The Wife Swap

Ashley’s POV

"Oh, you are so lucky that you have an identical twin. What's it like?" The question, a tired chorus, rolled off the tongue of the woman sitting in the booth next to me at the coffee shop.

If I had a dollar for every time I was asked this question, I could probably fulfill my deepest dream–to leave this bustling town and move to another continent where I would own a nice little cottage nestled amongst rolling hills in New Zealand. There, amid the quiet solitude, I could escape the constant comparisons, the expectations, and most importantly, the feeling of being perpetually overshadowed by my twin, Ashton Grey.

When we were little, being Ashton's twin held a certain playful charm. We were masters of disguise, able to swap places seamlessly, driving our parents to the brink of exasperation with our elaborate pranks. Back then, our differences were subtle – mere nuances in personality that manifested in our clothing choices (I, a sucker for mismatched socks and oversized sweaters, Ashton, a vision of coordinated outfits and effortless style).

But as we entered the horror that was high school, the gap between us widened to the point that it was almost like we had not shared the same bedroom for years growing up or swapped outfits. I, Ashley, retreated into the comforting embrace of books and solitude, finding solace in fantastical worlds and the comfort of my few friends. Ashton, on the other hand, blossomed. Dying her wild brown hair a shocking red, the long waves cascading down her back, and an infectious laugh that could turn a frown upside down, she became the life of the party, the girl every boy wanted to be with and every girl aspired to be.  

My existence became an afterthought, a mere footnote in Ashton's story.  The taunts started – "Ashton's boring twin," "The shadow." I was the invisible girl, the unassuming bystander in a life that, by birthright, felt like it should have been mine too, a life that I wanted no part of. So, while others romanticized the idea of having an identical twin, I yearned for a life where I wasn't constantly measured against Ashton, a life where I could finally emerge from her shadow and embrace who I truly was.  

Raising my head to ask the woman how she'd known I was an identical twin, the words died in my throat as the cafe door chimed, announcing a new arrival. My breath hitched. It was Ashton. But there was something different about her. Her fiery red hair, usually the envy of every woman in the room, was gone, replaced by its natural shade of warm brown, the same color as mine. More surprising than the hair color change was the fact that Ashton had not sent for me like she always did whenever she wanted to see me but had chosen to come find me from New York without calling ahead too. Had she…missed me? The thought sent a pang of warmth through my chest, quickly extinguished by a flicker of apprehension. No, my sister would not have come here just because she missed me.

Ashton scanned the room, a confident smile blooming on her face as her eyes landed on me. That smile – it was as familiar as my own reflection, yet somehow different. Maybe it was the absence of her usual carefree swagger, replaced by a subtle tension in her shoulders.  

She weaved through the tables, her gaze lingering on the woman next to me for a beat before settling on me. My stomach tightened with each step that she took towards me. Ashton rarely frequented Vermont, preferring the trendy hotspots buzzing with activity in New York, and on more than one occasion had tried to ‘rescue’ me from a life of boredom in what she called a ghost’s state. So why was she here now?

As she neared, I couldn't help but notice a glint of gold on her ring finger. My heart skipped a beat. It was a new ring, a dazzling diamond piece that sparkled under the cafe lights. A wave of memories washed over me, vivid and unsettling. Six months ago, Ashton had met, fallen for, and married a billionaire named Andreas Thorne in a whirlwind romance that had left me and the rest of our extended family baffled. To me, it was just another one of her impulsive decisions, an experience that left me, the cautious romantic twin who wanted nothing more than to find love, knocked over and strangely envious.

The last time I'd seen a glimpse of the Ashton from our childhood before she became this glamorous, confident woman, was at our parents' funeral. Even Ashton, who usually prided herself on being the elder twin by a cool five minutes, had reached for my hand that day, her eyes red-rimmed and voice trembling as she apologized for not knowing what to do. At that moment, beneath the weight of grief, there was a vulnerability in her, a flicker of the little girl who used to love getting lost in fantastical stories with me.

But that vulnerability had vanished as quickly as it appeared. Ashton, ever the social butterfly, had soon been swept up in a crowd of condolences and well-wishers, leaving me alone with my grief.

"Hey, Ash!" Ashton greeted me, her voice a touch too bright.

"Ashton," I echoed, unsure of what else to say. The woman next to me, oblivious to the silent exchange between twins, beamed.

"See, I told you!" she exclaimed to one of the waiters, gesturing excitedly between us. "Identical twins! That's so cool!"

Ashton forced a smile, her usual vibrant energy dimmed. "Uh, yeah," she mumbled, glancing around the cafe again.  

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Clearly, Ashton had something on her mind, something that had brought her to my quiet corner of the world. But what was it? And why the sudden change in physical appearance? A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. This wasn't just a casual visit. Ashton needed something, and I had a feeling my life was about to take a dramatic and unexpected turn.