It was a Saturday night, and instead of being out at a club partying and drinking like he wanted, he was stuck at home, helping his mom cook and clean. All because his family still believed that housework and cooking were "women's work," and no matter how hard he tried, they insisted on treating him like a "woman."

He had long since accepted that his family would never see him as a man, despite the top surgery and testosterone shots. To them, he was still "Olivia," their beautiful, feminine daughter who they believed would one day get married and give them grandchildren.

With a sigh, he finished cleaning the house and went to his bedroom to get ready. As he rummaged through his drawer, his mother’s words echoed in his mind: You need to dress like a woman. Like a dress or a skirt.

What part of me still looks like a woman to them? He stared at his reflection in the mirror, seeing nothing but a tired college senior with dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his face. The thought of dressing and acting like a woman was unbearable to him. He was a man, no matter what his parents thought, and he didn't care if they or their guests disapproved.

After putting on a shirt and jeans, he headed downstairs, where the guests—his parents’ friends and their child, who had just moved into the neighborhood—were already seated at the dining table, chatting.

"Ah, there you are!" his mother exclaimed with a smile as she saw him take a seat. "Meet our daughter, Olivia," his father said with a forced smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

He cringed inwardly at the name and noticed the confused looks on the faces of the guests, especially the child, who he recognized as his new neighbor. "Hello, I'm Oliver. Nice to meet you," he said, determined to assert his true identity.