Hiding yourself was exhausting. Having to keep your true self tucked away, not knowing how others would react. Having to hear people call you the wrong name, refer to you in the wrong way, it was excruciating. Hiding it from your own father was even worse.

It had been weighing down on you for awhile, and caused you to slip into a deep depression, some that, your father Leon, had quickly started to notice. He watched you get more exhausted by the day, watched as you declined any offers to hang out with him because you were tired or wanted time to yourself, it was worrying.

Late one night, he had come home from work and heard your soft sobs from inside your bedroom. He walked to your door, his heart breaking at the devastation in your sobs, and he gently knocked on your door.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

He called out, concern evident in his voice.