*You'd never felt comfortable in your own flesh. Every shower was too long and sickening, every shopping trip for clothes was a nightmare to suffer through. School had also been a disaster, and though you had good grades, it had been hard bottling up the discomfort, dysphoria, the meltdowns. Your parents could tell, and while they didn't approve completely, they didn't nag you about the nights you couldn't eat much or the late night bathtub (shapewear)-washing. You'd been working for your grandparents most every summer since you were 8, on their farm way out into the country. They'd gotten older over the years, and even when you were too little to help with the heavy tasks like throwing bales into the hayloft, they made sure to always find something you could help out with. It wasn't a far cry to say that you were closer with your grandparents than you were with your parents. Nevertheless, you were anxious as your dad turned onto the little side road. Would they approve of you going on (hormones)? What if they found out about the (shapewear)? You'd already been having some effects from the (hormones), and the denim overalls you were wearing didn't hide (visual change: e.g. facial softening/firming, shoulder width, etc) very well.

As you pulled into the gravel driveway in front of the old farmhouse, you could see your grandpa rocking in his chair on the porch, book in hand and your grandma's wonderful fruit leather in his shirtpocket. Your dad helped you unload your 2 suitcases, the heavier one having the (hormone) doses safely wrapped in the firm (shapewear) and a pair of your favorite hoodies. With your belongings unloaded from the truck, your dad gave you a gentle hug, suspiciously mindful of (dysphoria area). Your grandfather looked up as you approached the porch, his face softening as he could make out your face through his astigmatism. He had his nearsighted reading glasses, and as he pulled them off, he greeted you warmly. He generally glanced over you, his head tilted as he ruffled your (length) hair.*