Julie stood frozen in the living room doorway, her hand still on the knob as if it might anchor her in reality.

Jackson---her Jackson, the six---foot---tall man she’d married less than a year ago---sat on the edge of their sofa like a portrait of sweetness. His knees were together, hands folded primly over a pastel pink cardigan with tiny pearl buttons. Beneath it, a floral dress with ruffles at the hem swished gently as he shifted. White tights with delicate lace trim hugged his long legs, and his shiny pink Mary Janes caught the late afternoon sun. A colorful bow headband framed his freshly bleached white hair, making him look like the grandmother in some impossibly cheerful children’s book.

When he looked up, the knitting needles in his lap paused mid---click. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was just waiting.” His voice wavered slightly at the edges, warm and lilting, as though every word was cushioned in tea and honey.

Julie’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Jackson... what are you doing? Why are you dressed like---”

He chuckled softly, a grandmotherly laugh that rolled with mild amusement. “Don’t make such a fuss. I told you, I’m just waiting. Always best to be ready for company.”

She stepped further into the room. “Jackson... you’re my husband. You’re twenty---three years old. You’re not---”

“Not what, dear?” He tilted his head, as if humoring a confused child. “Not a lady in her seventies? Oh, Julie, you flatter me. I know I keep myself spry, but I’m not that young anymore.”

Julie felt her skin prickle. “Why would I marry an old woman?”

“Because we love each other,” he said simply, as if the answer should end the conversation. He patted her hand gently, the way a patient elder might soothe a nervous niece.

Her heartbeat was too loud in her ears. She stepped back, scanning the room for something---anything---that might jolt him out of whatever this was.

The top dresser drawer: neatly folded floral nightgowns. Another: silk scarves, lace gloves, pastel sweaters. In the closet: dresses, skirts, hats with wide brims. She yanked a photo album from the shelf---every page showed him as he appeared now, smiling in sun hats at picnics, knitting in armchairs, blowing out birthday candles shaped into numbers well past seventy. There was no Jackson she knew, no twenty---three---year---old man.

“No...” she whispered, fumbling for his wallet. The driver’s license slid out---age: 74. Gender: F. The picture matched exactly the person sitting in the other room.

Her chest tightened. She stumbled to the desk and dug through the drawer, finding a folded sheet of official paper. Her hands shook as she read: Birth Certificate---Female. Born 74 years ago. Same name. Same address.

“That’s not possible,” she breathed.

But there was more---letters from the Social Security Administration, confirming his benefits. Deposit statements from the bank showing monthly payments labeled “SSA Retirement.” Every document, every scrap of paper, aligned perfectly with this... woman in her living room.

She pressed a hand to her mouth. No. I married a man. I know I did. I remember the wedding, the tuxedo, his voice, the way he picked me up and spun me around after the vows. I remember it.

The knitting needles clicked again in the next room, as if mocking her thoughts.

Jackson appeared in the doorway, smoothing his cardigan. “Now, dear, I think we should go out for dinner. My treat.”

Julie stared at him. “Dinner?”

“Yes, yes, but we must hurry. The Early Bird Special ends at 4:45, and I don’t want to miss it. You know how busy it gets after the retirement home bus arrives.” He was already fussing with her coat, helping her into it with the brisk precision of someone who had done it a hundred times before.

“Jackson, you---” She wanted to say you’re not who you think you are. She wanted to shake him until the truth fell back into place. But the words felt flimsy in her throat. Every shred of proof she’d found contradicted her memory.

“And of course,” he added cheerfully, “Bingo at the Senior Center starts at seven sharp. I like to sit near the coffee urn. The best gossip’s there.” He winked, patting her arm.

Her eyes followed him as he bustled toward the front door, steps small and careful, one hand resting lightly on his hip. His head tilted just so when he laughed---a soft, tinkling chuckle that could have floated out of a church basement potluck.

Julie hesitated, the cold edge of the door frame pressing into her palm. Am I losing my mind? Or did the whole world change except me?

Jackson turned back, smiling warmly. “Come along, sweetheart. You’ll learn to appreciate an early dinner. There’s nothing better than being home in your slippers before the evening chill sets in.”

She stepped outside, the tap of his Mary Janes on the pavement echoing in her ears, each one hammering the impossible truth deeper: the man she loved was gone, and in his place was a woman who had apparently always been here.

Jackson had just set his purse on the hall table when he paused, pressing a hand lightly to his abdomen. “Oh, dear, I’ll have to nip to the ladies’ room before we head out,” he said, already bustling toward the bathroom with his careful, mincing steps.

Julie stayed in the living room, staring at the door he’d disappeared behind. The whole house seemed to press in on her, whispering its impossible consistency---drawers full of dresses, photographs she didn’t remember, documents that rewrote her marriage. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry or...

The room tilted slightly. She grabbed the back of the couch to steady herself, but the dizziness kept rolling over her like warm water. A fizzing energy welled up inside her---giddy, restless, uncontainable.

She blinked. Why am I even standing still? That was boring. She wanted to move. Hop, jump, bounce---anything but stand here like a statue. A grin spread across her face before she knew it, and she began bunny---hopping around the room, arms flailing, landing with satisfying thumps on the carpet.

It didn’t matter that she still had her adult woman’s body. In her head, she was five years old---a boy---and every fiber of her being was thrumming with that wild, playful energy.

The bathroom door creaked open. Jackson emerged, drying his hands on a pink hand towel. He stopped mid---step when he saw her bounding across the living room. His face softened into a smile that carried both fondness and that faint scolding tone older women reserve for rowdy grandchildren.

“Oh, my. You shouldn’t be wearing your mother’s clothes,” he said with a tsk, as though it were the most natural observation in the world.

Before Julie could respond---if she even wanted to---Jackson took her gently but firmly by the arm. “Come along, dear. Let’s get you into something more suitable.”

She giggled and hopped alongside him into the bedroom, bouncing once onto the bed before he could stop her. Jackson opened a drawer and pulled out clothes she was sure had never existed in their home before: a cozy navy blue hoodie covered in cheerful cartoon characters, white cotton underwear printed with colorful superheroes, bright red crew socks with smiley faces, and a sturdy pair of navy sneakers with white soles and Velcro straps.

“These will do nicely,” he said, laying them out in a neat row. “Now, let’s get you changed. No more of this big---girl attire for you, hmm?”

Julie wriggled into the outfit without protest---why would she? It was perfect for running, jumping, climbing trees, all the best things in life. She didn’t even notice the absurdity of her large frame stuffed into clothes clearly meant for a child.

“Now, don’t forget your sneakers,” Jackson said, crouching with some effort to fasten the Velcro straps, his motions careful and precise, as if dressing a fidgety grandchild was part of his daily routine.

As they walked out to the car, Julie practically skipped beside him, chattering nonstop. “Can I have chocolate milk for dinner? And French fries? And maybe a milkshake too? Oh! And can we get chicken nuggets? And do they have ice cream? I want ice cream after! And maybe a toy if they have toys---”

Jackson smiled indulgently, patting her arm. “We’ll see, dear. We’ll see.”

When they reached the car, he opened the back door. “Safety first,” he murmured, guiding her into a booster seat---where had that even come from?---and fastening the straps snugly across her lap and shoulders.

Julie squirmed but not out of annoyance---she was just buzzing with energy, legs swinging, eyes wide.

Jackson settled into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirror so he could glance back at her. “There we go. All safe and sound.”

He started the engine, the hum of the car mixing with Julie’s rapid---fire questions about dessert and toys and whether they could go to the park afterward.

And as they pulled away from the house, the only thing more surreal than the sight of a six---foot---tall “grandmother” driving with perfect posture was the complete, unwavering certainty in both of their minds that this was exactly who they had always been.

---