I told myself I was different. That I could be the one to save him from the confines of his broken marriage. That love could justify anything. But there was something about Marcus that unsettled me. His understanding of the human mind went far beyond what was normal. His office wasn’t just filled with paperwork and patient files it was overflowing with medical textbooks, neurological research, and obscure journals on cognitive manipulation.
Then, one day, Sophie walked into the clinic. She was warm, easy to talk to, and genuinely kind so different from how Marcus had described her. Lonely and new in town, I welcomed her friendship. After all, I was her husband's personal assistant. We went to the gym together, joined local women’s groups, and she introduced me to her circle of friends.
Sophie did have these moments episodes, almost where she'd completely zone out. But I never questioned it. Marcus had told me she wasn’t always well. She was fragile. I didn’t want to raise suspicions about my relationship with him, so I played along.
Eventually, I made the hardest decision of my life: I quit my job, cutting ties with both Marcus and Sophie.
One afternoon, while sorting through some laundry, I found something she had given me—a small piece of paper with a note scrawled across it: "Read this. It will help you understand, but find me if it’s too much."
Curiosity and guilt drove me to see her one last time. When I arrived, she greeted me with a soft, knowing smile.
"I was wondering when you'd come," she said.
I confessed my affair with Marcus, bracing myself for her anger. But she simply nodded. "I've known about his infidelities for years," she admitted. "That’s why I take all these medications. If I confront him, he just increases the dosage to make me seem crazy."
Despite it all, she still valued our friendship.
"You're the first real friend I’ve ever had," she whispered.
As a form of reconciliation, she asked me to try one of her spiritual exercises. "To connect," she said. "To understand each other beyond this world."
The room darkened as we sat on the floor, knees touching.
"Close your eyes," she instructed. "Breathe deeply. Feel your spirit loosen."
At first, it was nothing just quiet. Then I felt it. A strange pull, like something was unraveling inside me. My heart pounded. Dizziness washed over me.
I opened my eyes..
And screamed.
I wasn’t in my body anymore. I was in hers.
Sophie had taken my body, slipping into my life with practiced ease. She moved with confidence, mimicking my gestures, my habits, my very essence, as if she had been born into my skin.
"You'll need these," she said, pointing at the medication on the table, her voice eerily calm. "You're not well."
She dialed a number and whispered, "It’s time."
Marcus entered, his gaze sweeping over me with something close to pity.
"She's having another episode," Sophie now in my body said.
He sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I’m sorry, Sophie," he murmured.
A few hours later, I woke up chained in an experimental room. Marcus stood over me in his white coat.
I begged him to believe me.
He only smiled as he placed divorce papers in front of me.
I didn’t even recognize Sophie’s signature, yet somehow, the papers were signed, and the process was complete.
I felt a sharp sting as the syringe pierced my arm. As the sedative flowed in, Marcus whispered the last thing I would hear before the darkness took me: "You never really knew me, did you?"
The last thing I saw before the world faded was his smile and the signed divorce papers.
Five years later, Sophie wearing my body came to visit me.
"You were just unlucky," she said with a smirk. "You see, I’m a doctor too. Marcus and I have been running these experiments for years. Swapping identities. Testing human consciousness. It’s all medical research, really. You were just… a fascinating subject."
"You ruined my life," I whispered.
She laughed softly. "Oh, darling," she murmured. "I didn’t ruin it. I just... took it."
She turned to leave. "Take your meds. They help with the delusions."
I watched her go, my own face disappearing down the sterile hallway.
No one would ever believe me.
So now, I write.
It’s the only thing they allow me, the only proof I can leave behind. Maybe someone will read my words and finally understand. Maybe someone will warn the next victim.
All this because of my desire for a married man.
Men will leave you in the desert without water.
Poor next victim!
