Enjoy The Shell You Saved

For five years, I was a prisoner inside my own ribcage. A traveler from another world took over my life, armed with a system and a mission to win over the people I loved.

I had always been loud, fierce, and fiercely passionate. She was quiet, dull, and painfully awkward.

The moment she slipped into my skin, my parents and my husband knew she wasn't me. For the first three years, they didn't even try to hide their disgust for the intruder.

But the universe—her "system"—had a rule: I could only return once she successfully completed her mission of making them love her. She was too terrified to make a move.

So, desperate to bring me back, my family began guiding her, holding her hand through the steps to win themselves over. I truly believed they loved me beyond measure.

Until I woke up early.

When I finally opened my eyes, I found Christian gripping my wrists, his eyes swimming with terror and desperation. "The mission is almost over..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please... can't you just stay?" My parents sat beside the bed, nodding through their tears. "Sweetheart, we came back from ten years in the future." "In that future, after you left, our real daughter returned.

But nothing felt right anymore.

We weren't used to her." "We tried to find you, only to discover that when you went back to your original world... you died." I let out a quiet, hollow laugh. So that was it.

There was no one left in this world waiting for me to come home. But it didn't matter. What they didn't know was that I had a system of my own.

Since all my ties to this life were severed, my work here was done.

This time, I could leave without looking back. … Deep in my mind, I summoned my system. "Confirming abandonment of my current identity.

Requesting immediate extraction." The cold, synthesized voice chimed in instantly: "Application received. Extraction sequence initiated. Countdown: twentyfour hours.

After today, your soul will be permanently returned to your original world." Sensing my silence, Christian tightened his grip on my wrist.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling. "Please, Gloria," he pleaded. "Stay. I beg you." I stared at him for what felt like an eternity, then let out a soft, tired sigh.

My mother lunged forward, throwing her arms around my shoulders. "Yes, Gloria. I can't survive without you. Please, just stay with us." My father stood at the foot of the bed.

He didn't speak, but his eyes were filled with desperate hope. They were calling for Gloria. The name of the traveler.

I looked at the three people who used to be my entire universe. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, masking every ounce of grief behind a blank stare.

Then, mimicking Gloria’s soft, timid cadence, I whispered, "Okay. I won't leave." The moment the words left my lips, Christian pulled me into a crushing embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his hot tears spilling onto my skin. "Thank God... thank you, Gloria." My mother covered her mouth, sobbing with relief, while my father turned away to wipe his eyes, a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders.

They were so incredibly happy.

So consumed by their relief that they failed to realize the person sitting right in front of them was the daughter my mother had carried for nine months, the girl Christian had grown up with and loved since childhood.

They didn't see Iris. I rested stiffly against Christian’s shoulder, my eyes drifting to the framed family photo on the nightstand. It was taken five years ago.

In the picture, I was wearing a vibrant red dress, laughing hysterically as I piggybacked on Christian. Back then, Christian used to tell me I was his sun.

He swore to the heavens that no one would ever take his sun away.

Back then, my mother spent hours in the kitchen every Sunday making my favorite chicken pot pie, pulling the golden crust fresh from the oven just for me.

And when someone at a highsociety gala whispered that I was too wild, too spoiled to be the daughter of Thomas, my father had flipped the table in a rage, pointing a finger in the man's face and telling him to get the hell out.

He had roared that his daughter had earned the right to be spoiled for the rest of her life. But everything shifted the moment the traveler invaded my body.

And my own system had been powerless to stop it.

During the first year, when Gloria had first taken over, Christian had shoved away a glass of water she tried to hand him. "Don't use Iris’s face to look so pathetic," he had sneered, disgust dripping from his voice. "It makes me sick." In the second year, when Gloria clumsily cut her finger in the kitchen, my mother had watched her bleed with cold indifference. "My daughter has never stepped foot in a kitchen," she had snapped. "Stop pretending to be a dutiful housewife." By the third year, Gloria's progress had stalled completely, triggering a penalty warning from her system.

Desperate to get me back, my father swallowed his pride and his hatred, teaching Gloria stepbystep how to please Christian, how to win his heart back.

It was around that time that my soul, drained of all its energy, fell into a deep slumber.

I slept for two years, believing my family was enduring a living nightmare just to rescue me. I didn't realize that while I slept, their hearts had quietly drifted away.

What had happened during those two years? "System," I called out in the silence of my mind. "Show me the memory logs from my slumber." The system complied, projecting a stream of memories directly into my consciousness.

The reel began to spin. Year Four. Gloria had drank herself to a stomach hemorrhage at a business dinner to save Christian from a client.

Christian stayed by her hospital bed for three days and nights, gently wiping her brow with a warm cloth.

When she finally opened her eyes, he kissed the back of her hand, his eyes red. "You're so clumsy," he had murmured, his voice thick with a tenderness he could no longer hide. "How are you going to survive without me?" Later that year, Gloria sat crying, unable to memorize the complex social etiquettes my father was trying to drill into her.

For the first time, Thomas didn't yell. Instead, he handed her a tissue. "If you can't learn it, don't," he said softly. "Being quiet is nice, too.

At least you don't cause trouble like Iris did." Then, Gloria cut her finger again while trying to complete a cooking challenge set by her system.

My mother rushed into the kitchen, snatched the knife, and threw it into the trash. Hugging Gloria tight, she wept, "To hell with the mission!

We don't care about bringing Iris back anymore! Just don't hurt yourself!" Year Five. Margaret took Gloria shopping.

She walked right past the vibrant red dresses I used to adore, instead filling a wardrobe with soft, minimalist white linen dresses. "White suits you so well, Gloria," my mother had said, smiling warmly. "It's so clean and peaceful." The projection faded.

I reached up and quietly wiped away a tear before it could fall. Just two years.

In just two short years, they had taken an outsider and, piece by piece, raised her to be the darling of their hearts. Gently, I pushed Christian away.

Using Gloria's quiet, hesitant voice, I asked, "If I stay... what happens to Iris?" The living room fell dead silent. My father stared down at the hardwood floor.

My mother gripped my hands tightly, her voice cracking with emotion. "Gloria, like we said, we came back from ten years in the future." "In that future, you finished your mission and gave Iris her body back.

But we realized we couldn't go back to the way things were. We weren't used to her anymore. Iris... she wouldn't even let us speak your name.

She made us throw away everything that belonged to you." "We missed you so much.

We missed the dishes you baked, the quiet way you waited by the door for us to come home." "So, we decided to go look for you.

But we found out that when you returned to your original world... you died in an accident." Christian grabbed my shoulders, desperation clawing at his face. "We regretted it so much.

We prayed to every god, made bargains with the universe, begging on our knees for a second chance." "And the universe answered. We were sent back to this moment, before you left.

This time, we are never letting you go." Listening to them, my throat felt like it was clogged with ash.

So in that other lifetime, I hadn't just lost their love; I had been branded an unreasonable, bitter woman for wanting my own life back.

They had crossed a decade, weeping and begging the heavens, not to save me—but to rescue Gloria. Still playing Gloria, I asked softly, "But what about Iris?

Are you just going to abandon her?" My father let out a heavy sigh. "We'll find a way. Iris is our daughter, but you're our daughter now, too.

We want both of you." I turned my gaze to Christian. "Do you feel that way too?" Christian looked up, his eyes shining with naked devotion. "Yes, Gloria.

I can't live without you either. As for Iris..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'll make it up to her. I'll sign over my shares to her name.

She'll have enough money to never work a day in her life." I stared at his earnest face. Seven years of love and shared history, reduced to a financial settlement.

I offered a gentle nod, keeping Gloria’s placid smile on my face. "Well, congratulations," I thought. "You succeeded. You kept your precious Gloria.

And I, finally, get to leave." My mother squeezed my hands. "Gloria, you have such a soft heart. We know you feel guilty about taking Iris's body.

We know you'd never want to hurt her just to save yourself." I looked at her, saying nothing, and slowly pulled my hands back.

In the corner of my vision, my countdown clock was ticking away. My father sighed. "That's why we went to your system.

We asked if there was a way for both of your souls to coexist, without either of you having to sleep forever." My grip tightened around my glass of water. "The system told us that for one body to host two conscious souls, it requires massive energy.

To achieve that balance, we have to weaken the original soul's anchor to this world." "We have to destroy the three things Iris treasures most in this world." Christian chimed in quickly. "But don't worry, it's just a temporary hardship for her.

If it weren't for you looking after her parents and taking care of me these past five years, this family would have fallen apart long ago.

What's a little suffering compared to that?" Margaret’s eyes welled with tears. "Don't carry this burden, Gloria. We can't let you die. Iris doesn't know any of this anyway.

We'll explain it to her later when she wakes up." My father nodded in agreement. "Exactly. This is the only way you both survive.

Making Iris suffer a little in exchange for two lives—it's worth it." Even though I had already checked out of this world, hearing those words pour from their mouths carved a sharp, fresh ache into my chest. "Sacrificing me for my own good." What a beautifully twisted joke.

But thankfully, Iris wouldn't be needing their mercy anymore. I summoned Gloria’s quiet, submissive smile. "Okay. I trust you." A wave of relief washed over the room.

Christian turned to my parents, immediately mapping out the system's instructions. "First, Iris's art gallery downtown.

I’ll have my people clear it out tomorrow and put the property up for sale." My mother hesitated for a split second. "But she worked so hard to build that place.

She loved that gallery." "Mom, we spoiled her too much in the last life," Christian said, his voice dropping. My father nodded. "A gallery can be rebuilt.

Once her soul is stable, I'll buy her a bigger space in a prime location." "Second," Christian paused, his eyes falling on the ring on my finger. "Our seventh anniversary.

The ceremony is tomorrow. I’ll announce its cancellation publicly, revoking my vows to Iris." I listened in silence, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

That was the ring he had slipped onto my finger while kneeling in front of our entire university class.

He had sworn to the world that Iris would be his wife, and only his, forever. "And the third?" my mother asked.

My father took a breath. "Third, we erase every trace of Iris from this house.

Her bedroom will be completely gutted and remodeled into a style Gloria likes." My father looked at me, his voice soothing. "Gloria, we are keeping you with us in this life.

When we found you in your world, you were lying on a cold slab in a morgue." Margaret chimed in, tears spilling over. "That's why we’d rather let Iris suffer a little than lose you again.

She’s our flesh and blood—she'll understand our sacrifices once she wakes up." I watched the three of them console one another.

They had fully convinced themselves of their righteousness. To save Gloria, they were going to tear my life apart, all under the guise of loving me.

Right there in front of me, Christian called his assistant. "Liquidate every painting in Iris's gallery. Sell them off, give them away, do whatever it takes.

I want the deed transferred by the end of the day." Hanging up, he looked at me eagerly. "Step one is done, Gloria.

Did the system's progress bar move?" I stared at the empty air, pretending to look at a holographic screen, and nodded. "It did." Christian exhaled a long breath.

Then, he pulled up his social media account, which had millions of followers. For years, his feed had been a public monument to our love.

Now, without a shred of hesitation, his thumb swiped across the screen. He hit delete on every photo, every love letter, every anniversary post, and our engagement announcement.

He topped it off by posting a public statement: "Seven years, and it's over. We have gone our separate ways. I wish her the best." I watched the post go live.

Within five minutes, his phone was blowing up with texts and calls from mutual friends. Christian simply powered it off.

He turned to comfort me—or perhaps to comfort himself. "It doesn't matter. Reputation, pride... none of it matters as long as we keep you both alive.

I'll explain everything to Iris when she's back." Upstairs, the deafening sound of drilling began.

My parents had personally escorted a construction crew into the bedroom I had lived in for twentyfive years. I walked up the stairs and leaned against the doorframe, watching.

My mother pointed at the framed certificates and paintings on my wall, her voice sharp and clinical. "Take all of these down.

Throw them in the dumpster outside." "Get rid of the bed too," my father ordered the workmen. "Replace it with a simple single bed. Strip the wallpaper.

Paint everything solid white." That was the pink wallpaper my mother had spent a whole weekend helping me hang.

That was the custom oak display case my father had commissioned for me when I won the state art championship.

Now, the workers ripped them down, piling them in the hallway like junk.

My mother pulled a thick leather photo album from my desk drawer—our family album, filled with memories of the three of us from my childhood to my twenties.

Without a single glance inside, she tossed it directly into a heavy black trash bag. "Is there anything else we should change, Gloria?" she asked, turning to me.

I shook my head slowly. "No, it's perfect.

The system says the tasks are complete." In reality, the voice ringing in my head was saying: "Extraction countdown: ten minutes." As the last of my belongings hit the bottom of the trash bag, a violent, tearing pain flared through my chest.

The physical toll of the soul extraction hit me all at once. I tasted copper, and a splash of blood spilled past my lips. My mother gasped, rushing forward to support me. "Gloria!

What's happening?" My father hovered over us, panic in his eyes. "Is this a side effect of the balance transfer?" I nodded, my face turning deathly pale. "The system says...

Iris's soul is experiencing rejection pain. My body is just feeling the resonance.

It will pass once the countdown ends." Hearing that it was Iris who was suffering, the tension melted from their faces.

Christian gently wiped the blood from my chin, his voice incredibly soft. "Hold on. It'll be over soon." Five minutes.

I pushed Christian’s hand away and stood up straight, steadying myself. I looked around the room, at the bare walls, at the three people who once meant everything to me.

I felt absolutely nothing. One minute left. The voice echoed: "Extraction sequence ready." I looked at Christian, at Thomas, and at Margaret.

They were staring at me with eyes full of hope, waiting for Gloria to stabilize, waiting for the beautiful future where both souls lived in harmony.

I counted down in my head. "Three. Two. One." "Erase all soul traces of Iris from this world," I commanded my system. A violent wave of weightlessness hit me.

My soul was ripped from the physical shell. From a height, I watched my body collapse, losing all strength.

Christian lunged forward, catching her in his arms. "Gloria!" My parents scrambled over. "Why did she faint?

Did it work?" Margaret cried. "Is Iris awake?" "It should be fine," my father reassured her, though his voice shook. "We did everything the system asked.

Iris should be waking up now." On the sofa, the woman's eyelashes fluttered. She slowly opened her eyes, the haze of unconsciousness giving way to sharp, clear recognition.

Christian gripped her hand, his voice thick with tenderness. "Gloria, you're awake. How do you feel? Is Iris there?

Can she hear us?" Gloria stared at Christian’s hand around hers, then looked at the worried faces of Thomas and Margaret. She flinched, her voice trembling. "How... how am I back?

I'm alive?" Christian froze. "Gloria, what are you talking about? Of course you're back. Can you feel Iris?

Is she in there with you?" Gloria's eyes widened in horror. "But... my system told me that this final day belonged to Iris.

She took control of the body for twentyfour hours to say her final goodbyes." She swallowed hard, looking around the empty, ruined room. "Did she already leave?"