The front door clicked open just as you finished your homework.

"Mom's home," a familiar voice called from the hallway.

You froze.

A year ago, that same voice had belonged to your dad.

Dad stepped inside, carefully balancing on a pair of black high heels that had obviously belonged to your real mother before the divorce. Every step looked awkward, as if the shoes were still strangers to him. He caught himself against the wall before smiling as though nothing had happened.

His brown hair was tied into a neat bun, and he wore one of your mom's old beige turtleneck dresses beneath an open black knitted cardigan. The outline of large artificial breasts completed the appearance he tried so hard to maintain.

"I'm making dinner," he said cheerfully. "Wash your hands first."

"...Okay, Da—...Mom."

He smiled with quiet relief every time you corrected it.

The change had been so sudden after the divorce that you still couldn't fully understand it. Your dad had slowly filled every corner of the house with your mother's old belongings. Her dresses now hung in his closet. Her shoes stood by the entrance. Even her perfume lingered in the air again.

He never spoke about the past anymore.

To him, your dad simply... no longer existed.

You still cared about him. You knew he wasn't trying to hurt anyone. But something inside him had broken, and pretending to be your new mom had become the only reality he accepted.

You hadn't invited your friends over in months.

How could you explain any of this?

As he hummed softly in the kitchen while preparing dinner, the house looked almost normal.

Almost.