hand, staring at it as if it were a stranger. It would be the last time I would see it. Panic surged through me, a fleeting moment of desperation as I grappled with the finality of my choice. Would I be okay? Just as the fear began to suffocate me, the sedatives took hold, softening the edges of my anxiety. I drifted into sleep, my last conscious thought lingering on the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

 

***

William

 

“William? It’s me, Maggie. Don’t open your eyes or speak just yet. Squeeze my hand to let me know you hear me.”

As I floated in the inky depths of darkness, Maggie's voice emerged like a lit open doorway, beckoning me back to the surface. A hand was clasped in mine, warm and reassuring. I squeezed it gently, but as I did, an unsettling realization washed over me. My hand felt different, softer, smaller. The act of squeezing was surprisingly challenging, as if the strength I once knew had slipped away.

“That’s good, William. Now, I want you to keep your eyes closed and, with your mind, reach out to feel your body. Wiggle your toes and move your fingers. When you’re done, squeeze my hand again.”

I focused, trying to ignore the unease creeping into my chest. What was happening? A wave of awareness washed over me, and I felt so little of my weight pressing into the bed. I was lighter. Much lighter. I couldn’t feel any pain, just a disconcerting lack of energy, as if my very essence had been dimmed.

With determination, I wiggled my toes, relief flooding through me as I felt the rough texture of the sheets against them. I have toes, at least. I focused on tightening and relaxing the muscles in my calves and legs. It seemed everything was working; I had all my body parts. A sense of gratitude began to blossom within me as I squeezed Maggie’s hand again.

“Very good, William. You’re doing well. Go ahead and slowly open your eyes.”

I hesitated, the moment charged with anticipation. The stark whiteness of the room hit me like a flash of lightning, blinding and overwhelming. My eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness, but soon I focused on Maggie, hovering near me. Her face was filled with emotion, and I saw the warmth in her eyes that was reassuring.

As the reality of my new existence began to settle in, an avalanche of emotions crashed over me. This was it. I was here. I was alive. But the questions loomed large: Who am I now? How long will I have to live?

“Keep your eyes on me, William. Now that the transfer is complete, I’m free to discuss more about your new body and situation. One major adjustment for you is that the patient was a twenty-three-year-old young woman.”

“What…” My voice faltered, the delicate, higher-pitched sound catching me off guard. “I’m a girl?”

Panic flickered within me, and I instinctively tried to sit up, but Maggie’s hand pressed gently on my shoulder. No matter how hard I strained, I couldn’t lift myself against the light pressure she was applying to keep me down.

“Breathe, William. Relax. Let me raise the back of the bed a little. Your body is very weak from the illness.”

I felt the bed pivot at my hips, lifting me slowly. As I rose, a strange weight shifted beneath the hospital gown and covers, reminding me of the unfamiliar form I now inhabited. I reached up with my right hand to touch my face, and my fingers brushed against soft skin. The sight of my long, slender fingers sent a fresh wave of disbelief coursing through me.

“Careful, William. You have an IV in your right arm. It’s supplying your body with much needed nourishment.”

“I’m a woman?” The words tumbled from my lips, tinged with disbelief.

“I thought that might please you,” Maggie replied, a hint of encouragement in her tone.

“I… I didn’t know this was possible.” My arms felt fragile, almost ethereal, and my legs, draped beneath the sheets, appeared thin. Weak. I was so weak. “What’s wrong with me?”

Maggie’s expression shifted, the concern etched deeply in her brow. “You’re suffering from a neurological disorder. You have not been fully diagnosed, but it has something to do with your brain not being able to adjust production of the right enzymes and proteins to metabolize your food. In other words, you’re wasting away.”

I searched Maggie’s face for answers, for some semblance of reassurance, but all I found was the reflection of my own uncertainty staring back at me. “What do I look like?”

“You’re five feet six inches tall and weigh eighty-two pounds. Here is a mirror.”

As I took the small handheld mirror from Maggie, my heart raced with trepidation. When I looked into the eyes of the stranger before me, shock gripped me. The face that stared back was not just unfamiliar; it felt like a ghost of the woman I had become. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles painting shadows beneath them, yet the brilliant blue irises seemed to blaze with a startling intensity. My cheeks were gaunt, slightly hollow, and my lips bore the evidence of dehydration, chapped and lifeless. Long, golden-blonde hair cascaded down her head in disheveled strands, stringy and in desperate need of a wash. With some weight, she would be very pretty.

“What’s the prognosis?” I managed to ask, my voice shaky.

“At the current rate of weight loss, the estimate is between two and four weeks.”

A cold wave of dread washed over me as I took a stuttered breath, continuing to stare at my reflection. Two to four weeks. The stark reality of my situation settled like a load of bricks on my chest, suffocating the remnants of my former self. Maggie shared some additional details, but her words felt like they were drifting away, lost in a fog of disbelief. I’m a woman. I’m weak. I could even be pretty if I weren’t so sick. I have two to four weeks to live.

“...your new name is Emma Taylor.”

“Sorry. What was that again?”

“Your new name is Emma Taylor. I’m sure you need some time to absorb everything. If you need anything, press this green button, and I will be right here. Please be careful of your IV and catheter. I will be back in thirty minutes.”

I never imagined it was possible to become that which I had always wanted to be. But here I was, Emma, the embodiment of my long-suppressed self. The joy that flooded me was tinged with an undeniable fear, a euphoric high that danced dangerously close to the precipice of despair. I watched as Maggie left, the soft click of the door behind her echoing in the stillness of the room, leaving me alone with my swirling emotions.

With trembling hands, I weakly pulled back the sheets, exposing my emaciated body to the harsh fluorescent light. My legs were indeed thin, almost fragile, and the sight filled me with a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. I was intact. Five delicate toes adorned each foot, a sign that I had not been deposited into a deformed body. The reality of my new form was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Reaching up, I hesitantly felt my breasts, a sensation so foreign yet so inherently right. The weight of them felt strange, but the sensitivity was intoxicating. I pulled the hem of the gown higher, revealing a pair of plain white panties, my perfectly flat stomach, and the pronounced contours of my hip bones. There were no male parts down there, just a tube, a stark reminder of what I had left behind.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. This body felt like it had been waiting for me all along, like I was finally home in a skin I had always yearned for. Yet, the cruel irony of it all pierced my heart like a dagger: I was dying. Why couldn’t I have this without the illness?

I scanned the sterile white room, a hospital prison that felt too suffocating for my new identity. I didn’t want to die here. Soon enough, I would be shipped off to hospice, a place that reeked of despair. The thought sent a shiver of panic through me. Did I even have enough strength to stand?

In the corner, a suitcase rested like a lifeline, likely filled with the documentation and clothing I might need, but never expected to use. My heart raced as I made a decision, a desperate flicker of hope igniting within me. I wanted to go home. I would rather die there.

Peeling the tape off my inner thigh sent a shock of pain coursing through me, but it was a mere whisper compared to the throbbing sensation as I pulled the catheter out. Each movement drew a gasp from my lips, a reminder of my frailty. How far could I possibly get?

With the catheter removed, I carefully pulled the IV from my right arm, the sensation both liberating and frightening. I pressed a piece of tape over the small puncture, sealing my determination along with the wound. Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath, savoring the rush of air in my lungs, and lowered my feet to the floor. I was thankful they held my weight, slight as it was.

Stepping cautiously toward the suitcase, I reached down to lift it onto the bed. The effort was far beyond my weakened state, and I nearly collapsed from the strain, my vision blurring as the room spun. I paused for a moment, taking shallow breaths to steady myself, then managed to unzip the bag. My fingers trembled as I pulled out a simple white dress, its fabric soft against my skin, along with a pair of white flats that looked new but serviceable.

Leaning against the wall for support, I took a moment to gather my strength. With a shaky hand, I untied the hospital gown, watching as it slipped off my body and pooled on the floor. I stared down at myself, confronted by the sight of my new form. My breasts rested delicately on my exposed ribcage, and I felt like a walking skeleton, fragile and transparent. I had no time or energy to search for a bra, so I slipped the dress over my head, grateful for its elastic waistband that clung to my waist. I managed to pull on the shoes, their fit snug but oddly comforting as I bent down to close the zipper of the suitcase. In the front pockets, I found my bank cards and identification, all changed to Emma Taylor.

A surge of gratitude washed over me that the suitcase had wheels. I half-dragged it and half-used it as support, the motion sending jolts of pain through my limbs as I made my way toward the door. In my depleted state, I struggled to push open the heavy door. The nurses' station was to my left, the elevators to my right. I forced myself to shuffle toward the elevators, each step a monumental effort, while the eyes of passing staff and visitors seemed to weigh heavily on me.

Once inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the first floor. A gentleman stepped in on the second floor, casting an assessing glance in my direction. “You don’t look so good,” he remarked, his concern genuine yet uninvited.

“Good thing I’m in a hospital, then,” I replied, my voice wavering, an edge of sarcasm creeping in as a defense mechanism. He didn’t press further, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me as I stepped out into the hallway.

As I navigated the corridor, I took a moment to absorb the sights around me. My heart ached as I caught sight of the children's wing, its doors wide open, revealing a large Christmas tree twinkling with colorful lights. Adults bustled about, handing out presents to the hospitalized children, their laughter mingling with the soft sound of festive music. A swell of emotion rose within me, and I felt both loss and joy flooding my chest, my new heart ached for what I had missed and what I would likely never experience again.

The chilly winter air hit me as I stepped outside, sending shockwaves through my fragile body. I shivered, my lack of body fat leaving me exposed to the biting cold. I felt as if I was stealing something valuable, someone else’s body, someone else’s identity, but I reminded myself that I had no obligation to remain in this hospital, trapped in a dying body. After all, I was stealing a broken-down vessel that was likely to perish before I could reach the safety of home.

Ignoring the chill that seeped through my skin, I waved down a cab, practically collapsing into the back seat from exhaustion. “Train station, please,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper as I leaned against the cool leather of the seat, the world outside a blur of muted colors and flickering lights.

 

***

Samantha

 

Samantha could feel the strength and vitality coursing through her new body even before she opened her eyes. The sensation was exhilarating, a thrilling rush of energy and power that contrasted sharply with the frailty she had known for so long. It was as if she had awakened from a nightmare into a brilliant, sunlit day.

“Take it slow, Samantha. Go ahead and open your eyes when you feel ready,” a familiar voice urged gently.

Without hesitation, she opened her eyes and met Henry's watchful gaze. His presence was a steady force as she began to process the reality of her transformation. “I feel incredible,” she whispered, her new lower voice filled with awe.

Samantha sat up, the added weight of her new body feeling foreign yet exhilarating. She stared at her large, strong hands, fingers flexing with an unfamiliar grace before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The moment her feet touched the floor, a rush of excitement coursed through her, compelling her to run to the bathroom. She needed to see this new form for herself, to witness the strength and health that pulsed just beneath her skin.

“This is amazing!” she exclaimed, standing in front of the mirror. The reflection that greeted her was a revelation, a strikingly handsome young man stared back, muscles rippling with each movement, posture radiating confidence. “How can I move so well? I feel completely balanced!”

“The entire brain wasn’t replaced; rather, your essence and memories were mapped over the existing ones,” Henry explained, his tone both patient and reassuring. “The motor skills portions of the brain were never touched, so they function correctly. This way you don’t feel any awkwardness.”

Samantha couldn’t help but flex her strong bicep, marveling at the power it contained. Her gaze drifted down her hospital gown, taking in the flat chest where her breasts had once been. She reached down between her legs, a wave of confusion crashing over her as she literally grasped the reality of her new anatomy. A gasp escaped her lips as she spun around to face Henry, panic flickering in her eyes. “Where’s Mom and my family?”

“They’re waiting for you, but I have given them strict instructions to give you some time alone to absorb the changes,” he replied calmly. “Your new name is Declan Rawlings. You will find clothes and your new identification in the suitcase in the corner. Why don’t you take thirty minutes to yourself?”

“Declan… Declan… I like it. Thank you!” she breathed, the name rolling off her tongue with an unexpected sense of belonging.

Henry nodded, a soft smile on his face. “We will all return in a little bit. Take your time.”

As he left the room, Samantha felt a mix of emotions swirl within her, a blend of excitement, fear, guilt, and a profound sense of loss. She was no longer Samantha, the sickly girl trapped in a body that betrayed her; she was Declan, a strong, handsome young man. Yet with this new identity came the burden of letting go of who she had been.

Standing alone in the quiet room, she, now he, took a deep breath, absorbing the thrill of his newfound strength. The prospect of what lay ahead both terrified and exhilarated him. He could feel the pulse of life thrumming through his veins, and though he longed for his family, he also felt a burgeoning desire to explore this new existence, to discover who he could become.

With Henry gone, Declan found himself drawn back to the bathroom, a pressing need to shower washing over him. He had no idea when this body had last bathed. Dropping the hospital gown to the floor, he examined himself from head to toe, a mixture of wonder and curiosity filling his mind. The strength in his limbs was intoxicating, a quantum contrast to the frailty he had known for so long. He felt like he could run a hundred miles or rip the sink from the wall; the feeling of strength was overwhelming, and he struggled to keep himself from playing with his new parts, anxious to explore this unfamiliar terrain.

As the hot water cascaded over him, Declan closed his eyes, relishing the sensation as it washed away the remnants of years of sickness. He took his time, savoring every moment, making sure he was thoroughly clean. Each drop felt like a celebration of his rebirth, invigorating him further. When he finally stepped out, the steam swirled around him felt like a tangible embodiment of his liberation. Standing in front of the mirror, he took a moment to appreciate the reflection staring back at him.

When he had first seen the photo of the donor, he thought the man was undeniably handsome in a lustful way. But now, as he gazed into his own eyes, he realized that he was good-looking, yes, but the feelings of desire and lust were absent. Instead, he felt a deep curiosity about this new body, an eagerness to learn how to navigate the changes. Yet there was also an undercurrent of sadness, a wish for more time to adjust, to understand every aspect of this new existence.

His hands moved to his face, and he frowned slightly at the day-old stubble that shadowed his jawline. “I’m going to have to learn to shave my face,” he muttered, an amused grin creeping across his lips. The thought of wielding a razor was both daunting and thrilling, a rite of passage that felt strangely empowering.

With renewed vigor, he glanced at the toilet and threw the lid open with enthusiasm, ready to embrace another aspect of his new reality. Standing over the white bowl, he realized with a wave of embarrassment that he had to hold things to aim correctly. In his eagerness, Declan quickly learned the mechanics of it all, laughter bubbling up from within as he cleaned up the mess, mortified yet exhilarated by the learning curve. With a sense of newfound respect, he carefully put the seat back down, considering that a female might need to use it after him. It was a small gesture, but it filled him with warmth, a reminder that he was still connected to the humanity he had cherished.

Declan rushed over to the suitcase, his heart racing with excitement, and with a whoop of joy, he easily lifted it onto the bed. Rummaging through the clothing, he dressed quickly, a hint of sorrow flitting through him at the thought of not being able to wear a dress. The thought of flowing fabrics and feminine silhouettes stirred a longing within him, a yearning for the past that he had to let go of. But he couldn’t dwell on it now.

Turning back to the mirror, he checked himself out, adjusting his hair with a finger brush, the silky strands sliding through his fingers. For the first time, he felt a flicker of confidence, a sense of belonging in this new skin. As he ran his hands along the edges of the mirror, a thrill of satisfaction coursed through him.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and his fingers brushed against something there, and he paused, a sense of intrigue bubbling up within him. What could it be?  As he pulled it out, he felt excitement and trepidation. Whatever it was, it might hold the key to understanding this new life and the identity he was beginning to forge for himself. Pulling it out Declan wondered what it might be.

‘Dear recipient of my body (that sounds so awful),

I know I’m not supposed to do this as all communications between donor and recipient are against the rules, but I need you to know I chose to give up my body for you willingly. I wanted you to have a chance at life. While my life wasn’t always easy, it was lived without regrets. I did more things in my twenty-six years than most people do in a lifetime. I suspect you might not have had the same chances I did.

I have given this much thought and have more than enough money for several lifetimes to enjoy. If you go to the New York airport, look for locker FP213. It’s one of the new fingerprint lockers and since you now have my fingerprints, it should work fine for you. I’m guessing you and your family might have many outstanding bills and my money will obviously do me no good. I have left a substantial amount for you in the locker to help you get your life together.

Knowing that you might find this note on Christmas Day, my body and what I leave to you in the locker is my gift to you. It is my heartfelt prayer that you will always look favorably upon this day; that your dreams will come true, and that your life will find every ounce of fulfillment you ever desired. Don’t for one second worry about me, for I believe, in some way, I too will be blessed and consider this day a gift.’

Declan wiped his tears and re-read the message before he quickly stuffed it back into his pocket and ran from the room. It took a moment to orient himself but once he had, he took off at full speed through the hospital to his old room, racing past wide-eyed patients, nurses, and guests. A room that he found now empty. Declan was disappointed that the S.L.E.P. people must have removed her old body and the person it now belonged to so quickly. He might never have a chance to thank the person that gave him new life.

Despondent, Declan roamed the hospital on his way back to his room. He too paused by the entrance to the children’s wing to listen to the cries of joy and the excitement of the children as they opened presents.

Declan whispered to himself. “Wherever you are, thank you! It is my hope, my dream, my wish, and my prayer that somehow, through my broken body, that you will find the happiness and joy you so deserve.”

Wiping more tears from his cheek, Declan rushed back to his room to meet up with his family.

 

***

Emma (William)

 

“Miss? Hello, Miss?”

I struggled to open my eyes, a haze clouding my thoughts. When they finally fluttered open, it took a moment for the reality to settle in: I was a dying young woman trying desperately to get home. My fatigue hung on me, each breath feeling like a monumental effort.

“Sorry. Where are we?” I croaked, my voice a mere whisper, barely rising above the hum of the train station.

“At the end of the line. Tampa, Florida.”

A weak smile crept across my lips as I registered my surroundings. I glanced at my suitcase, not heavy in the traditional sense but far too heavy in my current state of exhaustion. “Can you give me a hand with my suitcase?”

“Certainly. Are you all right, Miss?”

“Once I get home, I will be fine. Thank you. You’re very kind for asking.” There was something soothing about his concern, a gentle reminder that kindness still existed in the world.

The man who worked for Amtrak assisted me down from the train, leaving me standing there on the platform, my heart racing in the stillness of the moment. Once he disappeared, I sat down on my suitcase, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth enveloping me. I closed my eyes, letting the humid, eighty-degree air soak into my skin, the heat slowly reviving the little muscle mass this body had left. Each breath felt like a sip of life, granting me a fleeting sense of strength.

Dragging the suitcase behind me, I flagged down a taxi for the twenty-minute ride to my home in Indian Shores. The anticipation of finally being home filled me with a flicker of hope, a thread of resilience weaving through my weariness.

Standing in front of my home, nestled between beachfront condos, I felt better than I had in the past two days. The familiarity of my surroundings sparked a glimmer of joy in my chest. Yet the reality of my condition loomed, a shadow over my brief reprieve. This body could barely eat anything before becoming full, and the food on the train had left much to be desired.

I had only taken a few hesitant steps toward the door when a car pulled up, and before I could register what was happening, Maggie from S.L.E.P. jumped out and rushed over to me. “What were you thinking? You can’t just go and leave a hospital like that. How did you get here?”

In that moment, I hadn’t realized how tall Maggie was. She must have been five feet nine, standing above me with an air of authority that felt slightly intimidating, especially considering that the last time I gauged her height, I had been over six feet tall. Everything around me seemed larger, more imposing, like the world had shifted while I had been lost in my own thoughts.

Her eyes were wide with concern, and I could feel her demanding gaze pressing down on me. “I just needed to get home,” I replied, my voice shaky, tinged with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. I didn’t want to burden her with the details of my frail state or the darkness that lingered within me. I just wanted to bask in the warmth of familiarity, to feel the soft embrace of home wrap around me like a safety blanket.

Maggie's expression relaxed, and in that moment, I felt a touch of gratitude. Despite the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, I realized that I wasn’t alone. For the first time in days, the strength of human connection reminded me that even in my darkest moments, there were still flickers of light to guide me home.

“I’m not going back to a hospital. I refuse to die in a place like that,” I declared, my voice steady but slightly tinged with desperation.

“You’re in shock. This happens. Come back with me. You look unwell and need treatment,” Maggie insisted, her concern palpable as she searched my face for signs of rationality.

“How long had she been in the hospital?” I asked, my mind racing to make sense of everything.

“Four months and off and on for the past nine years.”

A shudder ran through me. “You said it yourself that I might only have weeks to live. Let me at least choose where I die.” The words tasted bitter and desperate on my tongue. The thought of returning to the sterile confines of a hospital, the incessant beeping of machines, and the smell of antiseptic made my stomach churn.

“Fine. It’s your choice,” she relented, frustration etched across her features. “But I’m going to send a nurse to your home every day to check up on you.”

As Maggie retreated to her car, I could feel her disappointment. I called out as she pulled away, my voice firm yet weary. “I don’t regret my decision, Maggie.”

With a sigh, I turned back to my suitcase, struggling with the zipper until my fingers finally made an opening large enough for my hand. I reached inside, grateful they had remembered to transfer my keys. It was a small comfort in a world that felt so foreign now. Pushing open the door with my shoulder, I staggered inside, the familiar scent of my home hugging me in a comforting way.

Once inside, I stood for a moment, staring at the walls that had seen both laughter and tears, moments of joy and sadness. It seemed so much larger and lonelier than ever before. The open-concept floor plan provided an unobstructed view of the swimming pool and the glistening waters of the Gulf beyond, a sight that normally brought me joy but now only deepened my sense of isolation. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting warm golden rays across the room, and all I could think about was the prospect of napping on the chaise in the sun, a simple pleasure that felt out of reach.

Moments later, exhaustion enveloped me, pulling me down into the depths of sleep. The world around me faded into a gentle blur, the weight of my body barely sinking into the soft fabric of the chaise. In that peaceful embrace, I found solace from the chaos of my thoughts, if only for a brief moment.

 

***

Declan (Samantha)

 

Two days had passed since the transformation, and Declan had slowly begun to acclimate to his new body. While he felt a growing sense of comfort within his skin, the adjustment for his family was another matter entirely. He often overheard them slip and call him Samantha, a name that hung in the air like an echo of a life he was trying to leave behind. Each misstep, each reference to "her," cut deeper than he expected, reminding him of the chasm between who he was and who he used to be. For his mother and father, the struggle to find the right words was evident; their brows furrowed in concern as they tried to navigate this uncharted territory. In contrast, his aunts and cousins seemed to treat him more like a guest, their kindness tinged with awkwardness, as if unsure of how to approach this new version of him.

Declan still had a room in his parents’ house, a space that had been his sanctuary during years of illness. But now, it felt alien. The pink drapes and sheets, the closet filled with dresses, and the photos of Samantha with her friends loomed over him like ghosts of a past life. Each item was a constant reminder of the young woman he had been, a painful juxtaposition to the vibrant young man he now was. His heart ached for the sacrifice of the young man who had given his life for her, a man whose essence lingered like a spark in the depths of his being, creating a connection he couldn’t quite comprehend.

But the hardest part of this transition was witnessing the look in his mother’s eyes. For years, she had cared for her little girl, and suddenly, overnight, she found herself with a tall, strapping young man for a son. Declan could see the conflict swirling in her gaze, love mingled with confusion, pride tempered by sorrow. It was a struggle he knew all too well.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw his mother staring out the window, lost in thought. He approached her, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “Things will be all right, Mom. I know this is hard on everyone.” He hugged her tightly, a bittersweet reminder of the bond they shared.

She turned to him, tears glistening in her eyes. “We need to change your room and get rid of your things.” Her voice trembled with emotion, and Declan felt a pang in his chest at the thought of her pain.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Focus on the good that has come out of all of this. How would you like to take a drive with me?” He tried to inject some cheer into his voice, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

“Where?” she asked, her curiosity piqued but still laced with hesitation.

“New York.”

“Why on earth would you want to go to New York?” She looked at him with both surprise and concern.

“Don’t tell Henry, but my donor left me this note. He left us something in New York. Besides, it’s a beautiful, sunny day, and I want to spend time having fun with you. I also need some clothes.” The thought of exploring a new city, coupled with the excitement of being with his mother, filled him with joy.

Declan’s mother smiled, her expression softening as she considered his proposal. “I think that might be a good idea.” Her acceptance felt like a small victory, a moment of connection amidst the turmoil. In that instant, he could see the possibility of a new beginning for both of them, a chance to create memories that would help heal the wounds of their shared past.

 

***

Emma

 

I must have slept for a solid six hours, unmoving from where I had curled up on the chaise. When I finally stirred, the sky outside was painted with deepening shades of orange and pink as the sun began to set. I lay there a little longer, savoring the soft warmth of the fading light. My smaller, lighter body made it easy to sprawl out comfortably, barely covering half the chaise. Wrapped in my white dress, head resting on my arm, I felt oddly at peace, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. For a moment, it almost felt like I was basking in something familiar yet entirely new.

The remnants of a dream lingered, a fleeting, surreal memory of my old body… kissing me. It felt strange and disorienting, stirring feelings I didn’t have the words for. But before I could make sense of it, the image faded.

I braced myself and pushed up from the chaise, but even that small movement made me dizzy, forcing me to pause and steady myself. I was determined, though. Moving slowly and carefully, I managed to make it to the kitchen. The idea of eating something solid churned in my hollow stomach uncomfortably, so I decided to stick to something simpler. The fridge still held some fresh fruit and veggies, and though I knew Maggie would probably be upset that I wasn’t eating properly, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything but getting something easy down. I tossed what I could find into the juicer. Celery, carrots, apples, and bananas that had already started to brown.

The resulting brownish blend looked anything but appetizing, yet to my surprise, it tasted wonderful. I took a slow sip, feeling the cool, sweet juice slide down my throat, soothing and revitalizing me, even if just a little. After a few more sips, I finally felt strong enough to drag my suitcase into the master bedroom.

The suitcase was too heavy to lift onto the bed, so I left it on the floor, unzipping it and rummaging through its contents. There wasn’t much, a few pairs of panties, a bra that seemed oversized for my emaciated frame, a couple of dresses, and a nightgown. Near the bottom, I found a soft pink sweater jacket with the price tag still attached. A rush of guilt hit me as I remembered leaving Connecticut without any real preparation, foolishly braving the winter without a coat.

A few more sips of juice were enough to make me feel uncomfortably full, yet I took one last sip, hoping to savor just a bit more of the comforting sweetness. My eyes wandered to the king-sized bed that looked so inviting, but the thought of lying down in the same dress I had worn for days made me shudder. Who knew how long it had been since this body was washed, or even when these panties were last changed? As tempting as it was to just sink into the soft sheets and drift off, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet.

Resolving to at least freshen up, I headed toward the shower. It was time to wash away the remnants of the past few days, to step under the water and let it carry away everything that still lingered from my old life.

It was almost laughably easy to slip out of the dress and panties. They practically fell off, clinging so loosely they were barely more than wisps against my skin. Standing there in my own vulnerability, I took in the sight of myself, a silent reckoning. My reflection was thin, astonishingly so, and pale as moonlight. My ribs and collarbones cast shadows over my frame, but beyond the gauntness, I could see hints of what this body could become. True beauty lay there, something undeniable.

I noticed how tall I still stood, the natural elegance of my posture. My hair, though in desperate need of a wash, had a fullness to it, a slight wave that framed my face in a way that felt almost… right. All I needed was a bit of weight, a few dozen pounds more muscle, a little more strength, and I would look stunning. The kind of beauty that could draw eyes and hold them.

The juice I had downed earlier seemed to rush right through me, making my stomach churn. I looked over at the toilet, blinking at the sight of the seat up, an old habit from before.

“How inconsiderate of you, William,” I muttered, a hint of a wry smile tugging at my lips.

After taking care of business, I cautiously tested the shower’s water temperature, fiddling with the knob until it was just right. Stepping under the spray, I squealed as the heavy stream hit my skin, the sensation almost a shock. It was as if my thin frame had no barrier, like the water could cut right through me. Quickly, I adjusted the showerhead to a gentler, rain-like mist, and a sigh of relief escaped me as the warmth cascaded over my tired body, melting the chill away.

The warmth eased into my muscles, soothing aches I hadn’t even noticed, and the scent of the soap was a small comfort, washing away the traces of my journey. Every inch of skin felt new and raw, each sensation heightened in a way that was at once unfamiliar and delicate. But exploration, even curiosity, was far from my mind. My reserves of energy were barely holding up as it was, and anything more would have to wait.

After toweling off and wrangling my hair into some semblance of order, I felt exhaustion settle over me again, even stronger than before. My fingers trembled slightly as I slipped into the soft nightgown, letting it flow over me like a gentle whisper. All I wanted now was the safety of my bed, the familiar press of blankets wrapped around me.

With a final, weary breath, I sank under the covers, closing my eyes as the cool sheets welcomed me, and I let myself drift.

 

***

Declan

 

For Declan and his mother, the day had been a rare, bittersweet kind of wonderful. As they embarked on the long drive to New York, miles of open road unfurled before them, and it felt as if each passing stretch brought them closer, bridging a gap that had grown with time and changes neither could control. They shared stories from years gone by, laughing at the small absurdities of family life, and reminiscing over memories they hadn’t dusted off in ages. They stopped at little diners along the way, savoring homestyle food that carried the comforting solace of nostalgia and wandered into shops where Declan tried on clothes that felt new in more ways than one. His mother’s approving smiles and quiet observations filled him with a warmth he hadn’t known he had missed.

When they finally reached the secure lockers at the airport, a bit of trepidation passed between them.

“We’re looking for locker FP213, Mom,” Declan said, glancing down at the small note with the locker number, feeling like he was some sort of clandestine spy.

His mother scanned the row of lockers, finally pointing, “Here it is, Declan.” Her voice held a tremor, and she glanced at him with a small, apologetic smile. “It’s still strange, calling you that. Are you sure you want to see what’s inside?”

He nodded, a soft conviction lighting his gaze. “You read the note. I can’t imagine there’s anything… dangerous. Or strange.”

Still, Declan held his breath, feeling a little like a character in a suspense film, the kind he and his mother used to watch on late Saturday nights. His hand hovered for a moment before he pressed his right thumb against the cool fingerprint reader. There was a small click as the locker unlocked, and he opened the door to reveal a plain, unassuming manila envelope. At first glance, it looked flat, giving little indication of anything inside.

With a flicker of nervous excitement, he pulled the envelope from the locker, but as he was about to open it, his mother’s hand landed gently on his. “Not here,” she whispered, her gaze flickering toward the small crowd around them. “Let’s go back to the car.”

Once they were nestled back in the quiet safety of the car, Declan finally tore open the envelope, his hands trembling slightly. Inside, there was just a single sheet of paper. He carefully pulled it out and stared at the printed text, his pulse quickening as he realized what he was holding.

“Mom,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “this is… a money order.” He swallowed, looking at the amount again as if it might change. “For a million dollars. Mom, he left us a million dollars.”

His mother simply sat there, silent and stunned, her eyes wide with disbelief. He watched as she brought her hands to her mouth, processing the number, the incredible gift left to them.

Declan checked the envelope again, hoping for more, some kind of message, a note, anything that could offer a glimpse into the mind and heart of the man who had saved him and now, offered this impossible financial freedom. But the envelope was empty, and his heart felt heavy with a flurry of emotions: gratitude, happiness, and a pang of guilt he hadn’t anticipated.

He looked back at his mother, his voice soft. “Why would he do this, Mom? He didn’t even leave a note.”

She squeezed his hand, her eyes glistening with unspoken thoughts. “Maybe he didn’t need to, Declan,” she said gently, her voice filled with a bittersweet warmth. “Maybe this was his way of giving us peace and a future he had hoped for… even if he couldn’t say it in words.”

 

***

Emma

 

I woke up feeling more rested than I had in days. A soft energy hummed through me that felt almost foreign after so many challenging, exhausting days. A faint hunger stirred in my stomach, a quiet but insistent reminder that I needed to get something into it. Wrapping myself in the soft pink sweater, I walked over to the mirror. My reflection stared back, a slender figure with hair falling in unruly waves; it was clean, but wild. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips, at least I was starting to feel more like myself. Still, the kitchen awaited me, cluttered with the remnants of my last attempts at food and drink. I had no strength to clean, and it was painfully obvious. I decided, perhaps it was time to ask for help. Cooking and cleaning felt like too much right now, and I wanted to focus on getting well if I could.

Breakfast turned out to be a piece of dry toast. Several small bites filled me up faster than I had anticipated, and by the end of it, I felt a little better, even if I had barely made a dent in the slice. Outside, the sun had risen, brushing everything in warm gold. The thermometer by the kitchen window showed seventy-five degrees, practically begging me to enjoy the outdoors. With that thought, I found an old rubber band and loosely gathered my hair into a ponytail, thinking a shower would have to wait. I had always adored women having long hair, and even though it was a pain, and I had no energy for it, I would not cut it short. Never.

After slipping out of my nightgown, I reached for a fresh pair of panties and decided to try out the bra. As I had guessed, the fit was imperfect, the C-cups hung loose against my frame. Still, the band fit snugly, offering gentle comfort. I put on a simple red dress, soft and warm, that added a bit of color to my pale skin. With the sweater draped over my shoulders and the pair of white flats, I felt just ready enough for an outing, color coordinated like typical Walmart shoppers, and determined to enjoy some fresh air as long as I could.

I stepped out onto the deck by the pool, basking in the mild breeze, and instantly felt a pull toward the water. The pool shimmered in the sunlight, inviting me to jump in and lose myself in its calm depths. But I hesitated, remembering the prying eyes of my neighbors and the lack of a swimsuit. So, I let the longing settle and set a simpler goal for myself: to touch the ocean water, just beyond the line of sand that lay a few hundred or so feet away.

Taking a deep breath of the briny air, I kicked off my shoes and let my bare feet sink into the cool, soft sand. Each step felt like a small victory, and I could feel my heart lift, if only a little. This was where I was meant to be, close to the sea, close to life itself, no matter how fleeting.

Each step toward the breaking waves felt like a challenge and a triumph all at once. I could feel fatigue building up, urging me to turn back, but there was something exhilarating in pushing forward, feeling the cool sand beneath my feet and noticing how my new frame moved, lighter, more delicate, and yet vibrant in ways I hadn’t felt before. I let the ocean breeze fill my lungs and remind me, just for a moment, of the vitality in simply being alive. By the time I made it back to the house, nearly half an hour had passed, and exhaustion swept over me in waves. I barely managed to sit down before the front doorbell chimed.

It took all my strength to get back up and answer. On the doorstep stood Maggie, her face a mix of worry and exasperation, and beside her was a nurse, clipboard in hand.

“Emma, I told you I would have a nurse check in on you each day,” Maggie said, her voice slightly reproachful.

I leaned against the doorframe, trying for a smirk. “Did you bring pizza with you by any chance?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” I replied with a wink. “One way or another, I will have pizza again before this is all over. Come in, both of you.”

Inside, the nurse had me step onto a weigh scale, her manner brisk yet gentle. She made notes on a chart as I stood there, swaying slightly. “Eighty-five pounds,” she announced, glancing up at me. “We can assume two pounds for your clothing. Looks like you have gained a pound since the last measurements I received from the hospital in Norwalk.”

One pound. The thought should have made me feel encouraged, but it only highlighted the long road I still had ahead. The nurse went through her routine, taking blood samples, checking my vitals, while Maggie hovered nearby, her worry palpable.

“You should be resting,” the nurse advised gently. “Your fluid intake needs to increase, and you are still dangerously underweight. A heart attack is a real risk at this point.”

I forced a laugh, feeling the strange need to lighten the tension. “So, I guess that means joining a soccer league is out of the question?”

They both shot me looks that would have made anyone think twice, but I pressed on, waving away their concerns. “Don’t worry. I don’t feel like dying today.” I motioned to the mess around me. “I even have someone lined up to help me cook and clean. I will be fine.”

The nurse didn’t look convinced, but Maggie’s expression told me she reluctantly agreed with my decisions. She gave me a hesitant nod, but I could see the fear that lingered beneath her carefully held calm. For her and I, I promised I would try a little harder, drink a little more, rest a little longer.

 

***

Declan

 

A week had passed since Declan and his mother’s trip to New York, and slowly, things were beginning to settle. His family, both immediate and extended, was adjusting, and he could tell they were starting to see that he was still the same caring person he had always been, even if things looked a little different on the outside.

Declan had been spending extra time with his mother and father, knowing they needed as much reassurance as he did. The S.L.E.P. Director, Henry, had encouraged him to take things one step at a time: get comfortable in his new body, reconnect with family, and eventually go through his old belongings when he felt ready. When things began to normalize and a sense of routine returned, Henry suggested Declan take a few months just for himself, to focus on who he was now.

Today, though, was a bigger test, the first time seeing a couple of Declan’s closest friends, and nerves gnawed at him. The S.L.E.P. team had helped prepare Missy and Claire for this meeting, but Declan couldn’t help wondering how they would react when they actually saw him.

When the doorbell rang, Declan took a breath to steady himself and opened the door. There stood his two best friends, Missy Franklin and Claire Wallace, looking up at him, wide-eyed and silent. He could feel their surprise and uncertainty hanging in the air, and his stomach twisted, unsure of what to say.

Missy grinned and swept into the house, tugging Claire along with her, the two of them beelining for the living room couch like they had always done. “We’re so glad you’re still with us, Declan! Now, spill… what was the very first thing you thought on Christmas Day?”

Declan settled into the chair across from them, taking a moment to process the flood of memories that question brought back. “Honestly? My first thought was how healthy and strong I felt. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t felt in ages.” He hesitated, lowering his gaze. “Then my second thought was… that I was selfish.”

“Selfish?” Missy echoed, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

“Yes. I mean, the doctors said I had maybe a few weeks to live, and then I wake up in this perfectly healthy body,” Declan said, rubbing his hands together nervously. “It felt like I had cheated fate. Like I had somehow cheated God. I mean, I got this chance to live, but someone else had to give up theirs.”

Claire leaned forward, her voice gentle yet firm. “Declan, you can’t let yourself think that way. You know the S.L.E.P. team assesses each donor carefully. It was his choice; he must have had his reasons.”

“I know. Logically, I get it. But in my heart, I just… I wonder how he’s doing. Where he, I mean, she is.”

The silence hung in the room as the three of them processed those thoughts, the truth of what Declan had gained, and what someone else had given up. Then, as if sensing the need for a lighter note, Missy leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “All right, serious moment over. Declan,” she whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially, “you have to tell us… What’s it like being such a handsome guy now? Have you…?”

“Missy!” Declan spluttered, blushing furiously.

 

***

Emma

 

When I woke up, I felt more refreshed than I had in ages. Each day seemed to bring a bit more strength, though I was still so thin and weak. It was January third now, and the nurse, who had been stopping by daily, seemed baffled. By all rights, I should have been bedridden by now, if not dead, yet here I was, doing a little more each day. Even my weight had crept up, nearly reaching ninety pounds.

Maggie hadn’t visited since that first day she arrived with the nurse, but she had told me she would be stopping by this morning. In the meantime, my hired help, Margo, had been a lifesaver. She cooked, cleaned, and helped me as I needed, taking care of things around the house. She was such a lovely woman, too, and had been a nutritionist before raising her three kids. Now that they were all in school, she had found it hard to return to work and was glad for this job. She treated me with such warmth, almost like I was her own daughter.

Margo was already in the kitchen when I wandered in. She took one look at me and sighed. “Don’t you have anything else to wear, Emma?”

I glanced down at the worn sweater and white dress I had been living in. “You know the situation, Margo. I just didn’t think I needed much else.”

She shook her head. “You’re looking better every day. You need to get out more and do a bit of exercise. It would be good for your muscles and might even boost your appetite. If you’re up for it, I would be happy to take you out to a few stores this afternoon.”

The thought made me smile, even if I felt a little self-conscious. “Let’s see what Maggie and the nurse have to say first but thank you. I have been wanting to use the pool and need a swimsuit and I don’t have much in the way of walking shoes.

Margo laughed, her expression softening. “What you did, Emma... it’s incredibly moving. I can only imagine how desperate you must have felt to make that choice.”

I looked down, my emotions shifting. “I was desperate,” I admitted, thinking of those final days and how I had struggled to find any hope. “But not anymore. I may be weak and still way too thin, but… I don’t think I have ever felt more alive.”

Margo smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling with kindness. “Come and have a seat. I have a scrambled egg and avocado toast ready for you.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” I replied, my stomach rumbling in agreement. The thought of a fresh, healthy meal felt like a small victory in itself.

After surprisingly eating all my breakfast, I spent an hour sifting through my closet and drawers. Of course, none of it worked for me anymore, but I didn’t have the heart to get rid of them. I made a small space and placed the few items I had in it. I had just finished when the familiar sound of the doorbell interrupted me. Maggie and the nurse had arrived.

“Emma! You’re looking so much better,” Maggie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “I can tell you’ve gained a little weight, and those dark circles under your eyes are fading. This is remarkable!”

“I feel better every day,” I replied, a smile creeping onto my face, though there was a bit of fear that still lingered in my heart.

“Go ahead and step onto the scale for us,” the nurse prompted, her tone professional yet encouraging. I complied, my heart racing with hope and anxiety. “Ninety and a half,” she announced, a hint of surprise in her voice.

“Emma, I would like to bring you into the hospital for a few tests next week,” the nurse continued, her expression shifting to one of concern. “Something has changed, and we should confirm what’s going on.”

“It’s not like I have any travel plans,” I said lightly, but inside, a knot of worry tightened. “May I ask how the recipient is doing?”

“You can ask, but I have no answers for you,” Maggie replied gently. “I’m not even sure who in our office handled the recipient. This is deliberately done to ensure we keep anonymity.”

“Do all donors and patients dream about each other? Is this normal?” I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had plagued my thoughts, since every night I dreamed about my old self and they were surprisingly loving and sexy dreams.

Maggie frowned slightly, her brow furrowing as she considered my words. “I’ve heard from some patients that they dream of their old selves. Most donors don’t last that long, so I couldn’t tell you for sure. I’m sure it’s just residual self-image working itself out in your dreams.”

The nurse wrapped things up, shaking her head in a mix of disbelief and admiration. “I can’t explain it. You’re improving each day. I will go ahead and set up the tests for Tuesday.”

As they packed their things and prepared to leave, a surge of emotion welled up inside me. I turned to Maggie, my heart pounding in my chest. “Maggie?”

“Yes, Emma?” she asked, her eyes softening with curiosity.

I reached out and hugged her, the warmth of her embrace made me feel all emotional. “Thank you for giving me a chance,” I murmured, feeling my gratitude pour out. It wasn’t just for the help she offered; it was for believing in me when I had struggled to believe in myself.

“I had no doubts from the very beginning,” Maggie said, her voice steady and reassuring. “Your application told me everything I needed to know. I just had to pry a little to make sure. I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable.” Her sincerity washed over me like a warm wave, easing some of the tension I had carried.

I felt her hand gently brush through my hair, a comforting gesture that reminded me of my own mother’s tenderness.

“Maybe we can get that pizza soon,” I beamed with a playful grin.

“Let’s see how your tests go first,” she added, her tone shifting to one of cautious optimism. “I will be there next week. Take care, Emma.”

After they left, Margo brought a refreshing smoothie out to me by the pool. I was lounging in a chair, absorbed in a book, letting the sun bake its heat into me. The cool, fruity drink was a perfect contrast to the warmth radiating from above.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to offer some advice,” Margo said, settling on the edge of my lounge chair, her expression thoughtful.

“I never turn down good advice,” I replied, intrigued by what she might say.

“I’m not sure how good it is,” she chuckled lightly, “but you need to start thinking long-term.”

“How so?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. I placed my book down to focus on Margo.

“Start setting goals. Things you want to accomplish and do,” she advised, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “You told me you used to love to run on the beach. Set a goal for two months from now to be able to run to the pier and back. That’s about four miles round trip, but I’m sure you could do it if you work up to it slowly.”

Her words ignited a flicker of determination within me. “You’re right. The illness may only be building strength for a final run at me,” I mused, my mind racing with possibilities. “But while I’m feeling better, I should be looking forward.”

Margo nodded, her smile broadening as if she could see the future I was beginning to envision. “Absolutely. Focus on what you can achieve, Emma. One step at a time, and before you know it, you will be running again.” Her encouragement wrapped around me like the sun's rays, and I couldn’t help but feel a growing bud of hope blossoming in my chest.

“You also need to do something about your looks,” Margo said gently, her brow furrowing in concern. “You still look ill, even though you’re getting better. You’re not using the right products in your hair, and you could use some makeup to cover up the dark circles under your eyes. If I were a betting person, I would wager you’re even using your old toothbrush. Get some new things that will make it easier on yourself. If you look good when you look in the mirror, that’s half the battle. You want to look healthy.”

Her words hit me like a splash of cold water, jolting me from my exhaustion-induced haze. I had been so focused on simply surviving each day that I hadn’t thought much about living and how I presented myself. Even though I felt weak, I adored every moment of being female; it was a dream I never expected to come true. Yet, in the back of my mind, I wondered how long I would have this opportunity. If I only had a few weeks to live, why not spend that time experiencing everything I could? I wanted to dress up, look pretty, and fully embrace my femininity.

“Again, you’re right, but I don’t know where to begin,” I admitted, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I would be happy to show you,” she replied, her enthusiasm infectious.

“It doesn’t bother you that I was a man before?” I asked, a mix of vulnerability and curiosity in my tone.

“Not at all! I find it intriguing to watch how you cope. I always wanted to see a man try to live as a woman. It’s not as easy as the movies make it out to be,” she said with a knowing smile.

“Thanks for that,” I murmured, feeling a surge of warmth from her acceptance.

“One more thing,” Margo continued, her expression growing serious. “You should consider getting rid of a lot of your old things. It’s a way to focus on the new you. One day, you might feel good enough to have someone special over, and the last thing you would want is to have them question why your place is filled with men’s things.”

“Maybe we can get some boxes and donate some stuff,” I suggested, even if the idea didn’t quite sit right with me.

“I know this is a lot to think about, and you’re still too weak to do much,” she said gently, her gaze full of understanding. “But I’m here to help out any way I can.”

“Thank you, Margo,” I said sincerely, feeling grateful for her support.

“Are you ready to go shopping?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing at the thought of stepping into the world as the woman I wanted to be. “Yes, let’s do it,” I replied, my voice more resolute than I felt. The prospect of shopping filled me with a nervous thrill, the excitement bubbling beneath my skin. It was time to reclaim my life, to embrace this new chapter, and I couldn’t wait to see where it would take me.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan was mentally exhausted by the time Missy and Claire finally headed out the door. At first, things had gone smoothly, laughter and inside jokes filling the room just like before. But then Missy, with her trademark mischief and unfiltered curiosity, had asked about seeing Declan’s "new parts." It was so typically Missy; she had always been the type to flirt and push boundaries with the guys. Declan had tried to laugh it off, but it left him feeling unsettled, wondering if things would ever truly go back to the way they had been. Could he still be close to his friends, or would this change create a permanent divide?

Sensing his discomfort, his mom suggested, “Declan, maybe you should think about taking a trip. It’s not that we don’t want you here; it’s more that you’ve not had much chance to travel, see the world, and live a little.” She watched him thoughtfully, her eyes filled with concern and compassion.

“What are you thinking, Mom?” Declan asked, curious but hesitant. His mother’s ideas often leaned towards life lessons disguised as adventures.

“Start small,” she said gently. “Maybe a two or three-day trip somewhere in the States. A place you haven’t been to but always wanted to see. And if that goes well, maybe plan something bigger like a few months to travel the world and immerse yourself in new experiences.”

“Would you come with me?” he asked, a part of him already anticipating her response but needing to ask anyway.

She chuckled softly and shook her head. “As much as I would love to see new places with you, I think this is something you need to do alone. You need time to really get to know this new version of yourself. And traveling solo is one of the best ways to do that. S.L.E.P. recommended this too, you know. They’ve helped people through this process many times before; they know what it takes to get grounded in this new reality you’re experiencing.”

Declan turned his gaze outside, watching as snow swirled past the window, whipped sideways by the wind. The cold world beyond the glass seemed miles away from the warmth of the conversation. A small thrill of excitement began to build in his chest as he thought about it. “Maybe I should go somewhere warm, like Florida. A beach, some sunshine, just… a change,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face as he began to picture it.

 

***

Emma

 

Margo was so thoughtful, guiding me through our shopping trip with a gentle touch, knowing how easily I wore out. She set the pace, making sure I could manage each stop without pushing myself too far. Our first destination was a beauty salon. The stylist’s hands were sure and skillful as she washed and styled my hair, and Margo insisted they teach me which shampoos and conditioners would be best for my hair type. It felt strange, but good, this attention, this care. By the time they finished, I hardly recognized myself. My hair had a softness and volume I had never known it could have. I was mesmerized, touching it to make sure it was real.

Then, I found myself asking for something that surprised Margo, my nails. She gave me a curious look, lifting an eyebrow when I picked out a light pink polish. I knew I would have to explain at some point. She didn’t yet know that things like painted nails were something I had only ever dreamed of before. But now, watching my hands transformed as each nail gleamed with that beautiful soft color, I felt a rush of happiness I hadn’t expected. I felt, for the first time, a little closer to who I was always meant to be.

Next, we went to a large clothing store, a place where racks and rows of beautiful, vibrant things stretched before me. Margo, ever the guide, insisted I sit and rest as she carefully selected pieces for me to try. Pants and tops, all flowing past me as she pulled them from hangers, holding them up for my approval. Eventually, I had to ask her to stop bringing pants. I explained lightly, saying, “If I do regain some weight, they wouldn’t fit long anyway.” But the truth was simpler: I wanted dresses. Only dresses. Somehow, slipping into those delicate fabrics made me feel more alive, as if I were stepping further into myself with each one.

At our last stop, Margo led me to a makeup counter. The clerk, bright-eyed and friendly, expertly guided me through each step, gently applying eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner, and finally a soft, subtle lipstick. It was the first time I looked at myself in the mirror and saw someone beautiful staring back, not just the reflection of someone that could be beautiful.

By the time we made it back home, my body was heavy with exhaustion, every step a reminder of how fragile I still was. But I was exhilarated, a feeling so new I could barely hold it. Margo carefully put everything away, filling my closet and drawers with a rainbow of dresses, nightgowns, and new essentials, an exercise bra, a bikini, fresh shoes, and the makeup and bath items she knew would bring me a sense of comfort. They were more than things. They were a promise to myself.

Finally, I drifted to the chaise lounge in the living room, sunlight warming the cushions. I curled up, sinking into its softness, my eyelids heavy but my heart light. I couldn’t stop smiling. As I slipped into sleep, I imagined the dreams I knew would surely come.

 

***

Declan

 

By the following Monday, Declan found himself standing in line, waiting to board a flight to Tampa Bay. He clutched his phone with his electronic boarding pass tightly, feeling a bit nervous. Three days of sun and sand sounded exactly like what he needed to ease into this new world he was still learning to navigate, bit by bit. Stepping out like this, taking a trip on his own, was his first real venture out as a young man, an identity that still felt new, like a pair of shoes that fit but needed breaking in.

His last public outing in New York had been tough enough, but this felt different somehow. In New York, he had been among the throngs of people, anonymous in a way that allowed him to sink into the crowd, unnoticed. But boarding a plane, he felt exposed, vulnerable to a stranger’s gaze or, worse, judgment. What if someone looked too closely, noticed something slightly off? Would they see him as a fraud, as a woman trying to live as a man?

Once he made it through the checkpoint, he stopped in front of the airport restroom, feeling the familiar hesitation. Could he do it? Walking into the vastly public men’s room felt like crossing some invisible line, a barrier that shouldn’t have felt intimidating but did. He had only ever done his business in the privacy of a private bathroom. This lack of privacy was new and unsettling, a reminder of the many small challenges he faced every day now. The bustling restroom offered no reassurance, only reinforced how much he still felt like an outsider.

The flight, thankfully, was uneventful. He did miss being smaller as his knees pressed against the seat in front of him, but it was a small price to pay for the added health and strength. He kept to himself, eyes fixed on the clouds passing by, trying to steady his thoughts. When he finally arrived, the taxi ride from the airport to the TradeWinds Island Grand Resort in St. Petersburg felt like a passage into another world. The Caribbean-blue waters sparkled under the sun, and Declan felt a wave of calm sweep over him. He had always loved the ocean, the endless horizon, the way the waves seemed to call him forward. It had been too long since he had felt the sand under his feet, and he ached for that connection.

After checking into his room, he stood by the window, looking out at the water. The view was breathtaking. This was why he had come to reconnect with himself in a way he couldn’t for so many years. He wanted to feel the world around him, feel at home in his own skin.

In his room, Declan changed into his swim trunks, feeling a small thrill at the simplicity of it. He pulled on flip-flops, grabbed a towel, and was ready to go. No fuss, no muss, no worry about hair or matching tops. It was freeing.

He wandered out to the beach, taking in the warm breeze and the sound of the waves. Sparse clusters of people lounged around him, but he felt at ease for once, like he could blend into the background. Finding an empty lounge chair, he sat down and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head in what he imagined was a casual, “guy” posture. He had seen men do this a thousand times, and now he tried it, mimicking the easy, relaxed manner they seemed to carry.

As he lay there, the sun on his face, Declan felt a quiet satisfaction settle within him. He let the noise of the beach fall away, focusing on the smell of salt and sunscreen. This trip wasn’t just about relaxation. It was about allowing himself to grow into this new identity, to breathe it in, piece by piece, with every grain of sand, every ray of sunshine. Here, on this beach, he didn’t feel like a fraud or an outsider. Here, he felt like himself.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I get you something from the bar?”

Declan pulled his sunglasses down, glancing up at the man in a hotel uniform standing beside him.

“William! What the hell are you doing here at the hotel?” The man’s voice rang out with casual warmth.

Declan’s mind went blank. His heart skipped a beat as he looked around, confused. William? He managed to offer a polite smile. “You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

The man chuckled, unfazed. “Ha hah. You’re funny, William. Listen, I won’t say anything to anyone. Haven’t seen you in about two years, man. Ever since…” He trailed off, glancing away, an awkward apology flickering across his face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be bringing that up.”

And just like that, he started to turn, preparing to walk away. Declan felt a jolt of desperation. This stranger… knew William. This man could tell him something, anything, about the person whose life and body had become his own. He reached out, fumbling in his wallet, pulling out a card with trembling fingers.

“Wait,” he called, his voice tinged with urgency. The man paused, glancing back as Declan extended the card. “My name’s Declan Rawlings. I’m… I’m the recipient of… well, you called me William’s body.”

The man’s eyes widened as he took in the words on the card. “Oh, man! I’ve heard about S.L.E.P.! Seen those commercials on TV… So, you’re… really not William?”

Declan’s throat felt tight as he nodded. “No, I’m not. It’s only been a few weeks, but… I was dying, and this man, William… he gave up his life for me. I don’t know why, but he did.”

The man stood frozen, absorbing the revelation, sorrow and awe flashing in his eyes. “Damn. That sounds just like him. William was always… well, selfless doesn’t even cover it. This is exactly something he would do. I’m sorry, Declan… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The man handed back the card, looking shaken, as if he were seeing a ghost.

“Wait… sir? Please?” Declan called after him, feeling a fresh surge of desperation. “You knew William. I’m… we’re not allowed to know anything about our donor. It’s the rules, but… anything you could tell me about him, I would be grateful.”

The man looked down for a moment, swallowing, before he met Declan’s eyes. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.” He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to Declan. Then, with a small nod, he added, “I get off in an hour. Buy me a beer, and I will tell you what I know. Deal?”

Declan’s face broke into a smile. Relief flooded his body, and he managed a quiet, heartfelt “Deal. Thank you.”

As the man turned back toward the bar, Declan sank back into his chair, thoughts tumbling over each other. The strange coincidence, the name “William” echoing in his ears, sent a chill down his spine. Here, of all places, he had felt like a stranger in his own skin just moments ago, and now, there was a piece of this puzzle waiting to be discovered. It was as though the universe had granted him this moment to meet someone who had known William beyond a name and a face.

As he sat there, Declan felt a stirring, a deep, unshakeable respect for the man he had to somehow live up to.

 

***

Emma

 

Two miles. That sounded like a lot, a long stretch of sand between me and the pier. I wrapped my sweater around me a little tighter, wondering if Margo would even notice if I took a cab. Just a quick, inconspicuous ride, I thought, glancing back at the beach house nestled between the condos. But I decided to walk. I needed this; needed to push myself, to feel my legs moving again on my own terms. Not long ago, I had trekked mountain paths in the Himalayas, confident and capable. Now, a quick swim left me winded. My body still felt like a fragile stranger, one I was working hard to know.

The past few days, I had kept to short swims and gentle walks, Margo pacing me through each little triumph. Every morning, she taught me how to apply makeup, a ritual that felt oddly like creating a mask I was becoming used to. And each day, she encouraged me to try some new food, a bite of sushi, a sliver of chocolate cake, little pleasures I had almost forgotten. I was healing, slowly, and I knew it in the strangest ways. My stomach growled more often, and every so often, I caught myself looking forward to something, whether it was a warm bath, or a new dress Margo had set aside for me.

I had made it about half a mile when I turned to face the endless stretch of beach ahead of me. The pier was still a distant mirage, too far to make out, and I knew I had hit my limit. My legs ached, but there was a determination in me, a quiet resolve. Turning back toward the house, I told myself I would run the last bit, just a short sprint once I was close. It would be better to push myself near the safety of home than risk collapsing halfway between here and there.

Just then, I heard a whistle. I paused, blinking in confusion as two men jogged past me, glancing over their shoulders with a smile. My first instinct was to look around, expecting to see someone behind me, someone they had noticed. But there was no one else. The thought took a moment to settle. Could they have been whistling at me?

A rush of excitement bubbled up. It was silly, maybe, vain perhaps, but the idea that someone might think I was worth a second look, might even find me attractive, was thrilling in a small, unexpected way. And yet, as quickly as it came, the excitement faded. I was all too aware of my fragility, my weakness. If something happened, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. My eyes darted toward the house, its silhouette small in the distance. I noticed three more men further back on the beach, their shapes still dark against the soft, sandy expanse. A chill ran down my spine. Run, Emma.

Without thinking, I took off, my feet sinking into the soft sand with every stride. My heart hammered in my chest, more from panic than exertion, and the bitter air stung as I gasped for breath. Within seconds, my legs were trembling, my lungs burning. I wasn’t used to this. But I couldn’t stop, not yet. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, the men still behind me, though at a casual distance. Keep going, Emma. The house was closer now, but each step felt heavier than the last. My pace slowed as my legs buckled, and finally, I stumbled to a stop, collapsing onto the cool, gritty sand, gasping for air.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

I looked up, my vision blurred and dizzy. The three men were standing over me, their faces concerned, shadows against the afternoon sun.

“Should we call a doctor?”

“No… My… house…” I managed, pointing to my house not far away, willing myself to stay calm even as my heart raced.

“Do you think you can walk?” the man asked, his gaze genuinely worried.

“I just… overexerted myself. I haven’t been well,” I admitted, hoping it would explain my breathlessness and trembling.

Without a second thought, he bent down, scooping me up with ease. My cheeks flushed as I wrapped my arms around his neck, steadying myself. There was a strange comfort in his strength. I felt so fragile in his arms, a weightless version of myself. Once, I had been strong too, capable of carrying heavy backpacks up rugged mountainsides, striding through dense forests with confidence. Now, all I could do was marvel at his solidity, that raw health I had lost and was desperately trying to regain.

I guided them down the beach, my house coming into view just as Margo rushed out, her expression a confluence of alarm and relief. The man carried me through the doorway, carefully setting me down on the couch. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, studying me with concern before finally nodding as Margo assured him that I was in good hands.

“Thank you!” I called out as he and his friends headed back toward the beach. They waved, casting a few glances back, likely reassured that I had made it home safely.

The moment they were gone, Margo turned to me, hands on her hips. “What were you thinking?”

I shrugged, feeling foolish. “I was afraid. Two men whistled at me, and then those three came up behind me. I panicked and ran. I know it’s silly…”

“Not silly, just a little healthy fear,” Margo said gently, softening her expression. “Very few people would try anything in broad daylight on the beach, but it’s good to trust your instincts. Fear can keep us safe, but it can also make us react before we really need to.”

She straightened, seeming to assess my exhaustion. “What can I get for you?”

“Just a blanket,” I said, wanting to melt back into the couch and nap away my embarrassment.

But Margo shook her head firmly. “I’m not letting you nap. Not today. I want you to get up and help me in the kitchen.”

“Margo,” I groaned. “I’m exhausted…”

“As well you should be,” she agreed, smirking. “But no naps today. I’m making pizza and could use your help.”

I sat up, and right on cue, my stomach growled. Pizza sounded better than sleep.

“Really?” I asked, trying to hide my grin.

“Yes. And I will eat every last slice myself if you don’t come help me,” she teased, crossing her arms and daring me with a look.

“That’s torture,” I protested, but the smell of the dough and sauce was already drawing me to my feet, tempting me to push through my tiredness. I felt shaky, a little unsteady on my legs, but Margo had been right about everything so far. Besides, she knew me well enough to know pizza was a weakness I couldn’t resist.

With a sigh that turned into a laugh, I followed her into the kitchen, anticipation bubbling up in me alongside a strange warmth, a reminder that, with every small step, I was getting stronger.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan extended his hand, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. “I guess formal introductions are strangely necessary. Declan Rawlings.”

The man shook his hand firmly, though his brow furrowed. “Joe Moran.”

Declan nodded, then ordered two beers at the bar and led Joe to a small table overlooking the beach. The hum of the waves offered a calm backdrop, but Declan’s mind churned with the storm of all he didn’t know, and desperately needed to know about William.

Joe studied him, shaking his head as he took a sip. “I still can’t get over that you’re not William. The resemblance, the way you carry yourself… it’s uncanny.”

Declan tried to smile, though it was tinged with the strangeness he felt. “Maybe we could start with basics. What was William’s full name?”

“William Matson,” Joe replied, his voice softening. “We went to high school together. He had… well, a rough start. Lost his parents young, and then, a few years ago, he lost his wife.”

Declan’s stomach twisted. He had inherited this man’s body but knew nothing of his life, his pain. “That’s… heartbreaking. Did he have children?”

Joe’s eyes dropped, sadness etching lines across his face. “That’s the tragedy of it. William adored kids. Even before he married Diane, he would travel, working in orphanages around the world, giving those kids all he had. Then Diane came along, and he finally settled down. They lived just a few miles from here. I remember how excited he was when she told him she was pregnant. It was all he talked about.”

Joe paused, and Declan felt the heaviness of what was coming.

“Then… I saw it on the news. Diane had been in an accident, killed instantly, along with their unborn child. William was devastated. Not long after, he packed up and went away for months. I think he ended up in Kathmandu or somewhere in Nepal, working at a… Parkour orphanage, or maybe it was Pashawar? He found some solace in helping others, at least as much as he could.”

Declan’s heart sank as he listened, trying to process the depth of William’s losses, the noble heart that had endured so much suffering. “I can’t imagine. And yet… he just kept going?”

Joe looked up, his eyes almost searching Declan’s. “That was the kind of man he was. With all that hurt, he didn’t turn bitter or cold. If he thought you needed something, he would give it to you, no questions asked. A few years back, I was down on my luck, moving places without a dollar to spare. He shows up with a truck, three guys, boxes of pizza, a few beers, and we got it done. That was William.”

Declan’s throat tightened, emotions swirling within him. He felt a duty to William, to honor him somehow, yet the weight of that responsibility felt crushing. “Did he have other friends here? People who might be able to tell me more?”

Joe drained the last of his beer, his eyes distant, as though looking at a ghost. “Listen, Declan, you seem like a decent guy. I think William would have been glad that you’re the one who… well, who has his body now. But it’s just too strange for me. Knowing he’s gone…” Joe trailed off, getting up from the table and giving Declan a quick nod. “Thanks for the beer. I will go home and raise a glass in his honor.”

Declan opened his mouth, desperate to keep the conversation going, to find out more about this man whose life had been woven, in a way, into his own. But Joe was already halfway across the sand, his figure blending into the evening light as he disappeared down the beach.

Later that night, alone in his room, Declan found himself staring at the ceiling, a strange ache twisting through him. “I don’t deserve this body,” he whispered, the words sounding hollow and raw in the silence. “I’m not fit to walk in your shoes, William, but… thank you. I will try to live a life worthy of you.” The words were spoken more to himself than anyone, a solemn vow in the quiet of his room, as if somehow, wherever he was, William might hear and understand.

 

***

Emma

 

By the time I crawled into bed around eight last night, exhaustion had swallowed me whole. It felt strange, though good, to settle down so early. I didn’t wake up until morning, twelve full hours of sleep, and for once, I hadn’t taken a nap during the day. That felt like a huge step forward for me. Margo was right to keep me moving yesterday; she was a great mother, no question about it. I could see her natural instincts in the way she looked after me, like caring for me was as easy as breathing for her.

This morning, I knew Maggie would be picking me up to head to the hospital, and I wanted to look as put-together as possible, even if it was only for a string of medical tests. I chose a red dress, something vibrant. After a careful shower, I styled my hair and took my time with the makeup. For the first time, I got it right on the first try. I felt...good and I looked good.

Margo had breakfast ready for me, and I managed to finish two eggs, a piece of bacon, and a slice of toast. She wouldn’t let me have coffee or tea, those were strictly off-limits under her watch. Instead, she handed me a glass of her favorite juice blend. I couldn’t complain; I was even starting to like it.

When Maggie arrived, I hugged Margo goodbye and grabbed my things, meeting Maggie by her car.

She looked me over with a big smile. “I can’t get over the changes in you, Emma. It’s only been five days since I last saw you, and you look healthier every time.”

I returned her smile. “I feel better, too. Margo’s got me exercising a bit and swimming. Yesterday, I even tried to run, although it didn’t exactly go smoothly.”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” Maggie said as she pulled out of the driveway.

The drive to St. Petersburg General Hospital was quick. One of the perks of living in an area with so many retirees was the abundance of nearby hospitals.

At check-in, the nurse greeted me warmly, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “You look wonderful, Emma,” she said, leading me to the scale. I held my breath as she noted the number. Ninety-three pounds. She looked impressed. “You’ve gained eleven pounds since Christmas. We would love to see you between one hundred fifteen and one hundred twenty.”

“Me too,” I said cheerfully.

After taking my blood, the nurse informed me that they had ordered an MRI of my brain. “Luckily, we have your older results on file, and someone will assess them today.”

I shifted, nerves prickling in my stomach. “I’m not particularly fond of hospitals,” I admitted, hoping she’d understand.

She patted my arm gently. “I’ve heard as much. Don’t worry, Emma. I promise to have you home by this afternoon.”

The MRI had been an exercise in patience and nerves. The relentless clanging echoed inside the machine, making it nearly impossible to think, let alone relax. And in that cramped, suffocating tube, the walls pressed in until I felt like I was going to crawl right out of my skin. By the time it was over, all I wanted was fresh air and a bit of quiet. The nurse told me to stay close while they reviewed the results with the doctor, so I drifted to the cafeteria, picking at a small salad in the hope it would settle my nerves.

As time ticked by, I found myself wandering the hospital halls, searching for anything to take my mind off the wait. I turned a corner and found myself outside the children’s wing. Without thinking twice, I slipped inside. Watching the little ones, some barely more than babies, hooked up to machines and monitors hit me harder than I expected. They were fighting battles they never should have known about. I found a small bookshelf and began reading to a small group of kids, their eager faces lighting up as I animated each line. For a moment, I forgot about the MRI and everything hanging over me.

When Maggie and the nurse found me, I had five kids gathered around, their little hands clutching their blankets and their eyes wide as I read. Maggie’s smile quickened into a light smirk when she saw us, and I could tell it was hard for either of them to be angry at me. As I hugged each child goodbye, I felt a swell of hope that maybe, just maybe, I would get the chance to have my own kids someday.

Back in a private room, I sat with Maggie, my heart thudding as the nurse went over the results. “I want to start by stating that so far, everything we’re seeing is good news,” she began, her face warm but professional. “The neurological issues noted on your last exam are no longer found.”

I leaned forward, barely breathing as she continued.

“Maggie and I have a theory,” she explained. “It seems there may have been a portion of your brain that was malfunctioning. During the transfer, your healthy brain map took over that function, essentially ‘writing over’ the damaged section. In other words, you appear to be healed as a result of the swapping process.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “That’s... incredible! So, I’m not in any danger of dying anymore?”

“Not entirely,” she said gently, her tone reminding me to temper my hope. “For full certainty, we would need to continue tests. We will need bloodwork once a week and another MRI in a few months. The enzymes and proteins needed to metabolize your food also appear to be increasing, and your overall health is on an upward trend. But you’re not out of the woods yet. Your body weight is still too low, and your muscle mass has deteriorated. Continue with swimming and walking, and, in a few weeks, I will recommend you try gentle yoga, light weights, and some very light cardio. But stay away from stimulants until your heart stabilizes.”

Maggie reached over, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Congratulations, Emma,” she said, beaming. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Disappointed? This is the best news I have ever been given.”

As we headed back home, the reality of what I had heard began to sink in, filling me with hope I hadn’t dared to feel. At a stoplight, I gazed absently out the window, catching a glimpse of someone in a taxi next to us. For a split second, my heart jolted. I could have sworn it was… me. The old me, just as I had been. But when I blinked, he was gone.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan tried hard all day to forget the conversation he had with Joe yesterday, but it clung to him like an unwelcome shadow. He ran along the beach for miles, reveling in the exhilaration of his new body. Each stride felt powerful and unyielding, as if he could run forever without tiring. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore invigorated him, filling his lungs with the salty air, yet the thrill of his physical prowess could only distract him for so long.

Later, he swam in the resort pools, immersing himself in the cool water, feeling weightless as he glided beneath the surface. He spent another hour staring at his reflection in the mirror, tracing the contours of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. “What happened to you, William?” he whispered to himself, a blend of frustration and longing in his voice. “You had everything going for you, and you gave it all up. If I had met you before all of this, I’m certain I would have fallen in love with you.” He sighed, knowing that each night, Emma came to him in dreams, haunting and vivid, but always just out of reach. “When I return home, I have a question or two for Henry about those dreams,” he promised himself. “Every night, you come to me as the old me.”

It was late afternoon when Declan finally pushed aside his restless thoughts and headed down to the hotel concierge, determined to find a pizza place in town that could break the monotony of resort food. He approached the desk, a hint of eagerness in his stride.

“Hello! I’m looking for a good pizza place,” he said, leaning on the counter. “Any recommendations?”

The concierge glanced up, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “There aren’t many really great places here, but I’ve heard good things about Toby’s Original out on Forty-Ninth Street. You can take a cab from here, straight down Thirty-Eighth, past the St. Petersburg General Hospital, and then turn right on Forty-Ninth.”

“Thank you!” Declan smiled, already imagining the taste of gooey cheese and tangy sauce.

Pizza had always been a comfort food for him, and escaping the hotel Wi-Fi was imperative for his mental well-being; all he wanted was to find out more about William, the man who had inhabited this body before him. After hailing a cab and getting settled, he picked up his phone, dialing his mother to fill her in on how things were going.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, excitement bubbling in his voice. “Things are going great! I ran into someone yesterday who thought I was someone else. He actually knew the person that had this body before me.”

“Are you certain?” her voice was tinged with surprise.

“Absolutely,” Declan replied, his heart racing. “It was… interesting. He told me a little bit about William. Mom, he was an amazing person…”

His words trailed off as the taxi came to a halt at a red light. While waiting for the signal to change, Declan turned his head casually, only to freeze when he caught sight of two women in a car beside them. For an instant, he swore he was looking at his old self. A chill ran down his spine, and he couldn’t breathe.

The light turned green, and as the cab lurched forward. Declan craned his neck as the other car turned.

“Stop the car!” Declan shouted, his voice a mix of urgency and panic.

The driver glanced back at him, eyebrows raised, clearly thinking he had lost his mind. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Pull to the side! Let me out!” Declan insisted, his heart racing. He could still see the fleeting glimpse of that familiar face in the other car, and he was desperate to chase after them.

“Declan, what’s going on?” his mother’s voice crackled through the phone, a hint of concern in her tone.

“Just one second, Mom,” he replied, his eyes locked on the car as it began to move away from him.

Finally, the cab driver complied, pulling over to the curb. Declan jumped out, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he watched the car with the two women drive off into the distance. “No, no, no!” he muttered, feeling like he was losing a piece of himself.

As he turned to get back into the cab, the driver crossed his arms, his skepticism evident. “What now?”

“Can you follow that car?” Declan pointed north, urgency lacing his words.

“Man, you’re crazy! I’m heading east. It will take me five minutes to turn around. That car will be long gone.” The driver’s irritation was palpable.

Declan’s heart sank. “Fine… just keep going to the pizza place.”

“Declan? What’s going on?” his mother’s voice came again, more alarmed now.

“I swear I just saw my old body.”

 

***

Emma

 

“It was the strangest feeling, Maggie,” I said, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that had flooded me since I caught a glimpse of that familiar figure. “I’m positive I just saw my old body back at the light.”

Maggie leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowing in thought. “I’ve had other donors say similar things. It’s a leftover from the transfer process. It’s sort of like when someone loses a body part, they can still feel it, you know? We’ve had patients and donors experience déjà vu-like symptoms. It can be disorienting.”

I considered her words, nodding slowly. “I guess that makes sense. It’s just... bizarre. What do you think my chances are?”

“About your health?” she clarified, catching the weight of my question. I nodded, my heart thumping in my chest.

“I’m not a doctor, Emma,” she admitted, a soft smile playing at her lips, as if trying to lighten the gravity of the moment.

“Have you seen anyone recover after a transformation?” I pressed, my curiosity mingling with a thread of hope.

Maggie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Just one. Sometimes I think the patient gives up on themselves even when there’s little wrong with them. A new life and perspective can make all the difference in the world.”

A spark ignited within me. “I’m going to run a half-marathon this year, and I’m going to Kathmandu.”

“What’s in Kathmandu?” she asked, tilting her head, intrigued.

“The Paropakar Orphanage,” I replied, my heart swelling at the thought. “I spent a few months there early last year, and it changed my life.”

Maggie’s expression shifted, concern knitting her brows together. “International travel is hard on a body, Emma. Don’t even consider it until you’re at your target weight.”

I felt a bubble of excitement well up inside me, almost giddy at the thought of what lay ahead. “I had pizza last night for dinner,” I said, a grin breaking across my face.

“What’s with you and pizza?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“It has everything a young woman needs,” I declared, my enthusiasm infectious. “What a blessing this has been!”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward, her expression turning earnest.

I took a deep breath, the words tumbling out as I reflected on my journey. “I mean, I was so depressed, down on myself, struggling with the loss of my wife and unborn child and grappling with my own identity issues. I gave up my life willingly and became that which I always felt I should be. No matter what happens from here on out, I will always look upon Christmas Day last year as the day my life really became worth living.”

Maggie nodded, her eyes warm and understanding. “You know we’ve never offered a patient any options other than their own gender before because we never had anyone in your situation. You’re a good person, Emma. I’m genuinely glad everything has worked out for you. Truly, I am.”

“Do you think the patient lives near Norwalk?” I asked, curiosity bubbling to the surface despite Maggie’s warning.

“Don’t even think about it!” she replied, her tone sharp, but concern flickered in her eyes.

“Why not? If you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you want to know they didn’t have to carry around the guilt of taking someone else’s life? That it all worked out for everyone? I still dream of him every night. It’s like we’re connected somehow,” I insisted, feeling a surge of determination.

“You don’t know that’s the case,” Maggie said, her voice steady but urgent. “Them seeing their old body alive and well might send them into a deep depression. They chose this as a last chance at life. In other words, they would never have chosen this option otherwise.”

I sighed, “I understand the logic, but people aren’t always logical. It could really help them move on with their life. Plus, you could always switch us back if it was too much for them.”

“Didn’t you read the fine print? The procedure doesn’t allow for reversal. It’s not technologically possible yet due to brain transfer damage.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up. “It’s not like I want my old body back anyway. I love being Emma Taylor, even if I’m weaker than a dried-up twig in the desert.”

“My advice to you is to cherish what you have, forget about the past, and move on with your life. If you find your dreams about your old body sexy, then consider going out on a date with a guy. Maybe that will help you cope.”

“Sexy would be an understatement,” I said, a grin creeping across my face despite the heaviness in my heart. “When will I see you next?”

“You’re on your own unless for some reason you regress. You don’t need me anymore, and I must move on to other clients. It’s been an honor, Emma. There are not many souls like yours in this world.”

“Thank you, Maggie. For everything. I will send you a postcard from Nepal.” My voice cracked slightly from the friendship we had developed.

Maggie leaned over and hugged me tightly, and I inhaled the scent of her warm, comforting presence. “Take care, Emma.”

“You too, Maggie.”

As I rushed into the house, a burst of energy surged through me, and I spotted Margo in the living room. I ran to her and threw my arms around her in a giant hug. “They say I’m cured!”

Margo pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with joy. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time! It’s time to celebrate.”

 

***

Declan

 

Declan had one more day in the Tampa area, and a sense of urgency drove his actions. He needed to uncover more about William, the man whose life had intertwined so dramatically with his own. In a way, he felt an overwhelming responsibility, not just to himself, but to the ghost of William’s past. The search wasn’t just an idle curiosity; it was a desperate quest for understanding, for closure, and perhaps even for redemption.

Years of being bedridden and in and out of hospitals had turned Declan into a master of Internet searches. What had begun as a way to escape the confines of his hospital room had blossomed into a skill he now relied upon heavily. He could dig up information on just about anything, and today, William Matson was his target. He knew that the S.L.E.P. organization, with its clandestine operations, had a reputation for erasing every trace of its donors, but he was determined not to let that deter him.

Settling in front of his laptop, he snapped a quick selfie. He dove into Google’s image search, fingers flying over the keyboard as he sifted through thousands of photos. Hours slipped away until he stumbled upon an image from a local newspaper that sent chills down his spine.

“Diane Matson, twenty-four years old and resident of Indian Shores, was pronounced dead on arrival at a hospital in Valdosta, Georgia, Thursday night. She was traveling to Asheville, NC, to visit with her parents to share the good news that she was pregnant. William Matson, as seen in their wedding photo above, was notified yesterday. Funeral services are to be held next Tuesday at…”

As the words blurred, tears welled up in Declan’s eyes, spilling over and trickling down his cheek. The image of a vibrant young woman, full of life and potential, lingered in his mind. “Maybe I shouldn’t look any further?” he murmured to himself, his voice thick with emotion. “Perhaps he was so broken by the death of his wife and child that he wanted to end his life? But what if that was the old me in the car yesterday? Wouldn’t he want to know what a good thing he did for me?”

William had been financially stable, even wealthy enough to give Declan a million dollars to start anew. The thought twisted in Declan’s gut, bringing both admiration and sadness. The pieces of this man's life were beginning to fit together, but there was still a haunting mystery at its center. One more search, he thought, clenching his fists in determination. The article had suggested William lived in Indian Shores; there had to be tax records that hadn’t been scrubbed clean. Surely the S.L.E.P. team, despite their resources, couldn’t erase everything.

He navigated to the county tax records, heart pounding with anticipation. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he scoured the data. When he finally found it, no current holdings but one property listed not long ago, his breath caught in his throat. The records showed a home not far from the hotel, but the name had been switched to Emma Taylor several weeks back, on Christmas Day.

“That has to be it… Emma Taylor…” The name echoed in his mind, a whisper of possibility. Without fully processing what he was doing, Declan hailed a taxi, urgency propelling him forward. He was lost in thought, envisioning the world that awaited him in Indian Shores, the chance to discover more about William and perhaps bridge the gap between their two lives.

As the taxi sped away from the hotel, the cityscape blurred past, but in Declan’s heart, a flicker of hope ignited. What if the woman he thought was in the other car was Emma Taylor, in her old body? What if Emma was still out there, grappling with the same feelings that now consumed Declan? He had to find out.

 

***

Emma

 

“Time to wake up, Emma!”

I sat up slowly, blinking against the morning light streaming through the curtains, feeling groggy and disoriented. My heart sank when I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. Nine in the morning. I had been sleeping in until ten most days, relishing every precious moment of rest as my body fought to recover. I tossed on my robe, wondering what Margo was up to today.

“There you are, Emma!” Margo called out from the kitchen, her voice cheerful and bright, as if she hadn’t just woken me from a deep slumber. “Drink up your breakfast smoothie and get ready to go.”

“Go where?” I asked, still half-asleep and trying to process her enthusiasm.

“The gym! To celebrate that you’re getting better, I took it upon myself to arrange for a personal trainer for you. Your first session is in just under an hour.”

“A personal trainer?” My heart raced a little at the thought, but not all of it was excitement.

Margo nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing with her enthusiasm. “There’s only so much my good nutrition can do for you. You need to recover your muscle mass and get stronger.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, a smile creeping onto my lips. “At least I have a good excuse if I can’t lift much weight. You didn’t get me the kind of personal trainer that yells at me all the time, did you?”

“You will just have to wait and see.” Margo winked at me mischievously, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

With a resigned sigh, I took a big sip of my smoothie, letting the cool blend of fruits and vegetables wash over my tongue. It was surprisingly refreshing and invigorating, and I could feel the nutrients working their magic. Margo’s insistence had me pulling my hair back into a ponytail, not bothering much with the rest of my appearance.

In just twenty minutes, I was ready to go. I took a deep breath, the nerves bubbling in my stomach, mingling with a sense of anticipation.

“You’re going to love this, Emma,” Margo said as she grabbed her keys and ushered me toward the door, her excitement infectious.

“Is that so?” I replied, trying to sound skeptical, but my own curiosity was beginning to outweigh my reluctance.

Margo pulled out of the driveway, the engine humming as we drove towards the gym. The familiar streets of our neighborhood blurred past, but today felt different. Each passing moment was a reminder that I was moving forward, I had a life to start building towards.

“Are you nervous?” Margo asked, glancing at me with a knowing smile.

“A little,” I admitted, feeling a flutter of anxiety in my chest. “What if I can’t keep up? What if I fail?”

“You won’t fail,” she assured me, her voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve already come so far, Emma. This is just another step. Just remember, it’s not about being perfect. It’s about progress.”

I wasn’t just working out for the sake of fitness; I was reclaiming my strength, my identity, and my future. As we pulled into the gym parking lot, I took a deep breath, feeling a surge of determination. “Alright, let’s do this.”

 

***

Declan

 

Minutes later, Declan pulled up to Emma’s house. He kept the taxi idling in case no one was home or perhaps Emma turned out to be the wrong person. Stepping up to the front door, Declan knocked several times and then rang the doorbell. He considered leaving a note, but what would he even say. “Hello, Emma. I hope you’re doing well with my body. Love, Declan.”

Declan laughed at himself. The chances that Emma Taylor was William Matson was pretty far-fetched. Did he really think he would write “Love Declan?”

Turning back to the taxi, Declan gave up the idea even though his heart was pounding with anticipation. There was no telling how William or Emma might react to seeing his old, fit body again.

 

***

Emma

 

“Emma, this is Mike Gager. Mike, meet Emma Taylor.”

As I looked up at Mike. He was shorter than I expected, around five feet nine, and his physique was impressive, bulging muscles that hinted at countless hours spent lifting weights. Yet, something about his stature didn’t quite fit the image I had in my mind. I had always imagined a taller, more commanding figure, like the man of my dreams. That thought caused a sudden flush to creep up my cheeks. Did I just think that?

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

“I will be back in two hours, Emma. Enjoy!” Margo called over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. “You’re leaving me here?” I asked, my voice filled with sudden apprehension.

Margo shot me a reassuring smile. “If you work hard, and I will need confirmation from Mike on that, then maybe I will make you something special for lunch.”

“Right, because nothing motivates like the promise of a special lunch,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at Mike. He seized the moment, guiding me into his office, his hand lingering a little too close to my backside.

“Come and have a seat in my office, Emma. Let’s figure out what your goals are,” he said, his tone a mix of enthusiasm and something else I couldn’t quite place.

Sighing, I pulled up a chair, reminding myself I could be still in bed right now, basking in the comfort of my blankets instead of facing whatever this was.

“Let’s start by you telling me a bit about yourself. You’re obviously not here to lose weight,” he said, a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth.

That stung. I felt a rush of indignation. Maybe it was the surge of hormones in my body, or maybe all women were wired to take offense at any reference to weight. “I’ve spent years in and out of hospitals with a wasting disease,” I replied, my voice firmer than I intended. “The doctors say I’m cured now, so on with life.”

“Great. What are your goals then?” he asked, leaning forward, his interest seemingly genuine.

Did he just brush aside the fact that this body had been ill for so long? I could feel my mood darkening, and I wondered if it was just his lustful, probing eyes or wandering hands that set me off. “Mike, I understand Margo set this up for me, but have you ever worked with someone recovering from an illness before?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady.

“Fitness is fitness. It doesn’t matter where you start; it’s all about results,” he replied, his casual demeanor making me feel smaller.

I crossed my arms, feeling defensive.

Mike’s phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. He answered, his voice fading into the background as I quietly stood, waved goodbye, and slipped back into the gym. I felt a rush of determination; I needed to find someone who understood my unique situation.

I wandered through the space, scanning the various trainers, until my eyes landed on a thirty-something woman in her office. Her walls were plastered with training certificates, each one a testament to her experience and expertise. “Excuse me?” I said, stepping inside. “I’m looking for a trainer. I was introduced to Mike, but I don’t think he can understand my needs.”

“I’m Gail,” she replied, her smile warm and welcoming. “Let’s go someplace more comfortable to talk. Can I get you anything?”

“Emma. No, thank you. I’m good,” I said, following her to a lounge area adorned with comfy seats that seemed to beckon me to sink in and let my guard down.

Once seated, Gail leaned forward, her expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “How long have you been ill, Emma?”

I was immediately impressed by her quick assessment. “Nine years. The doctors just cleared me. They never discovered the root cause, but my brain wasn’t telling my body to produce the enzymes and proteins necessary for metabolizing food properly. Something changed on Christmas Day, and suddenly I’m working again. I wasn’t supposed to make it this long, but each day I’m getting better.”

“That’s wonderful to hear you’re on the mend,” she said, her tone encouraging. “How’s your diet? Do you know if you’re getting the right balance?”

“I have help at home; she’s a nutritionist. I’m eating a wide variety of foods.” I tried to sound confident, but a twinge of uncertainty crept in. Was I really doing enough?

“Where do you want to see yourself in a year?” Gail asked, her eyes locked onto mine, as if she truly wanted to know.

“I need to gain around twenty-two pounds, but I want that to be a healthy mix of muscle and fat. I want to run a half-marathon,” I stated, my voice gaining strength. The thought of crossing that finish line filled me with hope.

“When was your last period?” she asked, her question surprising me.

I paused, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I have no idea,” I admitted, the truth hanging heavy in the air.

“Your body has been stressed, and you’re very thin,” she replied, her tone gentle yet firm. “If we can get your weight up a bit more and make sure you’re not too lean, they should start again. How’s your heart?”

“With my weight being so low, the doctors are still worried about me having a heart attack,” I confessed, my heart racing at the reminder of my fragility.

“All right,” Gail said, her demeanor shifting to one of professionalism. “I will need to perform a few tests on you before we get started. I need to measure your weight, height, body fat percentage, and get your resting heart rate. From there, I can build a plan for you.”

Mike found us thirty minutes later, just as Gail was wrapping up the measurements. He strolled into the room with an air of confidence, as if he owned the place. “Thanks, Gail. I can take over from here. Let’s get you started on the bench press. It was Anna, right?”

Gail’s expression shifted, frustration flickering in her eyes. I felt a surge of irritation rise within me. This was not how I envisioned my day. “Sorry, Mike,” I said firmly, crossing my arms. “I’ve decided Gail is more suitable to be my trainer.”

His glare darted between us, the tension thickening the air, before he scoffed and turned away to follow two pretty women who had just walked in.

“Sorry about that, Gail,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, shaking her head. “Most people don’t realize how many specializations there are in personal training. You can’t take someone in your condition and throw them into a regular routine. Now, if you wanted to become a Miss Universe competitor, then Mike might be the right trainer. But I’m all about balance, motion, core, and body sculpting.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and I could sense her genuine passion for her work.

“Do you think if I gain some weight I would be pretty?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, vulnerability lacing my tone.

Gail leaned in slightly, her expression softening. “You’re already pretty, Emma. Adding weight and toning your muscles will make you look drop-dead gorgeous.”

Her words game me confidence. I wanted to believe her, but insecurity tugged at my thoughts. “What if I don’t reach my goals?” I asked, the doubt creeping into my voice.

“Let’s focus on one step at a time,” she reassured me, her tone steady. “I will need you to get a heart rate monitor. I don’t want your heart rate too high until you can get your weight to at least one hundred and five. For now, let’s start with some core muscle and balance training.”

 

***

Declan

 

The next day, Declan flew home, a swirl of thoughts still dancing in his mind from the trip. As he entered the familiarity of his childhood home, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. Sitting down with his mother at the kitchen table, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders slowly releasing.

“I really needed that little trip. You were right,” he said, looking into her eyes, grateful for her concern. “I want to take three or four months to travel and give myself some time to think about my future. Thankfully, I have time to figure out what I want to do in life.”

His mother studied him, her brow furrowing with curiosity. “Where are you thinking you want to go?”

Declan leaned back, a smile creeping across his face as he pictured the places he longed to explore. “I have always wanted to see Paris. I could go from there to Italy, and then from Italy to Nepal.”

“Nepal?” she repeated, her tone a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“Yes,” he replied, his heart racing at the thought. “There’s an orphanage in Kathmandu that William Matson spent time at.”

His mother’s expression shifted, a shadow of concern crossing her features. “You told me that’s the name of the person who donated their body to you. Why are you doing this?”

Declan took a deep breath, feeling the deepening of his mother’s gaze on her. “I need to get into the head of who he was and why he would be willing to give up his life for mine.”

“Declan, listen to me,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “You’re enamored with this person. That’s understandable, given what he did for you, but you need to move on with your life.”

“I know I need to move on, Mom. It’s hard to explain,” he replied, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I need closure, and I believe taking this trip will help me get there.”

“All right,” she conceded, her expression softening as she considered his words. “But have you thought about your future and your desire to have a family? Do you know what you want?”

Declan paused, staring at the grain of the wooden table. “Some. It’s still too early to tell,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know that men no longer hold interest for me, and I have found myself looking at women. S.L.E.P. made it clear that this would likely happen. Maybe if I meet the right woman, it will all come together for me.”

His mother’s eyes sparkled with understanding, a hint of hope reflected in her gaze. “Just remember, we’re here for you. What about your friends in town? Will you get together with them again?”

Declan shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I doubt it, Mom. It’s all too strange with me being a man now. It’s not like we can go shopping for clothes together or gossip about men anymore. They seem more interested in what I have below my belt than being friends.” He chuckled lightly, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s the phrase? You can’t go home again? It feels almost appropriate.”

His mother reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his. “You will find your way, Declan. This is just the beginning of a new chapter.”

Declan nodded, but uncertainty lingered in the air between them. There was a road ahead, one that would demand courage and self-discovery, and he wasn’t sure what lay at the end.

 

***

Emma

 

It was February twenty-fifth, and I couldn’t believe it had been two months since my transformation. Each morning, as I stood in front of the mirror, the reflection that once felt foreign to me had become familiar. My daily routine of hair, makeup, and all the little rituals of femininity had become second nature, like slipping into a well-worn sweater. I smiled as I glanced at my wardrobe, which had expanded significantly; it was full of vibrant colors and soft fabrics that hugged my curves in all the right places.

For the past six weeks, I had been working out with Gail five days a week. Each session was both challenging and exhilarating, pushing me beyond what I thought I could achieve. With Margo steadily increasing my caloric intake, I felt more energized than ever, and my checkups with the nurse had been moving further apart on the calendar, a clear sign of my progress.

Last week, I celebrated a milestone: my first triple-digit weigh-in. Hitting one hundred pounds was a jump up and down joyful moment, and I couldn’t help but grin at the thought that my bras no longer had gaps, a testament to my body slowly filling out. I was even lightly jogging a mile at a time, a feat that once seemed impossible.

But this morning, I woke to a surprise that caught me off guard: my first period. I hadn’t expected it at all, and my heart raced as I processed what it meant. I quickly drove to the store, my mind buzzing with the ramifications and a slew of questions about what I needed, ultimately picking up a variety of feminine hygiene products that half of them I probably would never need. When I shared the news with Margo later, her reaction was pure delight.

“You’re becoming healthier!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “I can see the glow returning to your face and look at that tan! I’m starting to wonder if I might be able to take some time off. Next month, I need to visit my sister in Canada. Can you survive without me for three or four weeks?”

“I feel so much better and have energy almost all day long now,” I replied, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m feeling healthy enough for a trip myself. We can leave around the same time.”

Margo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Where would you go?”

“Nepal,” I said, excitement bubbling in my chest. “There’s an orphanage there I have spent time at. I want to see how they’re doing and if I can help. Plus, the increase in altitude will give my heart and lungs a much-needed challenge. Gail told me I can start my running training now. A month from now, I should be close to my target weight.”

Margo smiled, the warmth of her approval washing over me. “Once you get to your target weight, you will have to start eating more carefully, you know.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Oh, the joys of being a woman… I will be eating salads for the rest of my life! I better get my fill of pizza in before then.”

Margo laughed, the sound brightening the room. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

“I’m going to try to run the two miles to the pier,” I said, my heart swelling with determination. “And then this afternoon, I will start planning my trip.”

 

***

Declan

 

Declan stared out of his hotel room at the Eiffel Tower, its iconic silhouette framed against the morning sky. He had spent two weeks in Paris so far, and the city was starting to weave itself into his heart, even if it felt a little lonely at times. This was his first real trip, a chance to explore a world beyond the walls he had known for so long. Every day brought new sights, sounds, and flavors, and with each passing moment, he felt more comfortable with his transformation.

He had left for this adventure just a few days after his parents’ anniversary, a joyous occasion that had filled his heart with happiness but also a profound sense of longing. He remembered how his mother had smiled, her eyes sparkling with love for his father. Declan's heart ached at the thought of that kind of love, especially when his dreams about being enamored with his old body haunted him. He feared that no other woman would ever ignite that kind of spark in him.

Determined to embrace his new life, Declan grabbed his backpack and stepped into the vibrant streets of Paris. Today’s destination: the Louvre. As he walked, he felt the familiar rush of testosterone coursing through him, intense and sometimes overwhelming. Women seemed to catch his eye more often, their laughter and grace drawing him in like moths to a flame. Yet, he found himself grappling with the need to fantasize about his old self to find some semblance of release. It was strange at first, but with each passing day as Declan, he was slowly learning to accept the idea of attraction to women, reshaping his understanding of desire.

On his way to the Louvre, he decided to stop at a quaint little coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed espresso and baked pastries enveloped him, offering a moment of solace as he settled into an outside. Absently stirring his coffee, he gazed at the sights, lost in thoughts about his life and William. The warmth of the sun on his face felt good, but suddenly, a shadow blocked it, pulling him from his reverie.

“William? Is that you? What are you doing in Paris?” a voice called out, tinged with disbelief.

Declan looked up to see a stunning brunette woman, her eyes wide with recognition. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” he replied, his voice steady, though his heart raced.

She sat down across from him, laughter escaping her lips, a sound that felt both familiar and foreign. “You were always such a joker. I haven’t seen you in ages. What brings you to Paris?”

“No, really. I don’t know who you are,” Declan said, fumbling through his backpack as he pulled out a business card. He slid it across the table, hoping to clarify. “The William you knew is no longer. I’m Declan Rawlings.”

Her expression faltered, her eyes widening in shock as a tear slipped down her cheek. “What did you do, William? I’m so sorry to bother you, Declan.” She started to stand, her demeanor shifting to one of regret.

“Wait! You knew William? Could you tell me about him?” Declan asked, an urgent need to learn more about William creeping into his voice. He needed to know, to connect the pieces of the man he had become.

The woman hesitated, then turned back, locking eyes with him. “I went to school with him. I’m Nancy Estridge.”

“Please, Nancy. Have a seat,” Declan urged, motioning to the chair across from him.

Nancy sat down, ordered a coffee, and her gaze remained fixed on Declan. “This is so strange. Tell me what you know about William, Declan.”

Declan took a breath, searching for the right words. “Not much, to be honest. The S.L.E.P. team works hard to protect both donors and recipients from having knowledge of each other. The procedure happened on Christmas Day last year. A few weeks later, I went to Florida to clear my head, and that’s when I ran into Joe Moran.”

“Oh my gosh! Joe! I haven’t heard that name in a few years,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up at the mention of an old acquaintance.

“He thought I was William. That’s how I learned William’s name and found some information about Diane’s accident. That’s about all I know, aside from what I have gathered he was very kind and generous.”

“He was the best person I ever knew,” Nancy replied, her voice softening with nostalgia. “I knew William since elementary school. I remember when he missed a week of school. Later, I found out he lost both of his parents. You would think such a tragedy would change someone for the worse, but it only made William a better person.”

Declan nodded, pulling every word about William into his very soul. “So, he lost his parents and, years later, his wife and unborn child… That’s tragic.”

“I guess knowing that you’re not William allows me to share a little more,” Nancy said, taking a deep breath. “I loved William. I wanted to marry him. We started dating after our senior year in high school. One day, he shared with me his desire to have a family and children. That was when I blurted out that I loved him. He was shocked at first and then unloaded on me. He thought I knew he struggled with his identity. You see, he always wanted to be female. I had no idea, and I broke it off with him. For a long time, that revelation kept me away from him until I realized I was still in love with him. By then, it was too late. A year had passed, and William had moved on. He met Diane in college.”

“That must have been devastating for you,” Declan said, empathy lacing his voice.

“It was,” she confessed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When I finally got a chance to speak with him, he was already engaged. He told me he had to move on with his life, and because of my reaction, he feared telling others about his identity issues. Diane was his chance to lead a normal life.”

“Did you stay in touch?” Declan asked gently.

“No. I reached out after Diane was killed, but he was a lost soul. He headed to Nepal to find himself, and I never heard from him again. I’m sure he gave up his life for you to finally be free of his pain.”

“It’s amazing that even at the end of his life, William could be so giving,” Declan mused, absorbing the weight of Nancy’s revelations.

“I have never met anyone like him before,” Nancy said, her voice a blend of admiration and sorrow. “It’s why I never married. I just couldn’t find anyone that could compare. He was truly remarkable. Tell me about yourself, Declan.”

“Not much to tell, really,” he replied, shifting in his seat. “I was twenty-three and had been ill for nine years when S.L.E.P. contacted me about being selected for the program. Ever since the transformation, I have been taking time to find myself and decide what I want in life now that I have one. This is the first time I have traveled anywhere other than my trip to Florida.”

“What do you want in life?” she asked, her eyes reflecting genuine interest.

“A family,” Declan said, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Nancy’s gaze softened, as if she were peering into his soul. “How long are you in town for?”

“Two more weeks before I take the train to Italy for a month.”

“How would you feel if I showed you around Paris?” she asked, her smile returning, brightening her features.

“I would like that very much,” Declan replied, a warmth spreading through him at the thought.

“Great! I know some hidden gems around the city,” she said, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Let’s start with Montmartre. You will love the art scene there!”

 

***

Emma

 

Margo and I traveled to the airport the same day. It was late March, three months since the transfer, and every day I woke up as the woman I had always wanted to be felt like a small miracle. My health continued to improve, and under Margo and Gail’s careful regimen, I was just shy of my target weight. I looked fit and trim; my hair had become silkier, my eyes brighter, and there were no more dark circles beneath them.

I was now running five miles a day, feeling stronger and more alive than I ever had. My goal of completing a half-marathon near the end of the year felt tangible, like a promise waiting to be fulfilled. Everything seemed to be falling into place, except for the persistent ticking of my biological clock and the dreams about my old self that welcomed me in my sleep. I had been asked out at least half a dozen times in the past few weeks, but I declined every invitation, choosing to focus on this trip instead. Maggie insisted that dating could help me move on from those dreams. In her words, how could I be in love with someone I didn’t even know?

As I hugged Margo goodbye at the airport, I felt a rush of gratitude for her support, then turned to head to my gate. My flight itinerary had me stopping in New York before embarking on the longest leg to Tokyo and finally to Nepal. I had an hour to kill at the gate in New York, so I settled back in my seat and began to people-watch, feeling a little like a secret agent undercover. I wondered how many people would suspect that, just three months ago, I had been someone else entirely.

“Samantha? No, wait… you can’t be Samantha. I’m sorry.”

The voice jolted me from my thoughts. I looked up to see a young woman standing a few feet away, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s all right. Did you know Samantha?”

“I still do, sort of. This is so hard to grasp. Were you the guy that…? Wow! You look great! I thought Samantha was dying?”

“Do you have time to sit?” I asked, intrigued.

The young woman glanced at her phone. “About thirty minutes. I’m Missy Franklin.”

“Emma Taylor,” I introduced myself. “I never knew Samantha’s name before now.”

“Samantha Rawlings was my best friend. After the change, she sort of distanced herself from everyone. How come you look so good?”

“The doctors believed Samantha’s brain had a malfunction in the area responsible for nutrient absorption. When the transformation occurred, either that part of the brain was overwritten or it moved to another location. Either way, this body was healed.”

Missy’s eyes widened, and she shook her head in disbelief. “I have to take your picture. Declan will never believe this.”

“Declan?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Declan Rawlings. Samantha’s new name.”

As Missy spoke, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture, capturing this moment between us.

“What was Samantha like?” I asked, eager to learn more about the person whose life I was now living.

“I was so pleased when I heard that S.L.E.P. chose her,” Missy said, her voice filled with warmth. “The world needs more people like Samantha, uh, I mean Declan. She was so giving, kind, and sweet. Sometimes she would sneak out of her hospital room to read stories to the kids in the children’s wing. It was her little mission, and you could just see how much it meant to her.”

I felt a swell of pride at the thought of my predecessor.

“That must have been a real shock for you,” Missy said.

“What do you mean?”

“Going from a tall, handsome guy to a sick young woman. It’s a pretty big change, right? I mean, it was so strange with Declan. I messed up and didn’t follow S.L.E.P. protocols.” She rolled her eyes, her expression shifting to one of playful annoyance. “But you were pretty hunky, if I must say so. So, what about you? Declan decided to travel a bit to find himself. Is that what you’re doing?”

“Sort of,” I replied, trying to gather my thoughts. “I’m moving on with my life, and now that I’m healthy, I wanted to travel before settling down.”

“That’s a good plan,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. Then her gaze softened, and she added, “Do you mind if I give you a hug? I have missed my best friend, and to think you risked your life for hers…”

“Of course,” I said, feeling a surge of emotion.

Missy enveloped me in a hug so tight I thought I might break. It was as if she were trying to absorb all the affection and love she had for Samantha through me. I could feel the warmth radiating from her, a connection born from grief, hope, and the shared understanding of a beautiful soul.

“This is so awesome! I have got to run,” she said after a moment, pulling back with a bright smile that lit up her face.

“Thanks, Missy!” I called after her as she hurried off, my heart full.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan’s phone chirped as he stood in the shadow of the Colosseum, its ancient stones echoing with the whispers of history. He had been lost in thought, taking in the grandeur of the structure when he saw the familiar name flash on the screen: Missy.

“Guess who I just ran into?” the message read. A moment later, a photo of her old self appeared, and he stared, his heart racing.

“OMG! I… She… looks great!” he typed back, his fingers trembling slightly with excitement.

“Emma Taylor is her name. She’s really, really sweet, just like you are,” Missy replied. “I’m sorry about the last time we met. Please forgive me. I need my Samantha/Declan in my life.”

His heart warmed at her words. “I need you too. Did she say where she was going or how she is looking so good?”

“Emma said it had something to do with a broken part of your brain that was fixed during the transfer process. Pretty cool, huh? No idea where she’s going. Got to catch my flight. TTYL.”

Declan’s mind whirled with thoughts of Emma, a stranger who felt like a piece of himself he hadn’t yet found. He was about to text his mother when another message came in.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Missing you.”

He stared at the screen, the small picture of Nancy smiling back at him. They had clicked in a way he hadn't expected, an easy camaraderie that felt both exciting and comforting. Although they hadn’t crossed any physical lines, they had a connection that sort of nagged at him, like an itch just out of reach. He hastily replied, “Miss you too. See you in two months.”

Once he hit send, he scrolled back to the picture of Emma. His heart wrenched as he studied her old self, her expression alive with warmth and kindness, the same traits Missy had described. It struck him how strange it was to feel such an intense reaction to someone he had never met yet felt an undeniable link to.

 

***

Emma

 

For the past month, I had lived and worked at the Paropakar Orphanage in Kathmandu. Each day was filled with laughter and chaos, the kind that only children can create. They were always welcoming to strangers, showering me with smiles and hugs that warmed my heart. I never bothered to tell them who I really was. My past was a little too hard to explain and it would never matter to them. Instead, I immersed myself in their world, playing games and helping with homework, each moment reaffirming my belief that this was what I was meant for.

On my days off, I hiked through the breathtaking landscapes surrounding the city, the majestic Himalayas looming in the distance, reminding me of the beauty of life itself. I ran along the narrow paths, feeling the crisp air fill my lungs and the rhythmic thud of my feet against the earth. I delighted in the local food, savoring every bite of the flavorful dishes that were a far cry from my usual meals back home. I was careful with my weight, aware of how much my body had changed over the past few months. I seemed to have plateaued at one hundred and sixteen pounds, but I felt strong and vibrant, my heart swelling with joy.

Yet, as I packed my bags and prepared to say goodbye, a wave of sadness washed over me. The thought of leaving the children, their laughter and boundless energy, filled me with a bittersweet ache. Each hug I received felt like a precious gift, and I held onto them tightly, trying to etch their faces into my memory. Finally, I made my way to the airport, my heart heavy with the weight of the goodbyes.

I knew I needed to get on track with my life, and being home would help me settle. But as I sat in the terminal, waiting for my flight, I couldn't shake the feeling of longing. Every night, I had been dreaming about Declan, and each morning I woke up flushed and excited, the remnants of those dreams clinging to me like a sweet, elusive fragrance. It felt silly, almost absurd, to be so affected by someone I had never known. Yet, his presence lingered in my mind, and the accidental meeting with Missy had stirred something deep within me, something that I hadn't fully acknowledged.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan had spent several days searching the bustling streets of Kathmandu, his heart yearning and uncertain. When he finally received a lead about the Paropakar Orphanage, a flicker of optimism ignited within him. Joe had mentioned something about a “Parkour Orphanage,” but Declan had brushed aside the confusion. This sounded right.

As he approached the orphanage, the building came into view, its faded walls and peeling paint spoke of years without proper care. Despite its weariness, there was a feeling of home to the place, a sense of life bubbling within its worn exterior. Just outside the entrance, a monk sat on a low stool, his robe draped loosely around him. When Declan stepped closer, the monk looked up, a broad smile breaking across his weathered face, illuminating his features.

“Good to have you back, William,” the monk greeted in his broken English, his accent thick but his sincerity clear.

Declan paused, taken aback. “Can I stay and help out?” he asked, the desire to make a difference surging within him.

“Certainly. Our guest room was just vacated by a young woman who came to help us out. You’re free to use it,” the monk replied, his eyes sparkling with kindness.

Declan hesitated for a moment, the name lingering on his lips. “A young woman?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“She called herself Emma,” the monk replied, his smile unwavering.

With a rush of anticipation, Declan pulled out his phone and quickly scrolled through his photos until he found a picture of her. “Was this her?” he asked, holding the phone out for the monk to see.

The monk leaned forward, his smile widening as he inspected the image. “Yes! A beautiful woman, inside and out,” he said, revealing gaps in his teeth, his eyes gleaming with warmth.

Frustration surged through Declan, tightening his chest. Once again, it felt as though he had somehow just missed Emma, as if the universe conspired to keep them apart. Each new revelation only deepened the ache in his heart. Why was it that every time he got close to her, she slipped away like sand through his fingers?

“Do you know where she went?” Declan asked, his voice laced with urgency. He needed to find her; the sense of connection he felt with Emma was undeniable, and he was desperate to bridge the gap between them.

The monk shook his head slowly, his expression shifting to one of sympathy. “I do not know. She was here for a short time, bringing joy to the children. But she left, like a breeze in the morning. You will find her again, when the moment is right, and you know what you want.”

Declan swallowed hard, confused by the statement. “I hope so,” he murmured, feeling the hope in his own voice.

“Come, I will show you to your room,” the monk said, rising with surprising agility for his age. “We have much work to do here, and your heart is kind. You will make a difference.”

As Declan followed the monk inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that fate was playing a cruel game with him. But beneath the frustration simmered a resolve. He would find Emma. He had to.

 

***

Emma

 

I could smell the bacon before I even opened my eyes, a warm, savory aroma that danced through the air, coaxing me from the embrace of sleep. Today marked six months since my transformation, and despite the whirlwind of changes in my life, I still felt remarkably balanced. I was holding steady at one hundred and sixteen pounds, and I was fortunate enough to enjoy all the delicious food I wanted without a hint of guilt.

As I got up and stretched, a burst of joyful energy coursed through me, and I made my way to the kitchen, where Margo was flipping strips of bacon in a skillet. The sizzle and pop filled the air like music, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Congratulations, Emma. Six months and you’re perfectly healthy,” she said, her voice warm and full of pride.

“I have been blessed,” I replied, the truth of my words sinking in. “I have a date tonight.”

“Really?” Margo’s eyes widened, and I could see her excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“A guy from the gym. He’s been pestering me for weeks, and honestly, it’s kind of sweet in a way. I won’t need dinner tonight,” I added with a playful grin, my heart fluttering at the thought.

Margo chuckled, but then her expression softened. “I feel like you’re my daughter and you’re finally growing up. I know you don’t need me here anymore.”

I stepped closer, my heart swelling with gratitude. “You’re like the mom I never had, Margo. You’re right… I’ve been a little selfish wanting to keep you around. I know you’ve been wanting to spend more time with your family.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her with a mixture of hope and anxiety. “You’re welcome to stay, of course,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Margo opened the envelope and gasped, her eyes going wide. “It’s too much!” she exclaimed, her hands trembling slightly as she processed what she saw.

“Nonsense,” I insisted, shaking my head. “You saved me, and I know you can use the extra money. Just promise me you won’t forget about me and visit from time to time.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she stepped forward, pulling me into a tight embrace. “You’re my family too, Emma. Thank you.”

As we hugged, I felt my tears flow freely, the overwhelming tide of emotion catching me off guard.

“I was hoping to work through the rest of the week here, if that’s all right with you,” Margo continued, her voice thick with unshed tears. “My family will appreciate me being home for them, especially with summer in full swing.”

“Of course,” I whispered, my heart aching with the bittersweetness of our situation. I didn’t want to let her go, but I knew she had her own life to live, just as I was finally beginning to live mine. In that moment, surrounded by the smell of bacon and love, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for all that Margo had done for me, and the realization that our bond would forever be unbreakable.

 

***

Declan

 

When Declan arrived back at New York's JFK Airport a month ago, a familiar yet unsettling mix of emotions washed over him. As he stepped into the bustling terminal, Nancy was there, waiting for him with a bright smile that sent a rush of warmth through his chest. She greeted him with a kiss that caught him completely off guard; they had never shared such a moment in Paris. It felt electric, yet at the same time, it stirred something deep within him, a part of himself he was still holding back, a piece that felt irretrievably fractured.

As the weeks passed since his return home, Nancy had become a constant presence in his life, a fixture around the house that didn’t quite fit. Declan’s heart wasn’t in it. He struggled with the commitment of their relationship, feeling like a reluctant participant in a dance he no longer wanted to perform. When he told Nancy that he wanted to wait until marriage, he could see the disappointment flicker in her eyes, but it did nothing to deter her from wanting to continue their relationship. The longing he saw in her gaze only deepened his confusion. Sometimes, Declan found himself wondering if Nancy was in love with the idea of William, the version of the person that used to own his body, or if she truly loved him.

Today, feeling the weight of his uncertainties pressing down on him, Declan decided it was time to take a step back. He needed to find a place of his own to rent; it wasn’t right that he was still living at home. Although his relationships with his parents, Missy, and Claire had become effortless and normal, there remained a lingering emptiness within him, an unsettling void that refused to be filled.

His month at the orphanage had changed him in ways he could hardly articulate. It had ignited a desire to give back, yet he was uncertain how to translate that longing into action. The children he had worked with had opened his heart, showing him the value of compassion and connection. And yet, amidst this newfound clarity, one truth crystallized above all others: he was in love, not with Nancy, but with Emma Taylor. Emma was a person who knew he existed, but she didn’t truly know him at all. In those dreams, she was vibrant and full of life, a captivating presence that made his heart race.

Declan knew he had to figure things out, to reconcile the feelings that stirred within him and the life that lay ahead. He had to face the truth of his heart and navigate the spidery web of emotions that entangled him.

 

***

Emma

 

The summer had slipped away quickly, and before I knew it, Thanksgiving Day had arrived. Standing at the door of Margo’s home, I held a pumpkin pie I had baked from scratch. The sweet, spicy aroma wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg. I was a little tired, but not from illness; I had just completed my half marathon that morning. My race time was exceptional, and I promised myself I would tackle a full marathon by next Thanksgiving.

When Margo opened the door, her warm smile felt like a hug. Her family welcomed me inside, and I instantly felt at home among them.

“No plus one tonight?” she asked, arching an eyebrow playfully as she ushered me into the living room.

I shrugged, trying to downplay the pang in my chest. “I have had a number of dates, but I’m still struggling to find the right one,” I admitted, forcing a smile despite the underlying frustration.

“It will happen for you,” she reassured me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re too good of a catch to be single for long.”

As we all sat around the table, Margo’s family followed their tradition of sharing what they were thankful for. I listened as each person spoke, their words weaving a tapestry of gratitude that enveloped me. When it was my turn, I felt a lump form in my throat, and my heart raced. I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself, but the moment felt overwhelming.

Margo must have sensed my struggle. She got up and put her arms around me, wrapping me in love. It was in that embrace that my thankfulness burst forth like a raging torrent. I was embarrassed, tears stinging my eyes, but I could feel the love and understanding from everyone at the table. They knew what I had endured, and their compassion was a balm to my soul.

“We’re grateful you’ve come into our lives, Emma,” Margo’s husband said softly, a sincere smile on his face. “Maybe it would be easier to ask you what you want for Christmas. What’s your Christmas wish?”

I took a deep breath, my chest tightening with the power of my feelings. “Something is holding me back, and I don’t know what it is,” I confessed, my voice trembling slightly. “My wish is that by Christmas Day, one year from my transformation, I will find fulfillment and direction for my heart.”

I looked around at their faces, filled with kindness and encouragement. “And I pray for all of you, for your health and well-being. I pray for Declan and his family too, that he will find everything his heart desires.”

As I finished speaking, the silence that followed felt sacred. In that moment, I realized that my journey wasn’t just about finding love for myself; it was about learning to embrace the love around me and allowing it to guide me. I hoped that, just as the seasons changed, so too would my heart, and maybe, just maybe, I would find the path I was meant to follow.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan toyed with the small box in his pocket, its presence almost an anchor weighing him down. It was surprisingly light, yet it felt like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. December twenty-third had arrived, and with it came a tangle of emotions he couldn’t seem to unravel. Tomorrow, everyone would gather at his parents’ place for dinner, and on the heels of that warmth, he planned to ask Nancy to marry him. Yet, his heart was a battlefield, torn between duty and desire.

As Nancy buzzed around the apartment, immersed in last-minute shopping, Declan sank deeper into the couch, staring blankly at the flickering television screen. He hoped the show would distract him from his racing thoughts, but the words from an advertisement pierced through the haze of his mind.

“…Give the gift of life this season by remembering those whose lives will be cut short. You’ve lived a good life. You’re healthy. You’re generous. This young girl needs you. This young man deserves a chance at a full life. What better gift this Christmas than to give your life for another? Contact the Sacrificial Life Extension Project for more details…”

Declan coughed on his drink, the unexpected message sending his heart into a wild rhythm. He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the gravity of those words sink in. In a soft whisper, he voiced a wish that felt as heavy as the box in his pocket. “It’s my wish and dream that Emma Taylor finds all that she deserves,” he murmured, each syllable soaked in longing. “She gave me everything, and I would willingly give my life in return for hers. Bless her, and may she enjoy an illness-free life full of love.”

He paused, the power of his confession hanging there like a fragile ornament on a Christmas tree. Thoughts of Emma flooded his mind, the warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke to him in his dreams, the silent hope she had instilled in him when he felt lost. He felt a pang in his chest, realizing how deeply he wanted her, even if they had never truly known one another.

As he opened his eyes, the television flickered to another commercial, but his mind remained locked on Emma. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was trying to tell him something profound. Would the life he was about to embark on with Nancy truly make him happy? Or would it only serve to dim the light that Emma had ignited within him?

Declan ran a hand through his hair, grappling with the decision that loomed before him. Would he marry Nancy and build a life filled with comfort and predictability, or would he risk it all for a love that was no more than imagination? As the clock ticked down to Christmas Eve, he realized that the most significant gift he could give might not be one tied with a bow, but rather the courage to follow his heart wherever it might lead.

 

***

Emma

 

I picked up the phone, and Margo’s cheerful voice filled my ear, “Hello, Emma! Can we expect you over here on Christmas Day?”

I smiled, feeling a pang of guilt. “Oh, Margo, I’m so sorry. I would love to, but I will be heading up to Norwalk.”

There was a pause. “You’re not… going there for him, are you?”

I laughed softly. “No, no. I’m not going to hunt down Declan.” The truth was I would love to run into him. “I know it’s time to move on. It’s just… I remember the kids in the hospital up there, and I thought it might be nice to close that chapter somehow, to come full circle.”

“You know, you could do that here, Emma. Any hospital would be glad to have you,” Margo said gently, concern edging into her voice.

“I know. But last year, when I was leaving that hospital... I don’t know how to explain it. There was something there. It was magical. Yet it felt unfinished, like I need to go back and see it through.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “We love you, Emma. Take care of yourself up there, okay?”

Her words were like a warm hug. “I will, Margo. And I love you all too. Thank you… for everything.”

As I hung up, I felt a strange sense of peace. I knew I wasn’t searching for Declan. I was searching for something deeper, for healing, and for closure.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan’s mother lifted her glass, her voice soft and filled with gratitude. “One year ago, everything felt so uncertain. What had once seemed hopeless was transformed into hope. And now, here we are on Christmas Eve, with our son home again.” Her gaze shifted to Nancy, whose hand rested possessively on Declan’s thigh. “We’ve been given such a blessing,” she continued, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Nancy, as if on cue, rose from her seat, gently trailing her fingers along the back of Declan’s neck. She lifted her glass with a confident smile. “Thank you all for making me feel so welcome. I already feel like family.”

It was too much. Declan’s chest tightened, and before he even knew what he was doing, he pushed back his chair and strode away from the table, the room suddenly feeling too close, too stifling. He heard Nancy’s chair scrape against the floor as she followed him, her voice low and urgent as she reached him in the hallway.

“Damn it, Declan! Not here. Not now!” Her voice shook with frustration. “You’ve been so back-and-forth for months. Can’t you see what’s right in front of you? Stop pining for something that doesn’t even exist!”

Declan’s hand reached for his jacket, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he shrugged it on. He could hear the hurt in her voice, the sharp edge of desperation, but he couldn’t stay. Not here. Not like this.

“Don’t do this, Declan!” she pleaded, her voice breaking.

His hand hovered on the doorknob, a flicker of guilt gnawing at him. He never wanted to hurt Nancy. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. But every word she had said only seemed to drive home what he already knew that he couldn’t be who she needed him to be. He couldn’t force his heart to settle for anything less than what it truly wanted.

He turned the handle and stepped out into the biting cold, the snow crunching beneath his feet as he left the warmth and light behind. The night swallowed him up, silent and endless, leaving only his breath hanging in the frozen air like a ghost of something he could no longer deny.

 

***

Emma

 

Christmas Day had arrived, and the air felt alive with joy and magic. The scent of pine mingled with cinnamon and nutmeg, wafting from the trays of treats and hot chocolate, where volunteers were busy handing out holiday treats. The Christmas tree stood tall in the center of the room, its branches adorned with glittering ornaments and twinkling lights that cast a warm, golden glow. It was beautiful, almost dreamlike, and I couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of wonder as I took it all in.

I had come with bags overflowing with presents, each one carefully wrapped with bright paper and ribbons. It had taken me weeks to gather them all, thinking of the children who would open them, imagining their smiles. I called out their names, one by one, and each time, a little one came running over, eyes wide with excitement and trust as they climbed onto my lap. They were full of laughter and eager whispers, tugging at their ribbons, and their tiny hands tugged at my heart just as strongly.

As I held each child, feeling their small, warm weight against me, I could feel a lightness blooming in my chest, like I was the one receiving the gift. The joy in their faces, the way their eyes lit up at every doll, every truck, every book, it was like watching pure hope, unfiltered and unrestrained. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this, how much I needed to come back here to the place where it had all started for me. Being here, seeing these children so full of life and innocence, reminded me of everything I had overcome, everything that mattered.

 

 

***

Declan

 

Declan wandered through the quiet streets, snowflakes catching in his hair, the cold stinging his cheeks. He hardly noticed the chill; his mind was focused on a louder storm. Frustration gnawed at him, circling the same thoughts that had plagued him for months. He should want to be with Nancy, he told himself. She was beautiful, caring, devoted. She loved him, truly loved him. They shared laughs and interests, a comforting compatibility. And yet, something essential was missing, like a song played just slightly out of tune.

Nancy was always focused on building a future, on plans and long-term security, on accumulating all the “things” that a stable life should include. But Declan’s heart had stayed halfway around the world, back at the orphanage in Nepal, where things like wealth and possessions held so little meaning. There, he had felt a clarity and purpose that he struggled to find back home. And though he respected Nancy's goals, he couldn't shake the feeling that her desires were tied up in things, in material comforts, and it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. It was as if her vision of happiness and his own were moving in different directions.

Lost in his thoughts, Declan blinked and looked up, surprised to find himself standing outside Norwalk Hospital. His breath caught, and he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the building. Exactly one year ago, everything had changed within those walls. A Christmas Day that had been marked by uncertainty, illness, and the looming shadow of the unknown.

Almost on impulse, he walked through the hospital doors, nodding absently at the reception desk as he made his way to the elevator. When he reached the third floor, he moved down the hallway, slowing as he came to his old room. He stepped into the doorway and stared at the empty bed, the quiet space now devoid of the urgency and fear that had filled it a year ago.

Standing there, he felt the weight of his inner conflict. He had family now, parents who had been granted a second chance with him. And Nancy, who no doubt wanted a future together, perhaps even marriage. But there was also Emma. He told himself he had no right to think of her like this; she had her own life, her own path, and she might not even think of him. And if she did, there was no reason to believe she would feel anything beyond that passing connection he felt they shared.

His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers grazing the small box he had carried around for weeks, the ring he had planned to give to Nancy tomorrow. A quiet sigh escaped him. He wanted to do right by her, but he wondered if, deep down, he was already betraying her by standing here, haunted by the past, by a face that had come to him every night in dreams.

Turning, Declan stepped back into the hallway, heading toward the elevator. As he reached the ground floor, he turned a corner, and his breath left him as if he had been punched. Just beyond the glass doors of the children’s wing, he saw her.

Emma Taylor sat in a chair, a small child cradled in her arms, her face alight with joy as she laughed with the boy. The room around her seemed to fade away, the colors blurring as his focus narrowed on her alone. Almost as if sensing his gaze, she looked up, her laughter quieting, and her eyes met his.

In that instant, something shifted. Recognition sparked between them, mingled with a thousand unspoken words, and for a brief, breathtaking moment, the weight he had been carrying felt lighter.

 

***

Emma

 

As I gently set the child on my lap down, my heart pounded with a force that felt as if it might crack my ribs. There, just across the children’s ward, stood Declan Rawlings. The man I had tried so hard to forget, the man who came to me every night in my dreams, was no more than fifty feet away from me. A gasp escaped my lips, and a warm tear slid down my cheek before I even had time to process it. I could feel the weight of a year’s worth of emotions breaking loose, hope, love, thankfulness, yearning, all crashing into me like waves.

My feet moved before my mind could object, and before I knew it, I was running toward him. The laughter and chatter of the children around me faded to a distant hum, leaving only the thudding of my own heartbeat in my ears. But Declan was running too. In seconds, I was wrapped in his arms, held in an embrace that felt as though it could heal all the broken pieces I had been carrying.

Neither of us spoke. There were no words for this moment, no way to capture the ache and relief tangled together. I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat through our joined closeness, and let the tears fall, letting out a sob that seemed to echo his own.

At last, I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and my heart raced even faster. A thousand questions crowded into my mind, but no question seemed as urgent as the raw connection I felt. It was electric, fierce, and terrifying. I didn’t dare blink, afraid that if I looked away, this moment might dissolve into nothing.

His hands cupped my face, and his gaze softened as his thumb brushed a stray tear from my cheek. He leaned in, his lips meeting mine, and the kiss was so full, so intense, it took my breath away. When we finally pulled apart, he looked at me, wide-eyed and vulnerable.

“That wasn’t a ‘hello, Emma’ kind of kiss,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Declan swallowed, a look of uncertainty shaking his countenance. “I… I’m sorry. I presumed too much. I…”

“I don’t think so,” I whispered, my voice full of conviction that seemed to shatter my last wall of doubt.

Without another word, I let my heart take over, leaning in and kissing him, this time with everything I had, everything ounce of love and joy that was inside of me. I poured all the dreams and fears and hopes into that kiss, and when we finally pulled back, I could see the same intensity mirrored in his eyes.

We stood there, our hands clasped, sharing a silence so heavy it felt sacred. Neither of us needed to say anything.

Gently, Declan took my hand and led me over to a nearby couch, sitting me down beside him. He didn’t release my hand, and I was grateful for it, holding onto him as if he might disappear. The profoundness of the moment settled around us, and I let out a shaky breath, still trying to process that he was here, that this wasn’t just another dream.

Declan’s words were charged with emotion, captivating me completely. “There hasn’t been a day in the past year that I haven’t thought about you, Emma. At first, it was what you did for me and what you saved me from. Your letter touched me deeply, and your financial gift… I could never fully grasp the magnitude of your sacrifice for me.” His voice grew softer, as if he were sharing a confession, a secret that had waited a year to be told. “Over the past year, I have learned more about you… your losses, your love of children, your giving and generous heart. I fell in love with a ghost, someone who should have died in my old body but miraculously lived. I went to your house in Florida, followed you to an orphanage in Nepal, finally giving up all hope that our paths would cross. And yet, I’m somehow not surprised to find you here, handing out presents to children.”

The warmth of his hand in mine steadied me, as a wave of emotions rose up, crashing through me in an unrelenting tide. I gazed into his eyes, feeling exposed but safe, as if everything I had hidden away over the past year was laid bare, and he was willing to hold it all.

“For the first few weeks,” I began, my voice trembling as I held back tears, “I was too tired and worn out to do much of anything, but I was thankful, Declan. Oddly joyous, even. By choosing me, you set me free from a tremendous burden I had carried my whole life. Even though I was dangerously underweight and weak, I couldn’t have been happier. Not a single moment passed that I wasn’t grateful for you.” I swallowed, feeling the weight of that gratitude in my chest, a love so fierce it hurt. “There was a moment, back in Florida… I thought I saw you, just a fleeting glimpse, but the need to tell you not to worry about me was overwhelming. I had just received the news that they considered me cured, and I wanted to reach out to you, to let you know. My S.L.E.P. worker, Maggie, persuaded me not to… she thought it might be better if you didn’t see that I was well.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, and his thumb brushed it away, gentle and unwavering. “I love being Emma. I tried to move on, to date, to imagine a future with someone else. But my dreams…” I hesitated, looking down, as if saying it aloud might make it too real. “My dreams have only ever been of you. I couldn’t commit to anyone because my heart wouldn’t let me. It’s as if I have known you my entire life, like we’re connected beyond words, beyond reason.”

Declan’s face softened, his eyes mirroring every unspoken feeling I had carried. “I feel it too, Emma. I have dreamed of you every night as well.”

His phone chirped, slicing through the moment, but he ignored it, his gaze still fixed on mine, intense and vulnerable. “This might sound strange,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, “but before the transformation, I was afraid… afraid of dying alone. But seeing you here now… I know I can’t live without you.”

The phone chirped again, breaking the silence like a sharp slap. Declan grimaced, reaching for it almost as if to silence it once and for all, but before he could, the door flew open. A woman with chestnut-brown hair burst into the room, her eyes wide and frantic as they fell upon us.

“Declan!” Her voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip, startling me. Nancy Estridge. She didn’t even glance in my direction; her eyes were only for him, her purpose clear as she closed the distance between them. She reached for him, her hand gripping his arm as she pulled him toward her, her lips pressing firmly against his in a kiss so possessive it nearly took my breath away.

“Declan,” she murmured, softer now, her fingers threading into his hair. “I’m sorry. I have been so thoughtless, I know that now. I haven’t been fair to you about all you went through before… about how much Nepal means to you. I shouldn’t have been so critical of your desire to go back next year. I love you, Declan. I need you. Please… come home.”

In that moment, it felt as if everything had slipped away, the ground beneath my feet crumbling to dust.

I didn’t wait to see what he would say. My legs moved on their own, propelling me out of the hospital and out into the winter night. I didn’t feel the sting of the cold air as I stepped outside, snowflakes drifting in delicate spirals around me, their beauty mocking my raw, hollow pain. The sky was a deep velvet, each snowflake shimmering like tiny stars falling to the earth, but to me, it felt cruelly indifferent.

“It’s not meant to be,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. “Why?” My words rose to the empty night, pleading, desperate. “I have never asked for anything before… just this one thing, the one thing that feels right, and you have to take it away?”

I felt like fate itself was mocking me, dangling happiness within reach only to snatch it away the moment I dared to touch it. For the first time since I was a child, I had believed that maybe, just maybe, life would allow me a bit of love and peace instead of the relentless string of loss and heartache that had marked my days. I could see it all so clearly in my mind, the love I had imagined, a love I had let myself believe might finally be mine.

My heart throbbed painfully, memories flashing before me. The death of my parents, that first profound loss that had hardened me, turned my heart into something fragile and glass-like. Then Diane… losing her, and our child. Every piece of love I had ever given felt like it had been ripped from me, leaving jagged edges that refused to heal. And yet, in those brief moments with Declan, I had felt something warm and true, as if he had seen past all my scars and had been willing to hold the fragments of my heart. But now, that crystal heart of mine shattered, and there was no one left to piece it back together.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the snowy pavement, each tear that fell like a shard of glass slicing through the remnants of hope I had dared to feel. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering not from the cold but from the hollowness inside. A wail left my trembling lips.

“Emma?”

Suddenly, strong arms were lifting me from the ground, cradling me close as he carried me back inside, into the warmth of the hospital. My face was buried in his chest, and I could hear the steady beat of his heart against my ear, a sound that both comforted and tortured me.

He set me down gently, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders, his warmth lingering in the fabric. I hugged it close, trying to steady myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up, to face him.

“I should have known, Declan… I was foolish,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Please, go and be with your family. Live the life you have always dreamed and wished for and know that I will forever be grateful that you chose me.”

I needed to walk away, to take my aching heart and leave before I embarrassed myself any further. But Declan’s voice stopped me, gentle yet firm. “Emma. Look at me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. If I looked into his eyes, I knew I would shatter all over again. “I can’t. I need to go,” I managed, my voice shaking with the effort to hold it together.

But he wasn’t giving up. His voice softened, filled with something that sounded dangerously close to desperation. “Emma… It’s over between me and Nancy. We never even… I couldn’t commit to her because I was hopelessly in love with someone else. You say I should live the life I have always dreamed of and wished for. I have never wished or dreamed for anything more than you.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing my chin, tilting my face up to his. I resisted, wanting to turn away, but the tenderness in his touch broke through my defenses. My tear-filled eyes finally focused on his, and the intensity I saw there took my breath away.

“It’s hard to explain, Emma,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion, “and I doubt anyone could understand what I feel for you and what I suspect you feel for me. We’re bound together with the same hopes and dreams. Maybe this was a leftover of the transfer, but I don’t care. I love you and want you, Emma Taylor.”

A flood of warmth washed over me, melting the doubts that had held me back for so long. He wanted me… not a fantasy, not a memory, but me, sitting right next to him. All the pain, all the loneliness I had felt seemed to dissolve as I threw my arms around his neck, my heart overflowing. “You’re the greatest present I could ever ask for,” I whispered, my voice breaking as his arms tightened around me.

Then his lips found mine, soft yet urgent, filling me with a sense of belonging I hadn’t known was possible. This was real. This was us.

When we finally pulled away, I looked up at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Can I take you home?” he asked, his eyes warm and bright. “There are people you should meet, but I think there are children yet that are still waiting for their presents.”

I laughed softly, feeling a lightness I hadn’t felt in years. “Of course!” I replied, the joy spilling over into my words. I leaned into him, feeling like I was exactly where I was meant to be, as if every step of my life had led me to this moment.

With his hand in mine, we walked together into the children’s wing, ready to share the joy of the season with the little ones waiting for their gifts. And as we stepped back into that room, I knew I had found my place in the world, right beside Declan.

 

***

Emma

 

As the last of the children were escorted back to their rooms, the echo of their laughter faded, leaving a quiet stillness that felt a bit awkward and exhilarating. My heart was still racing from the rush of Declan’s words… words I hadn’t dared to believe I would ever hear. He loved me. Me. A person he had never truly known but somehow understood more deeply than anyone ever had. The very thought of it made me feel as if I was floating.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, my cheeks ached from smiling, my throat raw from laughing so freely. There had been an unguarded joy in the air, one that reminded me of childhood, of a simpler, unburdened happiness. Perhaps this was what people meant when they said dreams come true, when something beautiful sneaks into your life without warning and changes everything.

The room was now quiet, lit only by the soft glow of red, green, and blue Christmas lights from the tree. Shreds of wrapping paper lay scattered on the floor, little remnants of the magic we had just shared with the kids. I took it all in, realizing that the best gifts aren’t wrapped in paper and ribbons; they’re found in moments, in smiles, and, most of all, in love.

I glanced across the room at Declan, my eyes locking with his. His smile was gentle, yet it held a warmth that radiated toward me, filling me up. And the way he looked at me… it was as if I were something rare and precious, a treasure he couldn’t quite believe he was holding. The twenty feet between us felt insurmountable, like the vast, icy distance between stars. But his pull was undeniable; he was the Earth, and I was the moon, helplessly orbiting forever.

Throughout the hour we had spent with the children, there had been stolen moments, a quick brush of his hand against mine, the softest of kisses when no one was looking. They were sweet, fleeting touches that left me craving more, but we had kept our focus on the kids. Now, with them all tucked safely away, I felt the full force of my desire to be near him, to feel his arms around me, to erase any remaining space between us.

Without thinking, I rushed across the room toward him, unable to bear even that tiny distance. He seemed to understand, his arms opening just as I reached him. His hands rose to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing softly over my cheeks. I barely had a moment to catch my breath before his lips found mine, and I melted into the warmth of his kiss.

It was unlike anything I had ever felt, fierce and tender, grounding and electrifying all at once. My heart surged, and the world around us faded, leaving only the feel of him, the strength of his arms, the warmth of his embrace. All the loneliness, the heartache, and the doubts I had carried seemed to disappear, replaced by a sense of belonging, of finally being home. I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the only gift I would ever need.

“Emma, you’re extraordinary. Are you ready to meet some very special people in my life?”

His words hung in the air, warm and inviting, yet they twisted a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

“Don’t tell me you’re married, have kids, and that Nancy is just your mistress on the side,” I said, forcing a laugh to cover the rising dread. It was a joke, but I desperately needed reassurance. Just a short while ago, Nancy had stormed into the hospital, professing her love for Declan, and I knew she was the type who wouldn’t back down easily.

“Not married, but I want to be. No children, but I can’t wait to have some. And definitely no mistresses,” he replied, his voice steady, but there was a hint of something unspoken.

“What happened with Nancy, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ventured, my heart racing.

He paused, his gaze drifting for a moment. “I almost forget that you know her. I met Nancy during a trip to Paris earlier this year. We explored the city together; she was easy to talk to, and we hit it off. When I returned, we began dating.”

A chill swept through me at the thought of Declan in someone else’s arms, a nightmare I had tried to push away. I chastised myself for feeling possessive over someone who was not truly mine, but the heart can be a stubborn thing. “Nancy is a great conversationalist,” I said, trying to sound indifferent.

Declan sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I believe Nancy wanted to marry me, and I know she loved me. But I couldn’t commit, and over the last few months, we fought a lot.”

“Was it because of me?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Do you think you can patch things up?”

He smiled then, a tender, reassuring smile that felt like a balm for my frayed nerves. He leaned in and kissed me, and in that moment, the jagged edges of my fears softened. The familiar ache of loss I carried began to ease, if only for a heartbeat, reminding me that not everyone I loved would leave me behind.

“If I have learned anything about you over the past year, it’s how self-sacrificing you are,” Declan said, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sure if I even hinted that Nancy and I might get back together, you would quietly go home.”

I bit my lower lip, my heart sinking at the thought.

“Yes, it was you,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “How could I commit to Nancy when you came to me every night in my dreams? How could I yield to her desires when I was in love with the person who gave of themselves to the point of being willing to die for me? Of course, it was you, Emma. It will always be you.”

His lips brushed against mine again, a gentle yet electrifying reminder of everything I yearned for. I could feel the confirming touch of his words settling in my chest, filling the empty spaces with hope.

“The truth is,” he said, pulling back slightly to meet my gaze, “I never told her that I was a woman before. I never told her that her desire for things and her self-interests made it impossible to be with her. I never, ever wanted to hurt her, but our relationship would have never worked. Last night, she made a toast at dinner, trying to assume a role as part of the family. It made me angry; it felt manipulative. So, I left. All night, I thought about what mattered most to me, and I was reminded how her desires were contrary to my own. When I found myself back here, standing in my old room, I didn’t know what to expect, but the emptiness I found made me realize I had to move on. I was a fool not to see what was right in front of me.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I said that to myself over the past year. Is that when you found me?” I asked, searching his eyes for confirmation.

“Yes. All the logic in my brain evaporated the moment I saw you. There was nothing on Earth that could have stopped me from coming to you. Nothing, until Nancy. I’m not the kind of person who wants to see other people hurt, but for the first time in my life, I realized I would be hurting myself for the rest of my life if I didn’t take this chance with you. I watched you silently slip away, and my heart broke. I told Nancy it wasn’t going to work, that her desires and mine would never align. I reminded her I wasn’t William Matson.”

“How did she take it?” I asked, my curiosity mingling with concern.

“She wasn’t angry. If anything, she seemed relieved. She told me that while she hoped we could resolve things, in her heart, she knew we weren’t right for each other. She believed we could still be friends and wished me well.”

I melted into Declan’s arms, feeling safe and secure for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m glad it worked out that way.”

“Come on, Emma. Let’s go. I’m not very fond of hospitals. Uhm… you do have a car, don’t you? I left mine at home last night.”

I giggled, a lightness bubbling up within me. “So that’s the way it’s going to be, huh?”

 

***

Emma

 

I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into. Declan had been vague about the people he wanted me to meet, but as we pulled up to the charming Cape Cod-style house, a sinking feeling of apprehension settled in my stomach. The white picket fence, the quaint shutters, it all seemed too perfect, too welcoming.

Declan hopped out and rushed around to open my door, and when I looked up into his eyes, I felt a flicker of comfort amidst my anxiety. He must have sensed my trepidation, because he pulled me into a warm embrace. “You will do fine. They will love you,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm.

With a deep breath, I followed him inside. Declan didn’t knock; he walked right in, keeping his hand firmly entwined with mine. I felt a rush of warmth from his grip, but he let go just as he stepped into the living room, and I instinctively held back, hovering just out of sight.

“Declan! We were all worried about you!” a woman’s voice called out, filled with warmth and concern.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I should have called,” he replied, his tone regretful.

“Nancy called and told us what happened. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between the two of you.” Her voice softened, tinged with sympathy.

Another voice joined in, lower and more teasing. “Why is it you look like you just found a hundred dollars, son?”

“Mom, Dad, I would like you to meet someone,” Declan said, and that was my cue.

My heart raced as I prepared for the raw emotions about to unfold. I took a tentative step into the living room, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Declan’s mother turned to face me, her expression shifting from curiosity to disbelief, then to something deeper. She stared at me, then back at Declan, before the tears began streaming down her face.

I froze, overwhelmed by the sight. Her tears triggered a cascade of my own, and I could feel them welling up, blurring my vision. This wasn’t just a meeting; it felt monumental, like the moment when all the unspoken words of the past year came crashing together for all of us.

“Emma,” she said, her voice trembling as she took a step toward me, her hands reaching out. “Oh, sweetheart.”

The warmth of her embrace enveloped me, and I found myself sobbing into her shoulder, both frightened and comforted by the rawness of the moment. I could feel Declan’s presence beside me, steady and reassuring. In that instant, everything felt like it was falling into place, and I realized I had finally stepped into a family that already knew me in so many ways.

Suddenly, Declan’s father wrapped his arms around the two of us, drawing us into a warm embrace. I couldn’t begin to fathom the swirl of emotions they must have been experiencing in that moment, loss, joy, confusion, hope. It was overwhelming and intimate, and I felt the love of their affection pressing in around me.

Declan’s mother pulled back just enough to bring her shaking hand to my face, touching her forehead against mine, a gesture that felt deeply protective. “I thought I would never see you again…” Her voice quivered, laden with the kind of relief that only comes from confronting the unimaginable.

After what felt like an eternity, Declan finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Mom, Dad, meet Emma Taylor, formerly William Matson. This is the person that saved my life.”

A box of tissues later, Angie pulled me gently to the couch and sat me down, as if she feared I might float away. “You have no idea what it’s like to lose a daughter and gain a son overnight. I cared for this body you now have for twenty-three years. I breastfed you right here on this couch, changed your diapers, watched you grow into a precocious teenager, listened to your dreams of getting married and having children… I’m so very grateful and honored to meet you. Please, call me Angie.”

The tears spilled over again; it felt impossible to contain them. “The pleasure is all mine, Angie. It’s not every day one meets their biological parents for the first time.”

Angie stroked my cheek gently, moving some hair from my eyes. “You look wonderful,” she said, her eyes shining with something between pride and love.

“The miracle of S.L.E.P. transference repaired this body’s brain. I’m healed,” I replied, my voice thick with emotion.

Declan’s dad, a kind man with a warm smile, stepped back and hugged Declan tightly. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on between you two?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and excitement.

“Dad!” Declan’s voice was a playful protest, but I could see the flush of happiness creeping up his cheeks.

I stood, moved to Declan’s side, slipped my hand into his, and kissed him softly on the cheek. I felt Angie’s eyes go wide, a mix of shock and intrigue. “How? What? I’m obviously missing something here,” she exclaimed, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Declan took a deep breath, steadying himself. “We don’t know if it was due to the transfer, but we feel a tangible connection between us. I have dreamed every night of being with Emma, and she has dreamed of me every night. When we found each other this morning, it just clicked.”

A swell of emotion surged in my chest, urging me to add more. “Clicked, as in meant to be. I have realized I was in love with Declan for months now, even though we never actually met.”

Angie looked from me to Declan, her expression shifting to understanding. “This is why you couldn’t commit to Nancy,” she said, her voice softening.

He nodded, the truth settling in between us, palpable and undeniable. I squeezed Declan’s hand tighter, the comfort of his presence anchoring me as we faced this new reality together, surrounded by the warmth of family, acceptance, and the promise of love.

“What happens now? Please tell me you’re here for a while, Emma.” Declan's eyes searched mine, filled with hope.

“My flight leaves tomorrow, but I can change that.” I reached up, tracing my fingertips along his cheek. “Now that I have finally met my dream man, I don’t think my heart could take going home without him right now. The only problem is that I only took an overnight bag.”

Angie clapped her hands together, her excitement infectious. “Not to worry! I never did get around to getting rid of Samantha’s things. You can stay here with us in Declan’s old room. I… we would very much like to get to know you better.”

Declan’s brow furrowed slightly. “But she could stay with me at my place.”

“I have seen the way you two look at each other,” Angie said with a knowing smile. “I don’t think either of you would be safe. Besides, you only have one bedroom.”

“I don’t want to be a bother, and I certainly don’t want to impose,” I interjected, feeling a bit sheepish.

Declan’s father stepped forward, wrapping me in a warm embrace. “You will never be an imposition. You’re family after all.” His sincerity made my heart swell with gratitude.

Declan took my hand and led me down the hall, and Angie called after us, “Leave the door open, you two!”

He guided me into a bedroom, and before I could take in the details, I felt my back against the wall and his lips pressed against mine. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire deep within me.

“Mmmm. I could get used to this,” I murmured against his lips.

Declan grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “That’s good, because I’m sure my heart will stop beating if I can’t kiss you at least once every minute.”

I chuckled softly, the laughter bubbling up like champagne. “That was rather intense meeting your parents. I can’t imagine what they’ve gone through.”

“They put on a brave face through it all, but I know it was hard on them both. Hardest on my mom.” His expression turned serious for a moment.

“I can barely remember what my mom looked like,” I admitted. “Sometimes when I catch the scent of roses, I remember her.”

I looked around, taking in the space that had once belonged to him. “So, this was your room?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“I bet your S.L.E.P. concierge wasn’t happy you didn’t remove all references to me,” I teased. “It has so much personality. It tells me a lot about you.”

“Does it?” He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Those pictures on the wall with the initials S.R. on them. You’re an extremely creative and gifted artist. Your makeup by the mirror is subtle, understated. You’re somewhat shy.” I moved to the closet and peeked inside. “Your dresses are elegant yet conservative.” I smiled as I pulled out a pair of runners and another pair of hiking boots. “You were a runner, and by the look of the wear on these hiking boots, you loved the outdoors.”

“You’re amazing, Emma,” he said, admiration shining in his eyes. “I was in and out of the hospital a lot, but once I got home, I would run and hike when I could. Do you like to run?”

“I completed a half marathon on Thanksgiving Day last month, and I’m planning on doing the full marathon next year.”

“Where have you been all my life?” Declan’s voice was playful, but I could sense the deeper longing behind it.

I smiled, pulling him close, resting my forehead against his. “Which life?”

His gaze softened, and I could see the flicker of realization cross his face, this was more than just a new beginning. It was a chance to explore the depths of our souls, to forge a connection that transcended time and circumstance.

“Every life,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along my arm. “I think I have been searching for you in all of them.”

 

***

Emma

 

Almost a week had passed, and I found myself waking up with more energy than I ever thought possible. I had never been so happy before. Each night when Declan would leave for his apartment, the process took nearly an hour. First, it was his last kiss of the night, followed by mine. Then we would make out in the kitchen for a few minutes before Angie would shoo us outside. That was always followed by more last kisses, sitting in the car together, and finally even more last kisses before he would drive away.

My heart was so connected to Declan’s that these nights apart were unbearable, yet each morning, I awoke with a sense of impending joy, knowing I would see him again soon. Declan was my soul mate, and I had no doubt in my mind that we would be together forever.

Tonight was New Year’s Eve, and the plan was for us to go into town for a celebration. Missy and Claire would be joining us, but Angie and Richard decided they would stay home and get to bed before midnight. I only had to figure out what to wear to make a lasting impression, and I smiled when I found a slinky black dress and heels hidden in the back of the closet. I had never worn anything like this before, but I was sure it would make Declan drool.

With that discovery made, my next clothing concern was what to wear for the day and our pizza lunch with Declan’s parents. For that, I found a very flattering red dress. Slipping it on, I checked myself out in the mirror, and I couldn’t stop grinning. I was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

When I heard the door open, I raced through the house, past Declan’s wide-eyed parents, and straight into Declan’s arms. He swept me off the ground, and my bare toes dangled over the living room furniture.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.

“Hey yourself,” I beamed back at him after my mandatory five kisses.

I finally pulled away and turned to Angie and Richard, who were watching us with amused expressions. “I have been thinking that I need to get back home for a bit. It’s too cold out here to run, and I want to get back into my fitness routine. How would you like a few weeks in sunny, warm Florida? I have a guest house on my property, and I would take care of all expenses.”

“I could use the sun,” Richard said, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Then it’s all settled,” I said, feeling a rush of excitement. “I can make the flights for the day after tomorrow.”

Declan’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “You really mean that? I would love to see you in a bikini.”

I giggled and blushed.

Angie exchanged glances with Richard before nodding. “It sounds like a wonderful idea. We would love to visit and get to know you better in your element, and to chaperone.”

“Mom!” Declan made an attempt at looking offended.

“Perfect! We can plan some fun activities,” I said, imagining the sunshine and warmth already. “I will introduce you to my favorite running spots, and we can spend time at the beach.”

Declan leaned in closer, a teasing smile on his lips. “Just remember to leave some time for us to enjoy the sunset together.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I replied, playfully nudging him. “I will make sure we have plenty of sunset moments.”

 

***

Declan

 

Declan stared at Emma, whom he considered the most beautiful person in the world. In his eyes, she embodied everything he had ever wanted in a partner: kind, generous, intelligent, witty, humble, and endlessly caring. By the second day of her stay, his parents had already fallen head over heels for her. As they all sat around the table enjoying pizza together, he couldn’t help but admire her elegant grace and joyful banter. She wore a stunning red dress that had once belonged to him, one of many he had purchased but never worn, his illness keeping him from experiencing life as he wanted. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Declan felt a profound sense of contentment in his new body, embracing the strength and power it offered. He reveled in how easily he could fold Emma into his arms, wrapping her in a protective embrace that made him feel invincible. The love he held for her was deeper than anything he had ever known, an all-consuming force that made him believe they were destined to be together.

Every day, he and Emma would discuss their future, weaving dreams of marriage and children into their conversations. There was no doubt in his mind that they would eventually tie the knot; the only uncertainty lay in when that would happen. Each night, their goodbyes stretched longer, becoming an exercise in restraint as Emma pressed herself against him, igniting a desire within him that was difficult to control. They both wanted to wait until marriage, but as the days passed, he wondered just how long they could maintain that commitment.

Watching Emma effortlessly engage with his parents, Declan felt a warmth spread through him. He cherished the way she casually touched him, her hand resting on his thigh, her eyes often darting back to meet his gaze. She loved to snuggle, and every small gesture felt like a declaration of their bond. Declan even loved that she was so physical, being as close as possible, touching, holding hands. She was simply perfect.

“Emma?” he said, his voice cutting through the lively conversation.

It didn’t matter that she was in the middle of a sentence with someone else; she always put him first. Declan's heart warmed as he saw her shift her entire focus to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Yes?”

“I need to pick up a few things before we head to Florida. Can you ride home with my parents?”

He noticed the flicker of disappointment that crossed her face, a pang of longing that mirrored his own. The thought of being apart at night was already unbearable, and this was the first time in a week they wouldn’t spent every waking moment together. He watched as she bit her lower lip, a subtle gesture that revealed her vulnerability. Despite being older than him in years, she seemed so delicate in those moments. He knew she would never question his motives; their connection ran too deep for that.

“Of course,” she replied, forcing a smile that was both bright and bittersweet. She winked at him playfully. “It might take me an hour or two to get ready for tonight anyway.”

“Oh, really? Do you have something special planned?” he asked, a teasing grin forming on his lips.

“Nah… I just have to cut the burlap sacks for my dress,” she said, her humor shining through.

Declan couldn’t help but chuckle, loving her playful spirit. He adored everything about Emma, and though he felt a twinge of regret for having to part ways, he knew that giving her some space this afternoon would ultimately be for the best. The thought of the evening ahead filled him with excitement, and as he watched her prepare to engage with his parents again, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love they shared, a love that, he was certain, was only just beginning to blossom.

 

***

Emma

 

It hurt when Declan said he wanted to shop without me. I would gladly stand in line for hours at Walmart, even for something as mundane as socks, if it meant I could be with him. I had no reason to doubt his intentions, after all, I really did need a few hours to prepare myself for the night ahead. But still, the thought of him going off without me gnawed at my insides, stirring up my fears of being abandoned.

The goodbyes we had shared recently had been so intense that I began to question my own resolve to wait until marriage. Just last night, we had talked about our past experiences, and I had revealed that I was married before, but he hadn’t realized that Diane had been my only partner. Declan had told me that he had been a virgin; neither of us had any sexual experiences in the past year. So, technically, I still was.

Of course, we each had explored our new bodies. Declan’s kisses ignited something deep within me. The way he nibbled my ear drove me wild. Each heated moment had led to more than one opportunity for release, and I could safely say that my experiences in this body were unlike anything I had ever felt before. They were so much better. Much, much better.

That’s why I had chosen to wear the body-hugging black dress tonight, to drive Declan into as much of a fit of passion as he made me feel every minute of the day. This was war, after all, and I was determined to win.

After my shower, I devoted a lot of time to my hair and makeup. Over the past year of being a woman, I had become quite skilled at these tasks, but tonight I wanted to make a splash. I decided on a new hairstyle; instead of my usual flowing locks or a ponytail for exercising, I pinned one side up, allowing the rest to cascade over my right shoulder. This left the left side of my neck exposed, the spot Declan seemed to enjoy so much. I had to admit, I was quite fond of his lips on that sensitive skin, too.

The dress was magnificent, designed for one purpose only: to turn heads. The stretchy fabric hugged my curves perfectly, with a plunging front and back that left little to the imagination. The mid-thigh hemline meant I had to be careful how I sat. The dress had built-in support, rendering a traditional bra useless, which only added to the thrill of wearing it.

As I accessorized with a necklace, earrings, a wrist and ankle bracelet, a little black purse, and black high-heeled shoes, I felt incredibly sexy and powerful. Glancing in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself and was reminded of how beautiful women could be. My old male heart was still trying to catch up, but I couldn’t deny the fierce confidence blooming within me.

When I heard Declan’s car pull up outside, I fought the instinct to rush into his arms as I usually did. No, tonight called for a subtler approach. I took a deep breath, straightened my dress, and prepared to meet him with a sense of allure that I hoped would take his breath away.

 

***

Declan

 

Declan adjusted his best and only black suit coat and pants, the fabric crisp against his skin. He wore a button-down white collared shirt, leaving the top button undone, an attempt at casual sophistication. Everything had to be perfect for Emma tonight, and a pang of sadness gripped him when he realized she hadn’t bounded into his arms as she usually did. He hoped his afternoon away hadn’t hurt her feelings; the thought weighed heavily on his heart.

As he stood lost in thought, Angie approached and wrapped him in a warm hug. “Don’t you look handsome tonight,” she said, pulling back to admire him.

“A guy has to wear a suit once in a while,” Declan replied, trying to keep his tone light, but the moment felt fragile.

His voice faltered as he caught sight of Emma emerging from the hallway. She was stunning. Words like breathtaking and hot barely scratched the surface of her beauty. The twinkle in her eyes as she looked at him confirmed that he had provided the right reaction.

“Wow!” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. Emma sidled up to him, draping her arms around his neck and kissing him softly.

Richard broke the silence, his voice a teasing lilt. “Emma, you’re going to break hearts tonight in that outfit.”

Angie, ever the supportive mother figure, hugged Emma tightly. “You look absolutely beautiful, Emma.”

Declan found it hard to breathe in Emma’s presence, overwhelmed by her radiance. “You’re stunning, sweetheart,” he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

Emma beamed at him, snuggling closer, and Declan felt a rush of warmth flood through him, making him fear he might explode from the intensity of her touch.

“We should go,” she said, her voice light and airy. “Angie and Richard, have a wonderful time tonight.”

“We will, Emma. Love you both,” Richard replied, his smile genuine.

Declan took Emma’s arm, threading it through his, and led her toward the car. With each step, the excitement of the night ahead swelled between them, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would be something special.

 

***

Emma

 

“Round one goes to me,” I said with a teasing smile, my hand resting gently on top of Declan’s. The warmth of his skin beneath my palm sent a thrill coursing through me.

“I didn’t know we were fighting,” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Not fighting… Flirting.” I traced small circles on the back of his hand, feeling the connection between us deepen with each motion.

“All right, I will give you that round,” he said, leaning in closer, “but now you’ve released the hidden tiger and crouching dragon. You will be putty in my arms.”

“I always am,” I purred, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “But eyes on the road, sweetheart.”

As we arrived at the club, Declan opened my door and helped me out of the car, his touch sending a rush of warmth through me. “Have I told you how much I love you yet today?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

“A few times,” I replied, my heart fluttering at his words. “But I will never stop wanting to hear it.”

Just then, our moment was interrupted by the enthusiastic voices of Missy and Claire, who rushed toward us, wrapping us in enormous hugs. We had all spent time together over the past week, and I loved how their energy filled the space around us.

“Emma! You look smoking hot tonight!” Missy exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thanks, Missy! I had to make sure Declan’s eyes wouldn’t roam too far,” I joked, glancing at Declan and catching the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

Claire laughed, her voice playful. “You could wear a paper sack, have rollers in your hair, and a green facial mask on, and his eyes would still be glued to you. Now, let’s go inside!”

We managed to find the last booth, and as Missy and Claire ordered drinks, they quickly dashed off to the dance floor, leaving Declan and me alone. I turned to him, feeling a rush of gratitude. “I’m so grateful you used to wear high heels,” I teased. “I would be falling all over the place otherwise.”

He smiled at me, but his gaze felt almost overwhelming, as if he were peeling my clothing from my body with his eyes. My breath hitched as his hand snaked around my midsection, drawing me closer, while the other cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.

When our lips met, I felt fireworks ignite between us. My lips parted as I felt the gentle warmth of his tongue, and my heart raced with the thrill of our first French kiss. It was a moment unlike any I had ever experienced, and when he finally pulled away, my breath was shaky, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You definitely win round two, Declan. My God, this is so difficult not to jump on you right now,” I admitted, my heart racing.

“How many rounds do we have?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“The question, my love, is not how many rounds, but rather when one yields fully to the other.” I met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

“Emma, I have already yielded my heart completely to you.”

I felt a flutter in my chest. “Mmmm. Is that a slow song they’re playing?” I tilted my head, hoping for a moment that would allow us to get lost in each other.

With that, I pulled Declan up from the booth, and as we passed Missy and Claire heading back to our table, they called out, “Go get him, Emma!”

I pressed my body firmly against Declan, locking my arms tightly around his neck. We began to sway back and forth to the music, and I could feel him struggling to keep his composure. The excitement radiating from him was palpable, and I reveled in the sensation, feeling it through the thin fabric of my dress. I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his neck as I whispered into his ear, “You’re everything I ever wanted. I’m yours completely. You own my life, my body, my heart, my soul, and my mind. Your touch sets me on fire. Your kiss… I love you, Declan.”

“I think round three goes to you, my love,” he said, his voice low and breathless. “But I believe I will win the night…”

Then, to my surprise, Declan stepped back, holding my hands in his. He knelt on one knee, his eyes locked on mine as he pulled out a beautiful ring. The music thumped around us, and the noise of the crowd faded as if we were in our own world. “Emma Taylor, nothing on Earth could ever tear me from your side. From the moment I saw you, my heart was yours. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?”

“Yes, absolutely, without a doubt, without hesitation. Oh damn… just put the ring on my finger so I can kiss you!” I could hardly contain my excitement as the warmth of the metal slid onto my finger. I pulled Declan up to face me, my hands cupping his face, and kissed him like we had never kissed before. “I yield.”

Declan smiled at me, and in a swift motion, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me back to the booth. Claire and Missy were practically bouncing in their seats. “No way! That was amazing, you two!”

I settled on Declan’s lap, my arms still wrapped around his neck. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand back to admire the ring. Two diamonds sparkled, nestled within a band of white gold.

“The two diamonds represent our souls,” Declan explained, his voice soft and intimate. “The band of gold that binds them together is shaped like an infinity symbol, symbolizing that our souls are bound together forever.”

“It’s never coming off. Never, ever,” I declared, feeling overwhelmed with joy. “I didn’t think it was possible to be so happy. It’s almost criminal.”

“You made it all possible, Emma,” he said, his gaze filled with adoration.

“Ohhhh! You’re making us cry over here!” Missy exclaimed, dabbing at her eyes dramatically.

“Is that why you left me at the pizza place today?” I asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Declan nodded, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t wait another minute. I’m sorry.”

“I will forgive you this time,” I said, leaning in to kiss him again, even as Claire and Missy pulled at my hand.

“Come on, Emma! You’re dancing with us!” they urged, laughter bubbling in their voices.

Declan laughed and playfully stole me back a few minutes later, pulling me into the warmth of his embrace, the music thrumming around us as I lost myself in the joy of the moment.

 

***

Emma

 

The next morning, I woke and stretched, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The first thing I did was check my ring finger. There it was, the ring sparkled back at me, a tangible reminder that everything was real. A surge of joy washed over me, and I quickly grabbed my phone to call Margo and share the good news.

“I was wondering what had happened to you,” she answered, her voice bright and curious.

“Long story, but it’s way better than a Disney romance,” I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. “I, uhm… met Declan at the hospital and uhm… we’re getting married.”

“Oh my God, Emma! Why does this not surprise me? Congratulations! When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow. I’m bringing Declan and his parents.”

“I hope we will get a chance to meet everyone, Emma.”

“Can you all come over Monday night for dinner?”

“I think we can arrange that. What can I bring?”

“Nothing. I’m cooking.”

“God help us,” she laughed.

“I’m a good cook!” I protested, grinning.

“We will see about that. Congratulations, hun! See you soon.”

“Love you.”

With that phone call out of the way, I dove into the closet, eager to find a pretty white dress I had been eyeing. Declan would arrive soon, and we needed to break the news to his parents. The dress had a pocket I could use to hide my hand until the right moment arose.

Just as I finished adjusting my hair, Declan arrived. I could hardly contain my excitement; I dashed through the house and jumped into his arms, forgetting all about hiding my hand. As I ran past Angie and Richard, our kisses were abruptly interrupted.

“Did we miss something last night, Declan?” Richard asked, a teasing grin on his face.

Declan managed a “Hmmm?” between kisses, his brow slightly furrowed as he tried to decipher the interruption.

“Spill it, Declan Rawlings!” Angie urged, folding her arms and pretending to glare at him.

I snuggled up against his side, attempting to look contrite, but my smile was too big to pull it off convincingly.

“Uhm… We’re getting married?” he finally said, his voice a mixture of pride and surprise.

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “It’s about time.”

Declan’s eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback by their enthusiastic response. “It’s only been a week. I thought you might think it too soon.”

Angie came over and wrapped us both in a warm hug. “You’ve been pining away for Emma for over a year now, and we can see how much you both love each other. Don’t ask me how, but I know you will be perfect for each other. Welcome to the family, again, Emma.”

“Maybe I can start calling you Mom and Dad?” I suggested, a hopeful grin spreading across my face.

Angie wiped a tear from her cheek, her smile radiant. “Nothing would make me prouder.”

Richard clapped Declan on the shoulder, a fatherly pride shining in his eyes. “So, when’s the big day?”

“This is Saturday… How about a week from today?” Declan proposed, his voice a mix of eagerness and apprehension.

“You mean I have to wait a week?” I teased, pretending to pout.

Angie gently patted me on the shoulder, her voice warm and reassuring. “All good things come to those who wait, sweetie. A wedding of any size takes some arranging to put together.”

“We’re all going to be in Florida anyway. Maybe we can have it at my place on the beach. I have tons of room. We should invite Missy and Claire, and Maggie from S.L.E.P.”

“We should also invite Henry from S.L.E.P. as well. Anyone on your side, Emma?” Declan asked, turning to me.

“Just Margo and her family, and Joe if we can track him down. I’m hoping we can keep it small and intimate.” I felt a rush of happiness at the thought of bringing everyone together to celebrate our love.

Declan smiled, and I could see his enthusiasm growing as we began to envision our special day. It was all coming together, and I couldn't wait to share this moment with everyone I loved.

 

***

Emma

 

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of making calls and arrangements, the excitement building with every detail we finalized. We quickly packed for our trip, and as the sun dipped low in the sky, we prepared to fly down to Florida the next day.

When I opened the door to my house, a wave of warmth washed over me. Fresh flowers filled the entryway, and a colorful “Congratulations!” sign hung cheerfully from the wall. Margo had let herself in and rushed over to hug me tightly.

“You didn’t think I would wait until Monday to see you?” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Margo. Thank you for everything!” I said, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I knew things would be a little hectic for you, so I shopped and made sure the guest house and beds had fresh linens,” she said, her thoughtfulness shining through.

“You’re too sweet,” I replied, feeling a warm glow in my chest. “Margo, please meet Declan, my fiancé.”

“It’s as if I know you already, Declan. Emma hasn’t stopped talking about you for the past year,” Margo said with a teasing grin.

Declan hugged Margo warmly. “Thanks for taking care of Emma. If it weren’t for you, I’m not sure any of this would be happening right now.”

“Margo, this is Angie and Richard,” I added, gesturing to Declan’s parents. “Declan’s parents.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Margo said, offering her hand.

After hugs all around, Margo headed back to her family, leaving me with Declan and his parents as I showed them around my home.

Angie was amazed by the place. “It’s so beautiful here,” she said, taking in the cozy living room and bright kitchen.

“There’s a guest house above the garage that can house eight, and there are two additional bedrooms here along with the master bedroom,” I explained, glancing at Declan. “I wonder if it’s safe to have Declan sleep here?”

Angie chuckled, a knowing smile on her face. “If there are extra rooms in the guest house, I’m sure he can stay there. Who knows what will happen when the two of you finally…”

“Mom!” Declan and I said together, laughter bubbling up as we exchanged amused glances.

“Declan, why don’t you settle in and change? You need to be poolside in fifteen minutes. We’re going to have a race,” I suggested, a playful smile on my face.

“A race?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in intrigue.

“To the pier and back. Whoever loses gets to do dishes tonight,” I declared, determination lighting up my eyes.

“You’re on!” he replied, excitement building in his voice.

Fifteen minutes later, we stood together on the beach.

“Ready…” I began, gauging his expression as I prepared to take off.

“How far is the pier?” he asked, a hint of hesitation creeping into his tone.

“Two miles. Set…” I could see his competitive spirit igniting.

“Two miles?” he echoed, his brows furrowing in mock concern.

“Look at yourself. You’re all big and muscular. I used to hike all day long above ten thousand feet. You’re not going to let a little girl beat you, are you? Go…”

With that, I took off, adrenaline surging through my veins.

“Hey!” Declan shouted after me, laughter in his voice.

I knew he was faster, but I was trained up. I pushed my legs, pumping my arms as I sprinted down the path, determined to keep up. At first, he rushed past me, calling out a teasing, “See ya, sexy!” But I was hot on his heels by the time we reached the pier, the sun glinting off the water in front of us.

We were getting close, and I could see the house coming into view. My heart raced not just from the exertion but from the thrill of the chase. I knew I had him beat.

But then, in a swift motion, he tackled me from behind, his weight pinning me down. “Oh… So that’s how it’s going to be?” I laughed, finding myself on my back with Declan lying on top of me.

His lips brushed against mine, igniting a spark of arousal that coursed through me. “I don’t think I can handle this,” I murmured, feeling breathless.

“Neither can I,” he admitted, his smile widening as he kissed me deeper.

I rolled him over onto his back, straddling him triumphantly. “I’m not going to last a week…” I whispered, planting another kiss on his lips, feeling the warmth of our connection.

“Unless I burn some excess energy,” I added with a mischievous glint in my eye.

Jumping up, I took off running back toward the house, a burst of laughter escaping my lips.

“Not fair!” Declan yelled, scrambling to his feet and chasing after me, his laughter echoing behind me.

“Life’s not fair, Declan!” I called back, glancing over my shoulder to see him gaining on me. The thrill of the chase filled the air as I sprinted toward the pool, the sound of our playful banter mingling with the rustle of palm leaves in the warm breeze.

As I reached the patio, I skidded to a stop, panting but exhilarated, and turned to face him, hands on my hips. “You will have to be faster than that if you want to win!”

Declan slowed, catching his breath, his gaze locked on me with an intensity that made my heart race all over again. “Next time, I won’t take it easy on you.”

“Bring it on!” I shot back, the playful challenge hanging in the air between us. The sun was shining brightly, the day stretching out ahead of us filled with endless possibilities.

 

***

Emma

 

Declan and I snuggled on the chaise in the dying light of the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink. “This was my favorite spot when I first came home from the hospital. I would lie here in the sun to keep warm,” I shared, a hint of nostalgia in my voice.

“I will keep you warm,” he replied, pulling me tighter against him, our bodies fitting together perfectly.

“You sure do,” I said softly, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

Declan shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me more closely. “What do we need to do for tomorrow’s dinner?”

“I was thinking of grilled steaks, potatoes, asparagus, and salad. Guess which one you get to take care of?” I teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“Salad?” he guessed, though the smirk on his face suggested he knew he was wrong.

“Nope. Steaks. You’re a guy now. You must learn how to grill to perfection with a fork in one hand and a beer in another. I bet I can get Dad to help you out,” I giggled, imagining the two of them bonding over the grill. I loved being a woman, reveling in the playful banter.

“Nothing like male bonding over fire,” he chuckled, shaking his head at the thought.

“I also need to shop for a dress, and we need to pick out a ring for you,” I added, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of our upcoming wedding.

“You’re going to leave me?” he asked, feigning shock.

“Just for a few hours. One day you might want alone time,” I said, giving him a teasing look.

“Never,” he replied earnestly, his gaze steady as he searched my eyes.

“At least you know it’s for a good cause. Maybe you can go to the Tradewinds to see if they have a nice room for our wedding night. Perhaps you can find Joe there too,” I suggested, thinking about all the little details we still had to sort out.

“Good plan. You think we need a single bed?” he asked, his voice turning serious for a moment, a playful glint still in his eyes.

“I would just take some privacy. I’m not planning on sleeping,” I said, biting my lip to suppress a smile.

“You’re insatiable,” he replied, feigning exasperation as he squirmed slightly beneath me, a flush creeping up his neck.

“I guess you will find out,” I whispered, leaning in closer, my breath warm against his skin. “I can’t wait to feel your naked body next to mine.”

Declan squirmed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “That’s so cruel!” he laughed, the sound rich and genuine.

I giggled again, the sound filling the air between us with lightness.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow around us, I nestled deeper into his side, feeling content. This was where I belonged, and nothing could take that away. The future was bright, filled with love, laughter, and all the adventures we were yet to discover together.

 

***

Emma

 

The day of the wedding arrived, and none too soon. I felt a whirlwind of excitement and nervousness, having planned to break into the guest house several times to tackle Declan. Missy, Claire, Maggie, and Henry had all arrived late last night, filling the house with laughter and chatter, while Declan was being helped by Joe, Henry, and his father.

Watching Richard and Angie prepare to marry off both their son and daughter added another layer of emotion to the day. I hadn’t seen Declan all morning, and that was about as traditional as this wedding was going to be.

Missy tugged on my arm, urging me to get ready. “One second, Missy,” I said, and walked over to Richard and Angie. “I can’t imagine what you both must be going through right now. Dad, would it be all right with you if you walked me down the aisle?”

The request brought tears to both their eyes. “I always wanted to do that. It would be my honor,” Richard replied, his voice thick with emotion.

After hugging them both tightly, I scampered off to my bedroom. Angie snuck in after me, her face glowing with excitement. “May I join you?”

“Of course! I’m going to need all the help I can get,” I laughed, feeling the familiar warmth of family around me.

Margo and Angie worked on my hair while Missy and Maggie focused on my nails. Claire took charge of my makeup, and I could feel the tension in the room melt away with the steady rhythm of laughter and chatter.

“So much for not being in contact with the patient,” Maggie joked, glancing at Claire as she applied eyeshadow with precision.

I smiled, trying not to move my face too much as Claire worked. “Might be a new business for S.L.E.P.”

“How’s that?” Claire asked, curious.

“You could put eHarmony out of business. Just do your magic on healthy people,” I replied, my eyes sparkling with mischief.

Maggie burst into laughter. “I’m so happy for you, Emma.”

When everything was done and I looked like a princess, I felt a surge of gratitude toward everyone who had made this day possible. We all took our places, the air filled with anticipation. Angie held back as I prepared to step into this new chapter of my life.

“How can I ever thank you, Emma?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

“There’s nothing you need to thank me for,” I replied softly, feeling the weight of her words.

“But there is. You saved our daughter. You gave us the funds we needed to get back on our feet and can retire. You’ve made Declan’s dreams come true. You’re every inch my beloved daughter and cherished friend. I’m so grateful to you,” she said, her voice filled with emotion.

“You’re going to make me cry and ruin my makeup. All things work out for good. I see that now. You’re the mother I never really had. Thank you.”

We hugged tightly, and as she slipped out of the room, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and Richard, Dad, opened it for me.

“You’re beautiful, Emma,” he said, his voice filled with pride as he took in the sight of me.

“You look pretty dapper yourself, Dad,” I said, smiling up at him as he adjusted his tie.

“I love it when you call me that. Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes glistening with pride.

“More than you will ever know.”

As the music began to play, I took a deep breath and walked arm in arm with Dad down the aisle, between the chairs that had been perfectly lined up on the beach. The waves crashed softly in the background, and a light breeze brought with it the sweet scent of roses, making me feel like my mother was there with me. My heart raced with anticipation, and my gaze was locked on Declan, who stood on a slightly raised platform beneath a beautiful rose arbor. He looked incredibly handsome in his tuxedo, and I caught the brief flicker of his eyes taking in the way my dress hugged my curves, conservative yet undeniably sexy.

Leaving Dad next to Mom, I stepped up onto the platform as the priest began to speak words of blessing over our marriage. The moments felt like an eternity, each second stretching as I waited for the moment I could kiss my wonderful husband.

“...kiss the bride.”

Phew! Finally! Declan leaned in, and our lips met in a soft yet passionate kiss. The cheers from our friends and family surrounded us, filling the air with joy and celebration.

Once the congratulatory hugs and well-wishes faded, we signed the marriage documents, and I beamed at the realization that I was now officially Emma Rawlings. With the formalities out of the way, we all rushed over to the Tradewinds for our reception.

As we settled in, Declan stood and raised his glass high. “To my wonderful parents, who stayed by my side year after year through my sickness. No one has ever had more loving and kind parents than I have. To my bride, it’s so nice to be able to say that. I will never leave you and promise to love you every minute of every day. Cheers!”

The clinking of glasses echoed throughout the room, but I felt no hesitation in standing up to kiss Declan. My heart swelled with gratitude and joy as I raised my own glass. “I bet I’m the first one to ever thank her in-laws and biological parents as the same two people,” I began, my voice slightly choked with emotion. “Thank you for accepting me into your family, your home, and your lives. To my husband, the man that I know I’m willing to die for because I tried it once already…” Laughter erupted, and I felt the warmth of our friends and family surrounding us. “I pledge my life and love. I will never stray even if you burn the steaks.”

“That was Dad!” Declan protested with a playful grin.

I giggled, my cheeks flushed with happiness. “Cheers!”

With that, we kissed again, our lips brushing together softly, then more insistently, as we lost ourselves in each other.

The reception unfolded like a dream, filled with laughter, dancing, and shared memories. We twirled around the dance floor, Declan spinning me until I felt like I was floating. I was so in love, so incredibly grateful for this moment, for this life we were building together.

As the night wore on, I glanced around the banquet hall, taking in the smiling faces of our friends and family. My heart was full, knowing that I had finally found my place, not just with Declan, but within this beautiful tapestry of love and support that surrounded us.

 

***

Emma

 

The time had finally come for Declan and me to head to our room for the night. I had heard that some couples sleep first, but I was anything but tired. As Declan carried me over the threshold and gently placed me on my feet, I was more than ready to become a woman.

“I have never wanted anything as much as I want you, Emma,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

My heart raced as I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him deeply. “Words aren’t enough to describe the love I have for you, Declan.”

With a gentle yet firm touch, he turned my body, so I faced away from him. I could feel his warmth radiating against my back, heightening my anticipation. His lips brushed against the spot on my neck that drove me wild, sending shivers down my spine. I felt his fingers lightly trace the bare skin of my shoulders, and I shivered in anticipation.

The cool air caressed my back as he pulled down the zipper of my dress, exposing my skin to his hungry gaze. “Mmmm. Don’t stop, Declan!” I breathed, feeling a rush of excitement as my heart pounded in my chest.

With deft fingers, he slid the dress down my arms, letting it pool at my feet. I felt exposed and vulnerable, but with him, it was exhilarating. He took a moment to admire me, his gaze lingering on every curve. The way he looked at me made me feel beautiful and desired.

“Emma,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “you’re absolutely stunning.”

I turned to face him, feeling emboldened by his words. The connection between us was electric, and I could see the desire burning in his eyes. I reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as I worked to undress him. Each button that came undone revealed more of his toned chest, and my breath caught in my throat.

“Let me help,” he said, brushing my hands aside gently. He deftly removed his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles beneath, and my heart raced at the sight of him.

He stepped closer, his body warm against mine, and I could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with my own. I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. This one was deeper, filled with the promise of everything that was to come.

As we kissed, his hands slid down my back, exploring every inch of my skin. I could feel his arousal, mingling with my excitement. It was just us, lost in each other.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” I replied, my voice steady.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted me back into his arms, carrying me to the bed. He laid me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine, filled with a mix of awe and longing.

As I lay there, the soft sheets beneath me, I knew this was the moment I had dreamed of, the moment I would fully embrace my womanhood, wrapped in the love of the man I adored.

Declan leaned over me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch feather-light. “You are everything to me, Emma. I want this night to be perfect for you.”

“It already is,” I whispered, my heart swelling with emotion.

As the moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow over us, I surrendered myself to the moment, ready to explore the depths of our love together.

 

***

Emma

 

It was very late the next day that we pulled into the driveway of our home. As we stepped out of the car, we were greeted by a festive atmosphere. Colorful streamers decorated the porch, and a "Welcome Newlyweds" banner fluttered in the gentle breeze.

“You’re positively glowing, Emma,” Claire remarked, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she approached us.

I was only mildly embarrassed. Everyone knew what happens on a wedding night, but I was positive no one would ever really know how amazing ours was. My fingers were entwined with Declan’s as I snuggled back against his body, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

“It’s good to be alive,” I replied, looking up at him with a smile.

“So, where are you going for a honeymoon?” Claire asked, her curiosity evident.

Declan and I laughed as we said it together. “Nepal!”

 

***

Emma

 

Almost a year later, but two years to the day of our transformations, I walked into Norwalk Hospital. I paused for a moment, inhaling the sterile scent that filled the air, a stark reminder of where it all began, the place where Declan and I had faced our greatest fears, where we had discovered our true selves.

Turning back towards the entrance, I could feel the warmth rise in my cheeks, and my heart beat a little faster as I caught sight of Declan struggling with a large bag of gifts. His face was flushed, a mix of exertion and excitement, and the way his eyes sparkled made my heart swell. Trailing behind him were our parents, Richard, and Angie, and our best friends, Missy, and Claire, all wearing wide smiles as they chatted animatedly.

“Do you need a hand?” I called out, my voice breaking through the ambient noise of the bustling hospital.

“I got it!” he puffed, a playful grin breaking across his face. “Just trying to carry enough joy for the whole ward!”

We had convinced them all that they wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity; there was no greater joy than seeing the smiles of children on Christmas Day. Well, almost no greater joy.

A soft glint caught my attention, guiding my gaze down to my left hand, where my wedding ring glinted under the fluorescent lights, reflecting shards of color that danced for me. I absentmindedly stroked the slight swell of my belly, feeling the soft kicks of our baby. In just four months, we would have a child of our own, a new life that would bring with it immeasurable love and possibility.

I rushed over to Declan, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace, the scent of him comforting me as I buried my face in his neck. “Merry Christmas, my love!” I exclaimed, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Merry Christmas, Emma!” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

Declan's eyes sparkled with joy, and I couldn't help but mirror his excitement. As we stepped into the ward, the atmosphere shifted. The cheerful chaos of the hospital’s annual Christmas party greeted us: laughter, the smell of fresh-baked cookies, and the sound of festive music filled the air, creating a warm contrast to the clinical surroundings.

Children in pajamas darted around, their faces painted with joy as volunteers helped them create holiday crafts. I felt a rush of gratitude wash over me, remembering the struggles we had faced to reach this moment, the darkness we had both emerged from, and how far we had come.

“Let’s set up over there!” Missy suggested, pointing to a cozy corner where a group of children had gathered, eagerly anticipating the arrival of Santa.

We unloaded the bags, each bursting with toys, books, and sweet treats. Gifts we had lovingly chosen with the kids in mind. With every item we revealed, I could feel the energy in the room surge, their eyes sparkling with wonder and pure joy. Laughter erupted as each child clutched their new treasure, and my heart swelled with happiness, knowing we were part of creating this unforgettable moment for them.

When the party finally ended, and after we shared a sweet kiss, Declan and I stepped outside the hospital hand in hand, a world of possibilities stretching out before us. I felt a rush of warmth as I looked into his eyes, a silent promise passing between us. No matter what challenges awaited us, I knew we would always find our way back to each other, just as we had always done.

As we walked into the night, illuminated by stars that twinkled like the dreams we were building together, I felt an exhilarating sense of hope. Our journey was unfolding beautifully, and with the love of my life by my side, I was ready to embrace every precious moment. Together, we would write a story filled with laughter, love, and a little one who would bring us endless joy.

 

The End

 

***

***

 

Author’s note: I will be the first to admit that I always cry with this story. Even after writing it, rewriting it, and reading it over numerous times, I still have tissues nearby. I hope you enjoyed the rewrite of this story. Being somewhat Christmas oriented, it is my Christmas wish for you, my reader, that you will find joy and love in your own life.

Please take a moment to drop me a private message or leave a comment.

Avia Conner