Paul Wendell walked down the peaceful suburban street, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of the maple trees that lined the sidewalks. Although the 23-year-old Paul didn’t look like himself at all, he now appeared to be a 41-year-old woman. Shoulder-length chestnut brown hair fell in soft waves around his face, held back on one side by a simple tortoiseshell hair clip. He wore a light pastel-colored blouse with delicate embroidery along the collar and sleeves, paired with a knee-length floral print skirt in soft shades of pink, green, and white. Dark opaque tights and comfortable flats completed the casual yet feminine look.

He spotted his friend Russell Thorson standing near the corner, checking something on his phone. Russell didn’t recognize him.

Paul approached with a tentative smile. “Russell... it’s me. It’s crazy, but it’s true. I am Helen Lessing.”

Russell looked up, frowning in confusion. “Helen Lessing? Sorry, I don’t know any Helen Lessing.”

“That’s because she doesn’t really exist,” Paul said quietly. “Her whole life was made up and given to me. I used to be Paul. I was just... given this life. It comes with a husband, two little girls, new elderly parents, siblings, cousins... everything. I’m in the PTA now. I help organize bake sales and book clubs. All of it was created for me.”

Russell stared, clearly trying to process the words coming from this middle-aged woman who claimed to be his old friend. “What are you talking about, lady?”

Paul took a breath. “I know it sounds insane. But it’s real. I need a friend who understands... or at least one who can be part of this new life with me.”