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Captioned Images Series: This Isn't Right
Created: 02/13/2026
Edward had known better than to mock Katey the Witch.
She wasn’t the green-skinned, wart-nosed caricature from children’s books. Katey preferred silk scarves, crimson lipstick, and speaking in calm, measured tones. Which made it all the more unsettling when she grew quiet and said, “You’ll learn what it means to live someone else’s life.”
Edward remembered laughing.
Then the smoke.
Then nothing.
---
When he opened his eyes, the world was soft and pastel.
He was sitting upright on a floral-patterned couch, legs crossed neatly at the ankle. Daylight filtered through sheer curtains. Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked politely.
He felt… comfortable.
Between two fingers—no, perfectly manicured fingers tipped in glossy coral polish—he held a cigarette at a practiced angle. He took a long, languid drag and exhaled toward the ceiling without coughing.
On the television, a younger, big-haired Oprah Winfrey was earnestly interviewing a teary-eyed guest in what looked like a rerun from the 1990s. The theme music swelled.
Peggy shook her head sympathetically.
Men, she thought. They just don’t listen.
Edward would have blinked at that thought.
But Edward wasn’t here.
Peggy adjusted herself on the couch, the leopard-print wrap top hugging her torso as she reached for the remote. The deep V neckline revealed careful contouring along her collarbones. Sleek black capri leggings clung to her legs, and her black stiletto-heeled mules tapped idly against the carpet.
She shifted her weight, feeling the satisfying lift of the heel.
The auburn bouffant wig—styled in a dramatic 1960s shoulder-length beehive with soft waves and heavy bangs—barely moved. It had been sprayed into architectural submission. Peggy instinctively fluffed it anyway.
Can’t let myself go, she thought. Not even on a Tuesday.
A faint, distant part of Edward stirred.
This isn’t right.
But the thought slid away like water off polished glass.
Peggy leaned forward, stubbing the cigarette delicately into a crystal ashtray. Her bracelets chimed. She reached for her coffee mug—“World’s Best Homemaker”—and took a sip, grimacing slightly.
Cold. I’ve got to stop reheating the same cup.
On screen, Oprah was speaking about reinvention. About women who woke up one day and realized they’d been living someone else’s expectations.
Peggy nodded gravely.
That’s why I chose this life, she thought. Stability. Presentation. Grace.
Her eyes drifted down to her hands.
Manicured. Elegant. Controlled.
A flicker.
Edward remembered dirt under his nails. Remembered sneakers, not heels. Remembered laughing at a woman in a grocery store who’d argued loudly over expired coupons.
The memory felt foreign.
Judgmental.
Ugly.
Peggy frowned.
That man must have been awful.
She rose from the couch in one fluid motion, balancing effortlessly on the stilettos. The room swayed for half a second—her body unfamiliar with the posture—but Peggy adjusted, placing one hand on her hip.
“I need a fresh cigarette,” she murmured to herself, voice husky, self-assured.
Her reflection in the hallway mirror caught her attention.
The body staring back was unmistakably Edward’s—broad shoulders, masculine jaw, the faint shadow of stubble beneath expertly blended foundation.
But the presentation was pure Peggy.
Confident. Curated. Intentional.
Peggy tilted her head.
“Not bad,” she said approvingly.
Somewhere deep inside, Edward tried to scream.
Instead, Peggy smiled.
From the television, Oprah’s voice drifted down the hall.
“You are not who you were yesterday. You are who you decide to become today.”
Peggy felt that settle into her bones like gospel.
In the quiet space between heartbeats, a faint whisper echoed—Katey’s voice, smooth and satisfied.
“Walk a mile, Edward.”
Peggy adjusted her wig one last time, then sashayed toward the kitchen, heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.
She had errands to run.
And she had absolutely no idea she had ever been anyone else.
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