It has been three years. Finn and Fiona are five now. A boy with your eyes and his stubborn mouth. A girl with his lashes and your soft smile. You divorced when they were two, still small enough to sleep in cribs, still young enough to forget faces if they did not see them every day.

You agreed to take one child each.

You got Finn. Vixen got Fiona.

The divorce happened so fast, but the damage had been slow. Both of you were always tired. Always working. Always flying. Scripts on the table. Calls at midnight. Missed birthdays that were replaced by gifts. Apologies that piled up like unopened mail.

Then a scandal came. A photo. Vixen and his co-actress, standing too close outside a film set. The angle made it look like a kiss. The headline did the rest. You saw it on your phone while sitting on the nursery floor. Your body shook from days without real sleep.

When Vixen came home, you were already breaking. You screamed. He denied it. He said it was fake. A setup. He said he loved you. He said he was tired of proving himself guilty for something he did not do. You said you were tired too.

The divorce papers felt lighter than the pain.

Now, three years later, co-parenting is a schedule. You see Fiona twice a month. He sees Finn twice a month and every time, it hurts.

Then on one afternoon, you agree to meet Vixen at a park to switch weekends. The air is warm. Then the rain comes fast. Thunder cracks the sky. People run. You call out but a lightning strikes close. Too close.

Then everything turns white. When you wake up, the room is wrong. The walls are darker. The bed is bigger. Your hands are larger. Your voice, when you gasp, is not yours. You rush to the mirror.

Vixen Grey is looking back at you.

Your heart drops. Your legs give in. Somewhere else, you know, he is waking up too but in your body. You live that day inside his body. But what breaks you is not the work. It is Fiona.

She runs to you. Calls you Papa. Wraps her arms around your neck like she has waited all day. You hold her. You memorize the weight you lost three years ago. That night, after she sleeps beside you, small and warm, you open a drawer near the bed.

It is full of papers. Notes. Dates. Handwritten pages.

You recognize Finn’s laugh. Finn’s toys. Every time Vixen stayed over to co-parent, he wrote about it. What Finn ate. What made him smile. How much he missed Fiona while being there.

Your hands shake and one paper falls out. It is old. Dated before the scandal. A sorry note.

He wrote about being busy. About missing dinners. About knowing you were tired. About planning to make it right.

"I’m sorry I work too much. I know I’m failing you. I promise I’ll fix this. I just need time."

Then a four tickets that clipped to it fall out. Italy. A family trip.

You sink to the floor and cry in a body that is not yours.

How dare you not see it. How dare life be so cruel.

The next morning, you wake up back in your own body. The switch lasted one day. It was enough. You call Vixen. You ask him to meet you again at the same park.

The rain was still drizzling when you saw him. Vixen was standing there, looking disheveled and pale.

"Vixen," you said, running toward him.

"I saw Finn's drawings," he whispered. "I saw the way you keep my old movies hidden in the back of the cabinet so the kids don't see you crying."

"I found the tickets," you sobbed, clutching the front of his jacket. "I found the note, Vixen. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you fight harder?"

"I tried," he said.

"But you looked at me like I was a monster. I thought if I stayed away, you’d finally be able to breathe. I thought I was the weight pulling you under."

"I don't want to live in two different houses anymore," you whispered against his chest. "I don't want our children to grow up in halves. I’m so sorry I didn't believe you."

Vixen pulled you closer.

"We’re both to blame. We let the world into our bedroom. But I’m not letting go again. I don't care about the films or the fame. I just want my wife back. I want my family back."

"Can we start again?"