The next morning I come down for breakfast wearing a really cute bandeau dress and find Mom and Dad in the kitchen already. Dad gnces up, his eyes widen, and he sms his hands down on the table. “Hell no, Jake! This is not fucking happening! Go change into some proper clothes for a young man, now!”

  Inwardly, I cringe at his use of my deadname, but I look behind me, then back to him, and calmly ask, “Who are you talking to?”

  His face turns red, and he stands up abruptly, his chair screeching against the tile floor. “Don’t you dare py games with me, young man. You know exactly who I’m talking to.”

  Mom reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “John, please calm down,” she says softly, but he shakes her off.

  I take a deep breath, steeling myself for yet another argument. “I have no idea who this Jake is, but if you’re talking to me, my name is Jackie,” I state firmly, though my voice wavers slightly despite my efforts to keep it steady. “And I’m not a young man.”

  His nostrils fre with his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles bleeding white in his righteous indignation. For a moment, I think he might actually come across the table and hit me.

  “This isn't funny anymore,” he growls. “I’ve had enough. This... this phase, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, is done! You’re my son, and that’s final!”

  Mom stands up now, positioning herself between us. “John, please,” she pleads. “Let's all sit down and talk about this calmly.”

  He isn’t listening, though. He never does. He points a shaking finger at me. “You have exactly five minutes to get out of that dress.”

  I arch an eyebrow and challengingly ask, “You want me out of my dress?”

  “Damn right, I do!” He bellows.

  I shrug as a small smirk forms on my lips. “Fine. Have it your way, then,” I announce airily, then reach down to grasp the hem of my dress, pull it over my head, and throw it at him. Leaving me standing there in some cy panties and sandals. “There, I’m no longer wearing a dress. Are you happy now?”

  He gasps, and his eyes bulge as he looks at me. My breasts are small with prominent, well-defined nipples sitting atop rge areos and a narrow waist that leads down to wider hips that give me a slim but still defined figure. I cock my hip, throwing my weight onto one leg, and pce a hand on it as I stare at him obstinately. Then ask, “Do you still believe I’m your son?”

  His face turns an even deeper shade of red as his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He seems to be at an utter loss for words, his eyes darting between my face and my body as if he can’t quite process what he's seeing.

  Mom grabs a dish towel from the counter, rushes over, and hands it to me. “Jackie, cover yourself, baby,” she says, handing it to me.

  I accept the towel as I continue to defiantly stare at him. His shock is slowly morphing into something else—a mix of confusion and anger that seems to be warring within him. He takes a stumbling step back, colliding with his chair, and plopping down into it.

  “What... what have you done to yourself?” He finally manages to choke out, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  I cover my breasts with the dishtowel, suddenly feeling exposed in a way I hadn’t considered when I decided to do that in the heat of the moment. “I haven't done anything to myself,” I calmly state. “This is the result of AIS, but if I have any say in the matter, I’ll be taking hormones to accelerate my development.” I drop my voice into a gentle purr as I say, “Dad, you need to accept it. This is who I am. Who I’ve always been. The son you thought you had,” I shrug, “he never existed.”

  Mom picks up my dress and walks back to hand it to me. I drop the towel and slip my dress over my head and situate it, then rake my fingers through my hair to return it to some sembnce of order. When he still just sits there and doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Well, do you still believe I’m your son?”

  Dad slumps in his chair, the fight seemingly draining out of him. He stares at the floor, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I don't understand. This is impossible.”

  I roll my eyes and state, “I beg to differ. It’s not only possible, but it’s reality.” I gnce at the ceiling and growl softly before looking back at him. “Mom told you about the tests that showed I have AIS a couple of years ago. In other words, I’d have never entered male puberty. Even if I wasn’t trans, and regardless of the accident, this was always going to happen.”

  His eyes slowly lift to meet mine with a mixture of confusion and dawning realization in them. “But... but you were always such a... such a boy,” he stammers, his voice weak and uncertain.

  I sigh, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him despite my frustration. “I was trying to be what you wanted me to be. I thought if I could just act manly enough, these feelings would go away. They never did and only made me hate myself that much more.”

  Mom pces a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We should have seen the signs,” she says softly.

  I shrug. “Maybe, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is where we go from here. I don’t want to keep having the same fight every time you see me.”

  His eyes shift around the room as he seems to be processing everything. Finally, he looks up. “I... I don't know what to say,” he admits, his voice cracking.

  “You can start by saying I’m your daughter, and that my name is Jackie,” I reply.

  His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe acceptance—but as suddenly as it appears, it disappears as his expression hardens again.

  “I can’t,” he says, his voice low and strained. “I just... I can’t.”

  I shake my head and softly state, “What you really mean is you won’t.” I turn on my heel and head back upstairs as Mom repeatedly calls out to me. I softly shut my door behind me, and it isn’t long before my parents begin screaming at each other.

  Depression and sadness threaten to overwhelm me as I lean against the door, listening to the muffled argument downstairs. Something that is extremely rare since he tends to steamroll over both of us. I can't make out every word, but I hear enough to know Mom is fighting for me while Dad remains stubborn. Sliding down the door, I rest my head on my knees as my tears fall.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there, listening to the argument downstairs slowly die down to hushed, tense voices. Eventually, there's a soft knock on my door.

  “Jackie?” Mom calls out; her voice is gentle and insistent, with a hint of concern thrown in for good measure. “Can I come in, sweetheart?”

  Sighing in resignation, I stand up and open the door for her. She steps inside, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and pulls me into a tight hug. I allow myself to melt into her embrace, feeling like a little kid again.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “Your father...”

  “I don’t care,” I murmur. “He’s made how he feels perfectly clear. He’ll never accept me.”

  “No,” she begins, but I cut her off.

  “Yes,” I state as I step out of her arms and stand back to look her in the eyes. “Even with the evidence shoved in his face this morning, he still denies it, denies me. Am I wrong?” Her face falls, and she looks away, unable to meet my eyes. Her silence is all the confirmation I need. “I thought so,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yesterday, you said you had another option?”

  Mom takes a deep breath and looks back at me. “Yes,” Mom says, her voice soft but steady. “My sister, Scarlett, would probably take you in. I’ll have to call to be sure, though.”

  “Then, please ask her. I’m not going to fight him to a standstill every morning. I get it, though. He wants his son and refuses to accept that I’m not him.”

  Mom nods slowly, her eyes filled with both sadness and understanding. “I’ll call her right away,” she says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “But Jackie, please don't think this is the end. Your father... he just needs time.”

  I shake my head. “Time isn’t going to change anything. Neither he nor my grandparents will ever accept me, and I guess that’s fine.” I pause for a heartbeat, then smile sadly and say, “It hurts a lot, but it is what it is.”

  She opens her mouth as if to argue but then closes it again while her shoulders sag in defeat. “I'll call Scarlett,” she says finally. “But please, don't give up on your father completely. He may surprise you.”

  I nod, not wanting to argue further. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply noncommittally as I step forward and hug her. “I love you, Mom, and I love Dad, too. Please don’t think otherwise simply because I can’t keep doing this every day, alright?” I step back and smile at her, then gnce at the clock on my dresser. “I need to clean up a bit. I’m supposed to meet Kelly Anne, remember? I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”

  Her mouth opens, then closes, and finally, she just smiles and pats my shoulder as she says, “Have fun, sweetheart.”

  I nod, though I’m fairly sure that isn’t what she wanted to say. She leaves as I head to the bathroom to wash my face and reapply my makeup. As I finish applying my makeup, I hear the front door sm, and I assume Dad left again. ‘Par for the course,’ I think. I sigh, feeling a mix of regret and sadness. Part of me wants to run downstairs to catch him and try to talk some sense into him, but I know it would be futile.

  I reach for my purse and quickly gather the essentials: a brush, makeup, phone, and wallet. With those items stowed away, I move to my closet to retrieve an overnight bag and choose my outfit for tomorrow. Next, I go to my dresser and collect a nightgown, panties, and bra, and pce them in my bag. Zipping it up, I pick it and my purse up and head out to Kelly Anne’s house.

  As I walk down the street towards Kelly Anne's house, my mind races with the events of the morning. The confrontation with Dad, Mom’s suggestion about Aunt Scarlett, and the possibility of leaving home—it all swirls in my head, making me feel dizzy and overwhelmed.

  A few minutes ter, I arrive at her house and ring the bell. Moments ter, the door flies open, and Kelly Anne chirps, “Hi! You look amaz…” She stops mid-sentence when she sees my expression and drags me up to her room. Closing the door behind us, she turns to me and asks, “What happened?”

  I offer her a small, sad smile and shrug. “The usual. Dad demanding that I be his son and me refusing.”

  Her eyes widen as she pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, Jackie,” she murmurs, “I’m so sorry. That had to have been awful.”

  I shrug within her arms and mutter, “It’s just par for the course. He seems to be a one-trick pony when it comes to me.” I blow out my breath, step back, and smile. “Anyway, that’s done with. What do you have pnned for us?”

  ***********************************

  I get home shortly before 11 AM and head up to my room after announcing I’m home. As I’m unpacking my overnight bag, I hear a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out, assuming it’s Mom.

  To my surprise, it’s Dad who enters, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. He stands awkwardly in the doorway as his eyes bore into mine. “So, you want to live with Scarlett?”

  I merely nod slightly. He grunts, and his expression hardens, then says, “Good riddance. As long as you promise to never come back here again, I’ll make sure you have all the money you need until you graduate from college.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. For a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think, and can’t move. The bag slips from my fingers and falls to the floor with a soft thud.

  “What?” I finally manage to choke out barely above a whisper.

  His face remains impassive as he states, “You heard me. I’ll provide a lump sum the day you move out and deposit money monthly in your bank account, and I’ll send money to Scarlett to compensate her for the trouble and cover all of your expenses. In exchange, I want you out of this house and out of our lives, forever.”

  The room spins around me as I try to understand, even though I already do. My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of my dresser behind me to steady myself. “You... you want to pay me to disappear?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  His expression remains cold. “Well, at least you’re not a moron. That’s a small consotion.”

  I stare at him, my heart shattering into a million pieces. This man, whom I love and respect, is now treating me like a shameful secret to be swept under the rug. The pain is almost physical—a crushing weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe. “If that’s what you want,” I choke out.

  He growls, “What I want is my son back. Absent that, I’ll settle for you leaving.”

  “Alright,” I state. “I guess I should say thank you for at least caring enough to support me financially.”“I couldn’t care less about you,” he spits. “But I’m not going to end up in jail for failing to financially support you either. So, until such time as you leave to live with Scarlett, we will not interact. Just act like I don’t exist. Is that clear?”

  “Do you hate me that much?” I murmur.

  “Yes!” He thunders and sms my door as he storms off.

  I stand there, frozen, as the sound of his footsteps fades down the stairs. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing. Tears burn in my eyes and blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. Not for him. Not anymore. Walking over to the door, I lock it, and then stoically return to unpacking my bag.