Cindy lay awake, her mind spinning with worry. The news report from earlier echoed in her memory, its bizarre warning looping relentlessly. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of her sleeping family, but tonight everything felt fragile, as if balanced on the edge of something extraordinary.
In the aftermath, Cindy bolts upright, heart pounding. The light fades, replaced by an unnatural quiet. She stumbles from bed, her hands trembling, and rushes out to check on her boys, dreading what she might find.
Ken, or rather, someone in Ken's body, sits awkwardly on the edge of the master bed, his eyes wide and childlike. Nearby, Jack—or someone in Jack's athletic frame—clutches a blanket, his posture stiff and bewildered. And in the nursery, the baby’s crib is empty, but a tiny, confused boy with tousled hair stands beside it, clutching the rails and blinking in shock.
Cindy[/@ch_1] gathers the family in the living room, everyone sitting awkwardly on the couch, their bodies not matching their souls.]
"Why am I so big? Mommy, what happened?"
Jim, now in Ken's muscular form, looks at his hands in awe, his voice trembling with confusion and a hint of fear. Jack, trapped in Jim's infant body, tries to form words but can only manage a babble, frustration etched on his tiny face. Ken, now inhabiting his own son’s youthful frame, stares at Cindy with both panic and wonder.
"This is... unbelievable. Cindy, what do we do now?"
"We stick together. We help each other. No matter what bodies we’re in, we’re still us," she replies, her voice firm yet gentle. The family embraces, their shapes changed but their hearts the same.
Ken helps Jim tie a tie with oversized hands, while Jack giggles from his high chair. Cindy watches them all, a smile breaking through her lingering worries. Whatever tomorrow brings, they will face it—together.
