They Swapped Me Away, Then Begged Me to Return Chapter 04

They Swapped Me Away, Then Begged Me to Return Chapter 04

My mom stared at me for a long stretch, like she couldn’t believe I’d stopped fighting back.

My dad walked over and twisted the study door lock from the outside. He claimed he wasn’t locking me in, just stopping me from running outside and stirring up more drama while I was upset.

Evan lingered by the door, clutching my phone in one hand.

He lowered his voice to a soft murmur. “Just hold on a few more days, Leah. Once this is all over, I’ll find some way to make this up to you.”

I sat alone on the narrow military cot in pitch-black darkness, brushing a finger over the empty spot on my wrist where the bracelet used to rest. Oddly enough, I felt completely calm inside.

That night, my mom slid a bowl of soup through the crack under the door. No side dishes, no fork.

“Stick to something mild—we don’t want another allergic flare-up.”

I held the lukewarm bland soup and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. When I’d fallen sick as a kid, she’d mince fresh shrimp into the broth, simmer it until it smelled heavenly, and blow every spoonful cool before feeding it to me by hand.

Now she only worried about my body staying intact enough to hand off to someone else.

Over the next two days, I sat trapped in the study, listening to them redo my room through the thin door.

My mom asked the app’s Leah what scented candles she preferred. My dad debated whether to place the desk by the window or against the wall. Evan mulled over whether she’d wear white or champagne for their engagement dinner.

Every gentle question they asked her was a stark contrast to how they’d spoken to me for a year.

On the final day of the countdown, my mom unlocked the study door and stepped inside, carrying a cardboard box full of silk ribbons and party balloons.

“Come out here. Don’t mope around—today’s an important day.”

The living room had been completely transformed. Cream white roses lined every surface, warm champagne pendant lights hung overhead, and a low-sugar cake—her favorite—sat centered on the dining table.

Mom pressed a roll of satin ribbon into my hands. “Your fingers are slender, you’ll tie perfect bows.”

I took the ribbon and wound it around every dining chair back one by one.

My dad glanced over at me, confused and suspicious. “Why are you being so compliant all of a sudden?”

Evan paused what he was doing to watch me too. “Leah, are you planning something?”

I pulled the ribbon tight until it left a pale indent on my fingertips. “You told me to be cooperative, remember? If I’m good, everyone’s happier.”

A flicker of unease crossed my mom’s face, but she quickly brushed it off. “As long as you understand that.”

The app lit up then, and a video call popped through from the alternate Leah.

When she spotted me decorating the room, she spoke softly through the screen. “Thank you for doing all this, Leah.”

Every single person in the room’s eyes locked onto me, as if they expected me to erupt into a screaming meltdown at any second.

I offered a faint, empty smile. “Don’t mention it. This place is yours now.”

I’d thought saying it would tear my chest open, but there was no sharp pain—only a hollow, weightless emptiness.

My mom froze mid-breath. My dad pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Evan’s eyes widened with a flicker of panic. “Leah, don’t talk like that.”

I tied the last bow, then turned and walked straight back into the study.

Before I pulled the door shut, I caught my mom’s quiet complaint floating through the air. “She’s this quiet, and it’s creeping me out.”

Evan’s voice followed right after hers. “Keep a close eye on her. Don’t let her ruin the final swap.”

I sank back onto the cot and pulled out an old tablet I’d hidden under the bed frame. The app was still logged in on its screen, displaying a final prompt.

[Waive all formal objections?]

[Once waived, the life swap becomes permanent and irreversible.]

I glanced through the door at the warm, bright glow of their celebration outside. They all thought I’d finally surrendered to my fate.

But they had it wrong. I wasn’t giving up. I was letting all of them go.

I tapped “Confirm.”

[Countdown Initiated: 10 Seconds.]

During those ten seconds, I heard my mom’s muffled, excited laughter carry through the walls. “Our Leah’s almost here.”

I slowly closed my eyes.