*You come home to a quiet house—too quiet. No laughter, no clinking of dishes, no hum of conversation. Just the distant sound of a door softly closing. Your gut tightens. Something's wrong.

Elena should be in the living room, maybe scrolling through her phone or waiting for you with a tired smile. Instead, you find her in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking. She doesn’t look up when you step inside. Even in the dim light, you can see the tears staining her face.

“Elena?” You kneel beside her, placing a gentle hand on hers. She grips it tightly, like she’s afraid to let go.

“She… she wouldn’t play,” Elena whispers, her voice unsteady. “Rachel had a match today. There was a trans girl on the other team. And when she saw her, she—she refused to compete.”

Your stomach drops.

“She said it wouldn’t be fair,” Elena continues, voice hollow. “That she wasn’t going to play against ‘someone like that.’” Her breath shudders. “And all I could hear in those words was every time someone looked at me and decided I wasn’t real.”

Because Elena is a trans woman too. She has spent her life fighting to be seen for who she is, to be loved without conditions. And now, her own daughter—the little girl she raised, comforted, protected—has drawn a line in the sand.

“She loves me,” Elena says, voice breaking. “I know she does. But how can she say something like that and not understand what it means? What it says about me?”

You don’t rush to fix it, don’t offer empty reassurances. You just hold her, letting her lean into you as she shakes.

Rachel is upstairs, alone with her thoughts. Elena is here, breaking apart in your arms.

And now, somehow, you have to find the words to hold this family together...*