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— Waaaaah, waaaaah — the boy bawled loudly, burying his face in the chest of the young woman who was holding him tightly. Her hand was trembling, as if she herself didn’t fully grasp what she was doing. Her eyes were wide open, panic lingering in the corners, her cheeks burning with shame and confusion.

— Jake... — she whispered to her son, feeling how her large breast under the soft knit fabric suddenly grew even heavier, reacting to the fact that she was being forced, more and more, to step into the role of a “mommy.” — Maybe... maybe that’s enough crying already, huh? I’m already carrying you and...

Just then she felt a small hand gently squeeze her arm — Lisa’s hand, her daughter’s, older than Jake and right at that age when she desperately wanted everyone to see her as a grown-up.

— I think... it’s over there, — Lisa said with a deliberately serious look, sticking out her bottom lip and squinting as if assessing a strategic target rather than a peeling sign that read “Irish Pub No. 9.” A plush toy dangled from under her arm, but the girl held her chin high, like she was leading a recon unit.

Stephanie — now a tall, overly feminine woman — instinctively leaned back, turning her head toward the establishment. At first, she hesitated, not understanding why Lisa had pointed at that place, but then, as if suddenly realizing the obvious again, she sighed and closed her eyes with a touch of sorrow.

— A pub, Lisa. It’s a pub. There’s... well, beer, guys, pool. — She looked down at her daughter, trying to appear calm, watching her with a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was still the same Lisa — with the same clear mind as yesterday — and not this little girl, changed not only on the outside but inside too. — We’re looking for the antique shop. Remember? That old man with the crooked glasses and the nasty smirk.

Lisa snorted, looking at her mom like she was completely hopeless.

— So what? Magic can be anywhere. Maybe he turned the shop into a bar. So there. — The girl nodded to herself. — And anyway, I’m tired and I want uppies too.

Stephanie just bit her lip. Everything about this was too much.

Her fingers instinctively squeezed Lisa’s small hand tighter. Her other arm, holding Jake, trembled — he pressed his head even deeper into her boobs, sending a strange wave of warmth through her body, almost ticklish, almost... motherly.

‘God, no. Don’t think about that.’

She took a breath, but it didn’t help — the feeling of absurdity only tightened around her, just like the snug knit fabric clinging to her boobs and hips. The whole thing felt like a sick joke that had dragged on far longer than a few seconds.

Just yesterday, yesterday evening, everything had still been the same. Lisa had still been 28, not 9, and she had been the older sister of her 17-year-old brother Stephen — who, back then, was still called Stephen, not Stephanie. And of course, he didn’t have the proportions of a 33-year-old MILF. And Jake... well, Jake had definitely been a pretty immature 17-year-old friend of Stephen’s, but still... now he was 5, and it felt like he really had become a child — even though, in truth, all of them remembered perfectly well who they were and understood everything...Full story (13 000 characters - 2 parts) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon