Andy's POV
The Next Morning
The sunlight spilled lazily through the blinds, soft and golden, washing the room in warmth. I stood by the window, mug in hand, wearing nothing but boxers and one of Kimberly's oversized tees. It smelled like her—vanilla and sleep—and somehow that made the morning feel less fragile.
Behind me, I heard her pad softly into the living room, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair a messy halo. She looked at me with a softness that still felt foreign—but welcome.
"Hey," she said, voice thick with sleep.
"Hey," I replied, trying not to let the quiet between us stretch too far.
She sat on the couch, legs folded underneath her. "You always wake up this early?"
"Old habits," I murmured, taking a seat beside her. "Running a company kind of wires your brain for chaos."
She smiled gently but didn't laugh. Instead, she studied me, eyes trailing over the shape of my jaw, the curve of my neck. Then her voice came, low but certain.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
I stiffened, just a bit. Then nodded. "You already have."
Kimberly looked at her hands for a moment, like she was choosing her words carefully. "What was your life like… before all this? Before Australia?"
I didn't answer right away. My throat tightened, and I felt the walls I'd spent years building start to creak under the pressure. I didn't cry easily—not anymore. But this? This was different;
I took a deep breath. "It's complicated."
She waited, patient, her fingers lightly brushing mine.
"I lived a life I thought was right," I began. "Or... at least the only one I knew how to live. My mom—Amber—told me my father was dead. Said he died when I was a baby. She never let me question it. And I didn't. I just believed her."
I paused, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "She also told me I was… transgender. A boy. A boy born with a vagina. That it was a mistake of the body. That I needed to be strong. Masculine. She dressed me like a boy, gave me a boy's name, drilled it into me that I was meant to be male. That I had to be."
Kimberly's eyes widened slightly, her expression unreadable. I pushed forward.
"So I played the role. I wore the clothes. I deepened my voice. I worked out until I passed as 'him.' All I ever wanted was for people to see me as a guy with a vagina. Not a freak. Not a mistake. Just… valid."
I shook my head, staring into the distance like the past was still playing out in front of me. "I buried every part of myself that didn't fit that lie. The softness. The confusion. The moments where I looked in the mirror and saw something else staring back. I thought I was broken because I couldn't commit to being what my mother told me I was."
A bitter laugh escaped me, quiet and sad. "But little did I know… I wasn't a guy with a vagina. I wasn't a boy trapped in the wrong body. I was a girl. A girl my mother changed—manipulated. She couldn't handle who I was, so she made me someone else."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek. "She didn't just lie about my father. She lied about me. And I believed her. I lived in that lie for most of my life, pretending I was strong, pretending I was free—but I was in a cage I didn't even know existed."
Kimberly didn't speak. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close, pressing my head to her shoulder.
"You don't have to carry that alone," she whispered. "You were never the lie. You were always her. Always Andy. Always a woman."
I let the tears come then, slow and quiet. Because maybe this was what healing looked like—not forgetting the pain, but finally telling the truth.
And being held through it.
---
Kimberly's POV
I held him as long as he needed. His breath was shaky, but his arms clung to me like I was the last solid thing in a world that had lied to him too many times. And maybe I was—for now.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, but clear. There was something honest in them, something raw. I didn't want to break that.
So I cupped his face and spoke softly.
"Andy… whether you live as a man, a woman, or something in between—whatever feels right to you—I'll still be here. I don't care about the labels. I care about you. Just you."
His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but couldn't yet find the words.
"You've been forced to live in other people's truths for so long," I continued. "You don't owe anyone an explanation. Not even me. But you do owe yourself the freedom to live how you feel—not how you've been told."
He looked down, nodding slowly. "I don't even know what feels right sometimes. I feel like… I lost years of my life pretending to be something I wasn't."
"And now you get to take it back," I whispered. "At your pace. On your terms."
We sat in silence for a moment. Then I added, cautiously, "Have you ever thought about contacting them? Your family?"
Andy tensed immediately. His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "They don't deserve that. They threw me away. My father couldn't even look at me. And my mother—she created this lie. She made me into something I wasn't."
I placed my hand on his knee gently. "I'm not saying they deserve your forgiveness. But maybe… you deserve peace. Maybe that chapter needs to end before you can fully start the next one."
He didn't respond. Not right away. Just stared out the window again, like the past might show up in the street if he stared long enough.
"I just… I don't want to go back there," he muttered. "I don't want them to have that power."
"They won't," I said. "You're not that scared kid anymore. You're Andy. You're you. Calling them… it's not for them. It's for you. So you can say what you need to say. And then move on."
He didn't agree. But he didn't shut down, either.
---
Later that Night – Andy's POV
I stared at my phone for over an hour. The number was still saved. I'd never deleted it—just buried it under rage and pain and silence.
Kimberly had gone to take a shower, leaving me alone with the ghosts.
My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling.
I didn't want to forgive them. Not really. But I wanted peace. I wanted to stop carrying this around like a wound that never healed.
So I did what I thought was right.
I hit call.
The phone rang twice.
Then a voice I hadn't heard in years answered.
"Hello?"
I swallowed hard.
"…Hi, Mom."
A long silence followed.
Then a quiet, trembling voice. "Andy?"
I closed my eyes, breath shaking. "Yeah. It's me."
Tears blurred my vision—but for once, they weren't from pain.
They were from the start of something new.
---
Andy's POV – Two Weeks Later
The music thumped softly through the grand hall, the kind of bass that vibrated just beneath the skin. Lights twinkled overhead like stars suspended in motion. Crystal glasses clinked, laughter echoed, and the scent of champagne and something sweet filled the air.
But all of that faded into the background when I stepped onto the small stage—hand in hand with Kimberly.
This wasn't just a party. It was a rebirth.
Two weeks ago, I picked up a phone and reopened wounds I'd spent years trying to bury. And tonight? I was closing that chapter. Not with bitterness, not with rage—but with grace. With truth. With myself.
The crowd below shimmered with faces from every corner of my life. Employees. Friends. Allies. Even some ghosts.
I saw Jason—my father—standing quietly in the back, eyes soft but unsure. My mother, too, looking smaller than I remembered, almost like regret had carved something out of her. They came. Not to speak. Just to witness.
Good.
Because this wasn't about them. This was about me.
I stepped up to the mic, cleared my throat, and looked out over the room.
"Two years ago," I began, "I ran away from everything. My home. My family. My identity. I was angry, confused, and broken. I didn't know who I was—I just knew who I wasn't."
A hush fell over the room. Kimberly stood just behind me, a quiet pillar of strength.
"I've lived through lies. Been forced into skins that didn't fit. But through it all… I kept fighting. I found myself in silence. In freedom. In truth. And I stand here today not as the person others told me to be—but as the woman I truly am."
A quiet ripple of applause began—polite, emotional. Real.
"I forgive the ones who hurt me. I release the pain that used to shape me. And from this day forward, I'm not running anymore."
I reached for Kimberly's hand again, and she stepped up beside me.
"This beautiful woman stood by me when I wasn't even sure I could stand by myself. And I want to build something new with her—without shame, without fear, without masks."
There was a pause.
Then a roar of applause. Cheers. Whistles. Even a few tears.
I smiled. For the first time in my life, I truly smiled without anything held back.
Later that night, as the crowd danced and drank, I stood at the edge of the balcony, looking over everything I'd built. Kimberly joined me, slipping her arm around my waist.
"You did it," she whispered.
"We did it," I corrected, kissing her temple.
Behind us, the past faded like smoke in the air.
Ahead of us, a future worth fighting for.
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