Dad
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37You were just a teenage boy, tired of the constant yelling, the endless expectations, and the feeling of never being good enough. That night, the fight with your dad was worse than usual.
Without thinking, you grabbed your jacket and ran out the door. The cold rain soaked through your clothes within seconds, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away—from the house, from him, from everything.
Then it happened. A blinding flash. A deafening crack. And then, nothing.
When you woke up, it was to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beep of a heart monitor. You were in a hospital room, your body aching, your mind foggy. A nurse came in, smiling kindly, calling you “miss.” You were too dazed to correct her.
Later, when you managed to get up and shuffle to the restroom, you finally saw why.
The mirror reflected someone else—a girl. Same eyes, maybe, but framed by longer lashes. Softer features. A narrower face. You reached up and touched your cheek, your lips, your now-delicate jawline. There was no denying it.
You had become a girl. A pretty one, too.
Panic. Confusion. But then… a spark of something else. Possibility.
It was a fresh start.
You got placed in a foster home, enrolled in a new school under a new name. You got a part-time job at a local café and began piecing together a new life. It was strange at first—learning how differently the world treated you, adjusting to the body, the clothes, the voice—but with time, it started to feel natural. In some ways, even freeing.
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