Reflection

 I never imagined that a simple antique mirror could completely alter the course of my life. As a therapist who specialized in helping people break their addictions, I believed I had control over my own life. Yet, it was my life that spun out of control the day I brought that mysterious mirror home.

It started innocently enough. I’d always had an appreciation for antiques, and the ornate, golden-framed mirror I stumbled upon in a small, dusty shop caught my eye immediately. The moment I touched it, something felt… different. My skin tingled as if the glass itself had sparked a current through my fingers. But I shook it off as a trick of the mind, bought the mirror, and hung it in my bedroom.

The first time I stood in front of the mirror, something strange happened. My reflection wavered, and for a split second, I thought I saw someone else—a woman. I blinked, but the feeling lingered, so I reached out and touched the glass again. The moment my fingers met the surface, I felt a sudden rush, as if I were being pulled inward, and my body began to change.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Just one more time,” I whispered. My fingers brushed the cold glass, and it began.

It started with a tingling sensation, spreading through my chest, my limbs, like tiny sparks dancing beneath my skin. I felt my shoulders narrow, my waist shrinking and my hips widening. It was always surreal, watching my body transform, feeling the changes happen in real-time.

As my chest began to swell, my hands moved to my growing breasts, feeling the soft, feminine curves forming beneath my shirt. My waist cinched in, and my hips flared out, my body becoming the perfect hourglass shape. My once short and messy hair grew longer, soft blonde waves cascading over my shoulders, falling just past my mid-back, matching the woman I had become so familiar with in the mirror. It was her—me—again. The woman who looked like she had just stepped out of some flawless Instagram photo, her skin glowing, her eyes bright.

My clothes shifted along with me, my loose sweater hugging my figure in a way that highlighted every new curve. The pants I had thrown on earlier morphed into a set of ribbed trousers, snug against my legs, accentuating the fullness of my hips and thighs. I looked exactly like the woman in my fantasies—the one I’d been pretending to be for weeks now. The same woman in that photo I’d seen, effortlessly elegant and beautiful.

"God... look at me," I whispered, running a hand through my now soft, platinum hair. I stared at the woman in the mirror, the woman I had become, and my breath caught in my throat. She was beautiful, but that wasn’t what stunned me—it was that she felt like... me. Like I was always meant to be her.

Within moments, I wasn’t looking at Evan anymore. I was looking at her. A completely transformed woman. I stared at myself—her—with wide eyes, half in disbelief and half in awe. Every inch of my body had changed. My masculine form had disappeared, replaced by someone completely different, yet familiar. I looked… beautiful.

At first, I was terrified. The shock of being in a new body, of seeing myself like this, was overwhelming. I wondered if I could reverse it, so I stepped back, away from the mirror, and within a few seconds, my body began to revert. My breasts flattened, my hips shrank, and I returned to the familiar shape of Evan.

But the experience stayed with me. How could I forget something like that? The next night, curiosity got the better of me. I stood in front of the mirror again, reached out, and let it happen. This time, I didn’t fight the change. I watched, captivated, as my body morphed once more. The sensation wasn’t just physical—it was mental, emotional. As my body transformed into that of a woman, I felt different—lighter, freer, more alive.

I started using the mirror more often, letting myself slip into this new female form. At first, I only stayed as her for short periods, just experimenting. But soon, I craved more. The mirror had become my addiction. I loved the way I felt as her—sexy, confident, powerful. It wasn’t long before I started going out as her, taking advantage of my new form in ways I never imagined.

Dressing up became a ritual—tight dresses, high heels, makeup that accentuated my new features. I’d go to clubs, bars, anywhere I could show off this body, relishing the attention. Men couldn’t take their eyes off me, and I loved it. They didn’t see Evan—they saw her. She was everything I wasn’t. And she quickly became the person I wanted to be more than anyone else.

Then, one night at a bar, I saw him—Jake.

Jake and I had been best friends years ago. We were inseparable until life took us in different directions. Seeing him now, after so long, was like a jolt of electricity, but of course, he didn’t recognize me. How could he? I wasn’t Evan anymore. I was her.

The connection between us reignited instantly, but he had no idea who I truly was. He flirted, I flirted back. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and the fact that he didn’t know the truth made it all the more thrilling. I wasn’t Evan to him—I was someone new, someone he was drawn to.

By the end of the night, we were in his apartment. I still remember the way his hands felt on my skin, the way my body reacted to his touch. It was different, more intense, more alive than anything I’d ever experienced as Evan. Being with him, feeling him inside me—it was like nothing I had ever imagined. I wasn’t just living a fantasy. I was living a new reality.

After that night, Jake and I started seeing each other more often. One date turned into two, then three, and soon enough, we were inseparable again—but in a way we’d never been before. Every date ended the same way, with us making love, and each time, the pleasure was more intense than the last. I couldn’t get enough of him, and I knew he couldn’t get enough of me. I started to fall for him in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Then came the night that changed everything.

We were in a rush, desperate for each other after a long night out. As Jake fumbled for a condom, I stopped him, breathless and impatient. “Just do it,” I whispered, pulling him closer. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t care about the consequences. I just wanted him.

And so he did.

Weeks passed, and I continued to live in my female form, slipping into the mirror’s reflection whenever I needed to feel alive again. But soon, I began to notice changes in my body—changes I couldn’t ignore. Nausea, tenderness, exhaustion. My period, which had always been a regular part of my new form, was late. My stomach, once flat, began to swell ever so slightly.

It hit me like a freight train. I was pregnant.

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection with disbelief. My hands moved to my belly, feeling the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. Panic surged through me as I realized the truth. That one night, when I had urged Jake to make love to me without a condom—that was it. That was the night I had conceived.

I tried to transform back into Evan, desperate to return to my old life, to escape the consequences of my actions. But the mirror no longer responded. No matter how many times I touched it, no matter how much I willed myself to change, I remained trapped in my female form. The magic was gone, and I was stuck.

Jake noticed the changes too, of course. My growing belly, my mood swings, the constant fatigue. He started to ask questions, but I didn’t know how to answer. How could I tell him the truth? That the woman he had fallen in love with wasn’t real, that she was just a reflection—a magical illusion created by the mirror?

One night, after another date, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were lying in bed together, the moonlight casting soft shadows on the room. Jake had his arms wrapped around me, content and happy. But I was drowning in guilt.

I sat up, my hand instinctively resting on my belly. “Jake,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He blinked, concerned, sitting up beside me. “What’s wrong?”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to find the words. I wanted to tell him everything—that I wasn’t the woman he thought I was, that I had once been his best friend Evan, and now I was carrying his child. But the words caught in my throat, and all I could manage was, “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened in surprise, then softened into a smile. “That’s amazing,” he said, pulling me close. “I didn’t know you were ready for this, but I’m happy. We’ll make this work.”

I clung to him, my heart heavy with the secret I couldn’t share. He was excited about the future, but he didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know that the life we were about to build was built on a lie.

And as the weeks passed, with my belly growing larger and my body permanently stuck in this new form, I realized that I might never get the chance to tell him. The mirror had changed me in ways I could never have imagined—and now, there was no going back.