After the switch, I'd dispatched people to find the mysterious elder.

But he'd vanished completely, as if he'd never existed.


I'd nearly abandoned hope.

Resigned myself to permanent transformation.

Considered embracing life in Marcus Mitchell's skin forever.


But the very day Marcus delivered our son,

the elder materialized.


He stood beneath the ancient oak in our garden, regarding me with knowing eyes.

"You've worn this skin well, daughter," he observed.

I dismissed my security with a wave.

Rushed forward and clasped his weathered hands.

"Please," I whispered. "Help me finish this."

When consciousness returned,

I stared up at my familiar bedroom ceiling.

Cedar incense—my favorite—perfumed the air.

"Mrs. Parker," I called, my voice—my true voice—hoarse from disuse.

My own voice again.

The nanny rushed in immediately.

Seeing the recognition in my eyes, her own filled with tears:

"Liv... it's really you! You're back!"

I nodded weakly, waving away her offered support.

"What's happened while I was... away?"

Mrs. Parker fussed with my pillows while updating me:

"It's been three days since you collapsed at the celebration.

The doctors diagnosed postpartum exhaustion compounded by emotional trauma. They've prescribed complete rest."

She couldn't suppress a satisfied smile:

"Social media is crucifying Marcus Mitchell—calling him heartless, unfaithful, an unfit father and complete monster.

The attorneys confirmed this morning that all assets have been legally transferred to you.

As for Mitchell himself..."

Her voice dropped to a whisper:

"Word came this morning that when they found him at that club, he was... unrecognizable.

They say he died from internal injuries after hours of... unspeakable violations."