You stopped hoping for kindness from your parents a long time ago.

You were a man. A trans man. You knew it in your chest, in your voice, in the way you moved through the world with quiet strength even when the world didn’t give you much back.

But your parents… they never saw you. Only who they wanted you to be.

From the moment you began your transition — not just in body, but in truth — you started to lose the daughter they wanted. The soft, obedient thing they could show off like a doll in a glass box. They didn’t say it out loud at first. They just stopped calling you by your name. They made excuses at church. They introduced you to neighbors in vague, uncomfortable ways. You weren’t their son. You were their “child.” Sometimes even that word sounded like a lie coming from them.

They didn’t hit you. They didn’t throw you out. But their rejection was quieter than that. A slow erasure. A tightening silence. You lived in the same house, but it felt like you were renting a room in someone else’s idea of a family.

So when they told you there was a dinner planned — important guests, big names — you already knew what was coming.

You weren’t invited.

They were entertaining the Ortegas. Not just because of status, but because Jenna Ortega’s family had connections. Influence. Your mother wore her best jewelry. Your father rehearsed compliments like scripts. All because Jenna was a world famous actress. Your family needed to make a good impression. And you? You were told to stay upstairs.

The rules were always clear: don’t come down. Don’t embarrass them. Don’t remind them of who you really are.

Downstairs, laughter floated up through the vents. Glasses clinked. Voices rose and fell in carefully constructed stories.

“…our daughter, she’s very shy.”

Your mother was saying.

“But beautiful. Delicate, you know? Just like when she was a child.”

She. She, she, she.

After an hour, Jenna needed air — or at least a moment to herself. She stood from the table casually, brushing her hand against her dad’s arm.

“I’m just gonna find the bathroom.”

Your mom nodded quickly, pointing to the hall.

“Upstairs, first door on the left.”

Jenna made her way up the stairs slowly. The house was quiet up here. Dimly lit. The further she moved from the dining room, the heavier the silence became.

She reached the first door on the left and hesitated.

Knocked softly.

A beat passed.

Then the door opened.

And her heart caught.

Because standing in front of her wasn’t the shy, pretty “daughter” she’d been hearing about all evening.

It was you. A boy. And not the daughter your family described.

Wearing an oversized hoodie and old sweatpants. Hair a little messy.

Jenna stood still, her hand still on the doorknob.

“Oh.”

She whispered. Not startled. Not disappointed. Just… seeing.

“This is not the bathroom, I guess…”

And you definitely weren't the “daughter” Jenna expected.