The Soul Swap

My daughter attempted suicide.

I was in the middle of a business trip when I got the call.

I felt a wave of irritation at the sight of the school’s number flashing on my phone. This was the third time in a month that my daughter, Madeline, had called from school.

Every call was the same—either she wanted to leave the campus or transfer to a different school altogether.

I had pulled countless strings to secure her a spot at the prestigious private academy, yet she never seemed grateful. Instead, she made my life more difficult with her endless complaints.

I dismissed the call three times before I finally picked up.

But it wasn’t Madeline on the line.

It was the school, informing me that Madeline had attempted to take her life in her dorm room by slitting her wrists.

The words didn’t fully register. The phone slipped from my hand, and the world faded from my eyes. Then, everything went dark.

When I regained consciousness, something was different. I wasn’t myself anymore.

I woke up in Madeline’s bed and stared directly at… my own face.

“Get up already! You said you were sick, didn’t you? I called the school to excuse you from classes but when I tried to take you to the hospital, you refused to go. Do you think I don’t know you’re just pretending?”

It hit me like a lightning bolt. I remember that moment.

Two months ago, Madeline had called me, complaining about how unwell she felt. It had been a Tuesday—an inconvenient time when I couldn’t afford any distractions.

Yet she had insisted on taking the day off. And even after I let her stay home, she stubbornly refused to see a doctor, saying she just needed some rest.

Back then, I thought she was being childish. But now, living this scene through her eyes, I began to see everything I had missed.

Although I struggled to accept that I had somehow become trapped in Madeline’s body, I couldn’t bear the thought of her falling behind in her studies. Reluctantly, I forced myself to get up.

As I moved, a sharp, searing pain shot through my lower body. I froze, stunned.

Then, I remembered.

I had noticed Madeline limping, but I’d dismissed it as another dramatic performance from her. I thought her acting was painfully unconvincing.

“Mom..?” I called out.

The word felt awkward on my tongue.

Looking at someone with my own face and calling her “Mom” didn’t feel natural, but I wanted to tell her about the pain.

She turned to face me—my face—her expression impatient.

“What is it now? Why are you always so slow? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to raise you? Can’t you show a little understanding for once? Or are you still pretending to be sick?

“I don’t care if you have to crawl, you’re going to school today. How did I end up with such an ungrateful daughter?”

Her words cut through me like glass, and I couldn’t bring myself to respond.

Those were the same words I used to say to her. Hearing them now, from my own mouth, felt unbearable.

I swallowed the pain and the words I wanted to say, deciding instead to wait until after school to tell her about it.

Breakfast was well-balanced and nutritious, though I couldn’t stomach the cucumber. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t eat it.

In our family, only Madeline refused to eat cucumbers.

I always insisted on a balanced diet while hoping to cure her picky eating habits so I made sure cucumbers were served at every meal.

That morning, I ate everything on my plate, leaving only the cucumbers untouched.

“My” sharp eyes caught it immediately.

“Look at that—picking at your food again, huh? It took me ages to break you out of that bad habit. What’s the matter today? Why won’t you eat them now?”

I was stunned. That was when it dawned on me: Madeline hadn’t mentioned her dislike for cucumbers in a long time.

Before I could ponder it, the “me” in front of me began rushing me again.

“Eat! You’re going to be late. Hurry up! Back in my day, we didn’t have these luxuries. We couldn’t even dream of having cucumbers on our plates.”