“…Well, I guess that’s that, then,” Rob sighs. “You all know what this means.”

“We tried so hard to avoid it,” I mumble. “But in the end, I guess we’re just going to have to face up to it.”

“Yep,” Neil says. “I think in the end, we all knew this was going to happen sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” Rob sighs, leading to an awkward pause. “Next game… We open up box 8.”

“Ehh, you never know,” Lee shrugs as we help Rob pack away the board game. “It could be a positive thing, like, we’ve lost 4 games in a row, maybe it’ll take pity on us and give us a leg up or something.”

“Seriously?” Rob asks. “Pandemic actually HELPING? Nah, it’ll be more like ‘pick three cities at random: these cities have now been nuked.”

“There’s only one way we’ll find out,” I shrug. “You never know how it’ll go until you, like, open the box and find out. And either way, it won’t be the end of the world, right?”

“We’re playing a game that literally deals with the end of the world,” Lee retorts. “…Though I guess you’re right, Ian. Next Thursday, we’ll still play this game.”

“And we’ll still probably lose,” Neil laughs. “God, don’t know why I’m so nervous…”

“It’ll be fine,” Lee says. “No need to be nervous.”

“Yeah,” I say as I head out to Rob’s father’s car for my lift home. There’s no need to be nervous about the board game…

…Not when I have so many other reasons to be nervous. Today is Thursday, the 22nd of December. For the past four months, I have lived my life as a teenaged boy named Ian. For the past three months, I have received regular injections of testosterone, designed to masculinise my body and help me feel more comfortable in myself. And for the most part, they’ve worked. All my life I’ve been plagued by depression, by the feeling that my body is inherently WRONG, like who I was wasn’t who I was supposed to be. Ever since the testosterone treatments began, though, those feelings have shrunk further and further. The more time I spend as ‘Ian’, the more time I spend with my friends at college, or hanging out at their homes, or at work, the more comfortable I feel, the more I feel like this truly is who I’m supposed to be.

However, not everyone agrees with that sentiment. At college, everyone knows about my ‘secret’ and seems to be okay with it, but on the rare occasions I’ve used the boys’ toilets, I’ve felt the eyes of every other boy in there staring at my body, no doubt wondering what’s underneath the baggy jeans and the sweatshirt. Even worse, none of the girls in the college will have ANYTHING to do with me, sneering at me every time I go near any of them. Though this may be because I’m part of a group of boys who are committed geeks and nerds, I don’t know. It’s a good job I don’t care about popular- ‘transsexual nerd’ ticks just about every box for scorn from the popular kids at college.

And sadly, it’ll also tick every box for scorn from the two most important people who don’t yet know about ‘Ian’- my parents. Ever since I ran away from London in August, I’ve had to keep up the pretense that I am still ‘Kayleigh-Ann’, that I’m studying at Drama College and working part-time as an actress. Every time they call- which is several times a week- I have to use my feminine voice, which is becoming more and more unnatural with every passing day, and at least twice a week I log into Facebook as ‘Kayleigh-Ann’ and chat with my old ‘friends’ from London- Abbey-Gayle, Ella etc- which is even more mind-numbing than when those conversations were face-to-face, now that I’ve had a taste of the life I so desperately want to live.

It’s heartwarming in a way that my parents still care this much- I guess that boy or girl, I AM still their only child- but it’s still a source of stress, especially as they end every conversation we have with an offer to visit me in Cardiff, or a request (which sometimes borders on demand) for me to return to London to see them. Most of the time I’m able to fend them off by saying that I’m busy with college (which I am, most of the time) or ‘work’… But that couldn’t last forever, at in October, during half-term, mum announced that she was coming to visit, and much to my horror, grandma agreed before I had the chance to protest.

“She’s still my daughter,” grandma said firmly. “I haven’t seen her in months, and I want to catch up. And you know that this will have to happen sooner or later, Ian.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to sigh or sulk. “It’s just- I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

“You can’t hide who you are forever,” grandma insisted. “Especially not from them. They’re coming down in two days, whether you’re ready or not.”

“…And if I’m not ready?” I whispered.

“Ian, I know this isn’t easy for you,” grandma said in a firm but sympathetic voice. “Your counsellor says this is the biggest step you’ll take, but it is a step you need to take, and the sooner you do it, the sooner you can move on. And you know I’ll always support you no matter what your mother and father say.”

“I know,” I mumbled.

“So you can either stand up tall and proud, and introduce them as your son,” grandma said, “or you can pull on those old shorts that Kayleigh-Ann used to wear and keep up the lie when they come to visit. The choice is yours.”

Naturally, being the coward that I am, I chose the latter, and immediately regretted it- not just because it delayed the inevitable yet further, but because in the two months since I’d last pulled on any item of feminine clothing, I’d forgotten just how much I truly hated it. I tried to tell myself ‘it’s just clothes, it doesn’t mean anything’, but the second I stepped into a pair of tights, I shuddered and almost felt sick to my stomach.

The second my parents left, I headed back to my room and scrubbed away every last trace of ‘Kayleigh-Ann’, throwing away all ‘her’ underwear and make-up and putting all of ‘her’ clothes into a charity collection so that I never again give into the temptation to ‘wimp out’. As I saw the last traces of my old life disappear, I felt more and more confident that I was making the right decision, especially as all throughout their visit, my parents spent virtually none of the time asking how I am, and virtually all of the time filling me in on the antics of Abbey-Gayle and her gang. Considering that I’d spent several evenings beforehand listening to Abbey-Gayle’s gang prattle on about their lives and so-called modelling careers, it just gave me one more reason to try to postpone the next encounter with my parents for as long as possible- but with Christmas just a few days away, and my birthday just five days after that, it’s something I just can’t put off anymore.

“Hello, Ian!” Grandma says with a warm grin as I step through the front door. “Did you have fun at your friend’s?”

“I did, yeah,” I say. “Just played a few games…”

“Good, good,” grandma replies. “Your dinner will be ready in about half an hour. …Your mother called while you were out.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I explained to her that you’d be out all day,” grandma says. “So you won’t need to call her back. Not when you’ll be seeing her in two days anyway, her and your father.”

“I guess,” I laugh.

“Do you know yet what you’ll say to them?” Grandma asks. “Obviously I’ll explain to them before you, well, ‘introduce yourself’, but what you say will be important as well.”

“I- I dunno,” I sigh. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but every time I- there’s nothing, nothing I can think of that won’t get me shouted at or shipped off to a nunnery or something. I can just hear it now: ‘you’ve wasted all your father’s time and money’, ‘all the time we wasted raising you’…”

“Exactly,” grandma says with a smug smile. “Those arguments are only about how your parents will feel about themselves.”

“…I’m sorry, I don’t follow…” I mumble.

“You think your parents will be focussed on material things like money,” grandma says. “REAL parents should focus on what’s best for YOU, regardless of the cost.”

“GOOD parents would,” I say with a dark voice that makes grandma frown.

“Well, that’s an argument we don’t need to repeat,” grandma says quietly, before letting me head up to my room to get changed.

After pulling off my coat, my baseball cap and my trainers, I pause as I catch a glimpse of my body in my wardrobe’s small mirror. I’ve only been taking testosterone for three months, but even that small amount of hormones has started to make a difference to my body.

In the past, I’d clamp my trusty Arsenal cap to my head, kneel down in front of my full-length mirror and repeat the phrase ‘my name is NOT Kayleigh-Ann, I am NOT a girl’ in the futile hope that it would somehow make it comes true. Now, though, if I put my hat on and repeat the phrase ‘my name IS Ian, I Am a boy’… I can actually believe it.

Obviously, there are some changes no amount of testosterone will ever be able to overcome. My skeleton will always be female- my shoulders will always be narrow and my hips wide. My curves, on the other hand, have started to ‘straighten’ a lot. My waist has widened by a couple of inches, which will no doubt cause mum to have an aneurysm when she finds out. This change, however, is less down to my hormones and more due to the fact that grandma is feeding me with REAL food as opposed to the vegan crap on my ‘food plan’. The mere smell of the spaghetti and meatballs that grandma is cooking is making my mouth water.

Even though my waist has widened and my weight has noticeably increased, I’m not fat- far from it, in fact- I’m just not supermodel slim anymore. It turns out that Neil’s father works at the local leisure centre where the guys go every week to swim, and as that’s obviously not an option for me (not yet, anyway), Neil arranged for his father to give me an hour of boxing coaching whilst they swim. As such, I get a good workout every week, and I’ve noticed muscles starting to grow on my arms and my legs. Slightly more excitingly, hair has also started to grow on my limbs!

Funny story- when I first went to train with Neil’s dad, he casually mentioned how he’d never trained anyone ‘like me’ before and was looking forward to the challenge. My entire body went tense, getting ready for yet another barrage of transphobia (as Mr. Wright obviously knows about my ‘status’), or comments on how I was the first transgendered person he’d coached, or worse yet, the first girl… Then he told me I was the first southpaw- the first left-hander- he’d coached.

‘Kayleigh-Ann’ often got called ‘fit’ by virtually every boy who plucked up the courage to speak to ‘her’, and I never understood why- yes, I was athletic, anyone who did all the extra0curricular activities I did would be, but I was almost a stick figure… I feel a lot more ‘fit’ now than I ever did pre-testosterone. The girls who occasionally drop into the videogame store where I work certainly agree, too- I’ve been ‘checked out’ by them on more than one occasion. How odd that when a man ogles a girl in that manner, they’re objectifying them, but when a girl ogles a guy, it’s a compliment…

The most exciting physical change to my body, however, are definitely the three thin, wispy hairs growing out of my chin. They only appeared a few days ago, but the first time I touched them it felt like I was touching a live electrical wire. All my other physical changes- my waistline, my muscles- could be put down to other factors, such as my diet or my exercise regime. The hair were the first undeniable proof that I was being chemically changed from female to male… And they’re also proof that I won’t be able to hide from my parents on Christmas Eve, even if I wanted to.

The same night I discovered my ‘beard’, I had a dream of me and my father standing in front of our bathroom mirror back at our home in London, where he taught me to shave, like father taught him and his grandfather taught his father… And for a moment when I woke up, I honestly believed that that dream would come true. Then, that night, I received my near-daily phone call from my mother, and I remembered that my father only barely qualifies as a ‘man’ himself.

“You took your time,” grandma complains as I sit down and tuck into my dinner.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Still feeling nervous about Saturday…”

“Well there’s no need to be,” grandma insists. “Whatever happens on Saturday, I promise you that on Sunday, you’ll wake up in your bed and you’ll still be a boy, and you’ll come downstairs and open a big pile of boys’ presents.” Tell that to Laura White, I think to myself as I remember the transgendered girl who was abducted by her father two years ago.

“Mum and dad won’t be happy about me not wanting all the girls’ presents they bought me,” I say.

“Probably not,” grandma concedes. “But you told me they keep the receipts for everything they buy, they can always get their money back.”

“I guess,” I mumble. “They’ll be doubly angry as they’ve probably already bought my birthday presents too, heh. Though I guess if it’s driving lessons, I can use those just as well as a boy as I could as a girl.”

“That’s the spirit!” Grandma says with a grin. “You need to remember, Ian, that your parents DO love you. They only have your best interests in mind.”

“We’ll see,” I say in a dark voice as I finish my delicious, meat-filled meal.

After doing the washing-up for grandma, I spend the rest of the evening watching TV with her and trying vainly to distract myself from my upcoming confrontation with my parents. Grandma says they only have my best interests in mind… But I know better. Ever since I was born I was little more than an accessory to my mother, something she could show off to her shallow friends, her ‘designer millennium baby’. I was little more than a list of achievements she could boast about- and the less I achieved, the less she cared about me. As I grew up it felt almost like I was transforming from her accessory into an investment- or worse yet, her retirement fund, someone who could keep her in the life of luxury she’d become accustomed to with all the money I’d earn from my glittering career in showbusiness.

And never, at any point, was I asked what I wanted myself. My best interests in mind? Yeah, right.

“Ian!” Grandma yells from downstairs, waking me from my dreamless slumber. “Wake up, your breakfast’s ready!”

“Coming,” I reply, sighing as I pull on my dressing gown to shelter me from the cold (though my additional muscle mass does a good job of this too).

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Grandma teases as I sit down at the kitchen table and she shoves a plate of toast under my nose. “Got anything planned today?”

“Not really,” I mumble. “Might call up the guys, see if they’re free. Just want to do anything to take my mind off of tomorrow…”

“Well if all you’re doing is worrying about tomorrow, then that’s sensible,” grandma says. “I do wish that you’d had a brother or a sister, someone who you could confide in, someone you could talk to when you couldn’t talk to your parents. I used to talk to my big sisters a lot when I was your age. Of course, we didn’t have Facebook or mobile phones back then, so I really didn’t have anyone else to talk to!”

“Heh,” I reply as grandma’s words resonate with me. Never mind a brother or sister, I’ve never even really had a best friend I could confide in. I can’t talk deeply with the guys from college- after all, they- sorry, WE- are guys. The closest thing I had to a best friend- Ollie- only saw me as a potential shag, his sister has all the emotional depth of a cushion and her friends (my old ‘friends’) are all vacuous, airheaded models... Well, maybe not ALL of them are vacuous and airheaded…

“I’ll, um, I’ll probably go on Facebook to see if any of them are available,” I say quietly as I finish my breakfast and formulate a plan that will hopefully help to ease my stress ahead of tomorrow.

After getting dressed, I do indeed log into Facebook on my phone- but it’s ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s profile in log into, rather than ‘Ian’s. Unsurprisingly, with it being two days before Christmas, all my friends- well, ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s friends- are showing as available, but there’s only one friend I’m interested in talking to today- the only friend in that old ‘gang’ that I was ever interested in talking to.

‘Hi Ella!’ I type, smiling as the tall Australian girl almost immediately starts typing a reply.

‘Hi Kayleigh-Ann!’ Ella types, and I try not to bristle at the use of my deadname. Obviously, Ella doesn’t know about ‘Ian’, she simply thinks instead that I’m still a girl and living away from London for college and work… And it’s time to end that delusion.

Coming out to Ella won’t be anywhere near as stressful as coming out to my parents, of course, but she still clearly thinks of me as a friend, and I never really disliked Ella the way I did the other girls… When it comes down to it, I guess I still think of her as a friend as well. A friend who probably wouldn’t share any of ‘Ian’s hobbies or interests, but a friend nonetheless. But how the hell do I tell her that the girl she’s been chatting with ceased to exist three months ago?

‘How’s everyone in London?’ I ask.

‘Everyone’s frozen solid!’ Ella replies. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it being so cold at Christmas lol!’ Despite myself, I find myself giggling girlishly at Ella’s enthusiasm. ‘Want me to get the other girls into the convo?’

‘No,’ I hastily type. ‘I only want to talk to you.’

‘I’m flattered,’ Ella types with a winking smiley. ‘If only you were a cute boy, lol!’ I try to keep my nerves from fraying as Ella follows up her message with a winking emoji, followed by a ‘kissing’ emoji. Any other sixteen year old boy would give their right arm to receive messages like those from a tall, beautiful girl like Ella... And even my heart flutters a little upon receipt of the emoji.

‘Yeah,’ I type.

‘Speaking of,’ Ella types before I have the chance to think of what to type next, ‘have you bagged yourself a cute Welsh boy yet? Or do none of them meet the impossibly high standards of Miss Walker?’

‘Look who’s talking!’ I retort without thinking, earning a ‘stuck out tongue’ smiley from the Australian girl.

‘I’m an official Heavenly Talent model, I can afford to be picky,’ Ella types with another ‘sticking out tongue’ smiley. ‘I might not be an Angel, but give me enough time and if Abbey-Gayle suffers from a nasty accident…’

‘Lol,’ I type, frowning as Ella remains oddly silent for the next couple of seconds.

‘Seriously?’ Ella types. ‘Didn’t you read what I just typed?’

‘Umm, you want to be Angel?’ I type.

‘Yes…’ Ella replies. ‘And the other bit?’

‘Umm, you want Abbey-Gayle to suffer a nasty accident?’ I type. ‘Think we’ve all been there…’

‘God, Kayleigh-Ann!’ Ella types, the frustration clear in her words. ‘You sure you’ve not been hanging around with boys as you’ve got so dense all of a sudden. ABBEY-GAYLE IS AN ANGEL.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ I reply with a sticking-out tongue smiley.

‘Lol,’ Ella types. ‘Seriously, though, I’d expect you to be burning with jealousy! God knows I was…’

‘Meh, live and let live,’ I reply.

‘But didn’t you always want to be a supermodel?’ Ella asks. ‘You were always boasting- well, when you said anything, anyway- about your acting, all the lessons and opportunities your parents kept getting for you…’

‘That’s the point,’ I type, taking a deep breath. Ella’s given me the perfect opportunity to segue into what I REALLY want to say… Might as well take it. ‘I wasn’t boasting, I was complaining.’

‘Complaining!?!?’ Ella types. ‘What do you have to complain about? You’re a cheerleader, a ballerina, an actress, and I’m sure you’d have been a model before too long, maybe even signed to HT as well.’

‘But I never wanted any of that,’ I type. ‘I never even wanted to be a girl.’ I gasp after I send the message as it’s only then that I realise that I’ve finally said what I’ve wanted to say for so long- and now that I’ve said it, I can’t ‘unsay’ it. The cat is very much out of the bag now…

‘Kayleigh-Ann, what are you saying?’ Ella types, and my fingers start trembling so much I struggle to type my reply.

‘I always wished I was a boy,’ I type. ‘Since I moved to Cardiff I started living as a boy full-time and I’m taking hormones to change my body as well.’

‘OMG,’ Ella types. ‘Kayleigh-Ann… Are you serious?’

‘Totally,’ I type, before taking a photo of my hairy chin to send to Ella. ‘And from now on, you can all me Ian. Ian Freeman.’

‘O. M. G.’ Ella types, followed by a string of ‘shocked’ emojis. ‘ZOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!’

‘I plan on going all the way,’ I type. ‘Testosterone, surgeries… The lot. All I want is to be a normal boy.’

‘OMG!’ Ella types yet again, making me roll my eyes.

‘Do you only have three keys on your keyboard?’ I type with a ‘sticking out tongue’ emoji.

‘Jesus Christ, Kayleigh-Ann!’ Ella types. ‘Or Jesus Christ, Ian! How long have you felt like this? How many other people know? Is this why you left London?’ I roll my eyes yet again as Ella’s questions come through so fast that I don’t have the chance to type a response to any of them before the next one comes through.

‘Since puberty at the earliest, the only other person in London who knows is Georgie’s brother, and yes, in that order,’ I reply. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I haven’t even told my parents yet, they’re REALLY strict, that’s why I moved away.’

‘OMG of course, my lips are sealed!’ Ella types, making me smile- airheaded model or not, Ella has shown that she can be real friend. A real friend to ‘Kayleigh-Ann’, that is, the jury’s still out on whether or not she’d be a good friend for ‘Ian’…

‘Thanks,’ I type. ‘My parents are coming down tomorrow, I’m telling them then… I’m really, really nervous. Or even terrified. Telling you was kinda a ‘test run’. No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Ella replies.

‘Why do I get the feeling you deleted the letters ‘OMG’ from that message before sending it?’ I type with a ‘sticking out tongue’ emoji that earns a whole string of the same emoji in response from the Australian girl.

‘Shut up, you typical BOY!’ Ella replies with a winking emoji that makes me laugh out loud. ‘Seriously though, you told me before you told your parents?’

‘I wanted to see how you’d react,’ I reply. ‘Again, no offence, but we are friends, right?’

‘Of course,’ Ella types. ‘And you didn’t want to tell any of the other girls?’

‘Georgie has a mouth wider than the Bristol Channel,’ I type. ‘Brooke and Abbey-Gayle would just think ‘how can I twist this to benefit me’. You’re the only one of the girls I trust. Lol, you’re the only one I even like!’

‘Aww,’ Ella types. ‘Tbh you’re the one I liked the most too, I’ve really missed you since you moved to Wales.’

‘I missed you more than any of the other girls put together,’ I reply. ‘But whenever we chat, it’s all Angels this and boys that… Made my brain hurt.’

‘Kinda did me too,’ Ella types. ‘I know I’m eighteen now and I SHOULD be out partying every night, but sometimes I just want to snuggle up on the sofa with my boyfriend, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ I type, trying to shake off the odd tremble in my stomach brought on by Ella’s mention of a boyfriend.

‘Or I guess for you, it’d be ‘girlfriend’, right?’ Ella types.

‘Lol I dunno,’ I type. ‘Don’t want to think about it really, none of the girls at college really like me though that’s because I’m kinda a nerd now, spend my night playing videogames and board games.’

‘Meh, I guess you’re not eighteen yet so you kinda can’t go out partying,’ Ella types. ‘OMG you’re seventeen next week though aren’t you?’

‘A week today,’ I type with a smiling emoji. ‘That’s something I’m dreading, reckon my parents will have got me all girly presents for Christmas and birthday and my grandma- not the one I live with, my other grandma- still thinks I’m six.’

‘Ugh, hate that,’ Ella types. ‘My grandma still treats me like I’m a child, actually threatened to ground me the other week. Like, I’m eighteen! I’m an adult, I have a job and earn my own money!’

‘Lol, we’re just two blondes living with our grandmothers away from everything we ever knew,’ I type, earning a smiling emoji from Ella.

‘With one big difference between us, BOY!’ Ella types, earning a ‘sticking out tongue’ emoji from me.

‘You’re really okay with this?’ I type. ‘I know Aussies are supposed to be live and let live, but I know it’ll mess up the whole Angel thing we were trying to do.’

‘Oh sure, stereotype me, MISTER sheep and male voice choirs!’ Ella types. ‘Our whole ‘Angel thing’ really collapsed since Abbey-Gayle got promoted earlier this month anyway. That’s why the Skypes haven’t been as often.’

‘Tbh I hadn’t noticed,’ I type.

‘Think Abbey-Gayle got everything she wanted from us and has moved on,’ Ella types with an ‘angry’ emoji. ‘Ironic- she always wished we could have a transgendered member of the group to make us more Angel-like. Who knew, right?’

‘Maybe not what she had in mind,’ I reply with a sticking-out tongue emoji. ‘And it’s not like you can’t be a super sexy supermodel too, you ARE six feet tall and gorgeous.’

‘Aww, thanks!’ Ella types with a ‘wide grin’ emoji. ‘And coming from a boy, too!’

‘Lol,’ I type with a grinning emoji of my own.

‘So I guess we won’t be seeing you back anytime soon?’ Ella types with a ‘sad’ emoji. ‘Or Kayleigh-Ann ever again?’

‘Depends on how it goes with my parents,’ I type. ‘I’ve been happier the last three months than I’ve ever been. I’ve got friends and a life in Cardiff. But mum will yell at me and try to emotional blackmail me into going back home, I know it.’ My ‘crying’ emoji is replied to with a ‘hugging’ emoji from Ella.

‘They can’t legally make you do anything you don’t want to, right?’ Ella asks.

‘Who says anything about being legal?’ I type. ‘You know what happened to Laura from our ballet class. This time next week I’ll be celebrating my birthday in a nunnery.’

‘Or your parents, especially your dad, will love the idea of having a son,’ Ella types.

‘Dad loves what my mum and his mum tell him to love,’ I type with an ‘angry’ emoji.’ I’ve only been on hormones three months and already I’ve got more balls than him.’

‘LMAO!’ Ella replies. ‘He does seem a bit henpecked from when I met him.’

‘He’s useless,’ I type. ‘And mum’s a psycho. Tomorrow will NOT go well.’

‘Well anytime you need to chat, IAN, you just ask,’ Ella types with a ‘smiling’ emoji. ‘Boy or girl, nerdy or trendy, we’re still friends. I always wanted a little brother.’

‘I am NOT being your little brother,’ I type with a ‘sticking out tongue’ emoji.

‘I’m taller than you and older than you, you don’t have any choice,’ Ella types with a stuck-out tongue of her own. ‘Does IAN have his own fb profile?’

‘Yeah, I’ll send you a request,’ I type with a smiling emoji. ‘Thanks for understanding, Ella.’

‘That’s what big sisters are for,’ Ella types, earning an ‘eye roll’ emoji from me in response. ‘G2G, going shopping with grandma. Goodbye forever, Kayleigh-Ann, and talk to you soon, Ian!’

‘Yeah, I should get ready for work too. Talk soon!’ I type with a smiling emoji as Ella logs out of Facebook and I crash onto my bed, letting out a long sigh of relief.

Ella’s positive reaction to ‘Ian’ has given me a boost of optimism, but coming out to an open-minded eighteen year old who’s only known me a few months is a very different prospect from coming out to the people who raised me. Or at the very least, tried to raise me. ‘Coach me’ might be a more appropriate way of wording it… But the truth is, they did devote seventeen years of their life to bringing me up, feeding me, clothing me, putting a roof over my head… I owe them a lot, but I can’t let them dictate how I should live my life. But do I have the strength to say ‘no’ to them?

Fortunately, I’m reminded as I pull on my work polo shirt that I have a life in Cardiff that I can’t simply be uprooted from no matter what anyone- however important- says. I have my studies, I have a job (albeit a part time one), I have friends, and most importantly of all, I have my grandma, whose supportive smile seems to calm my nerves as I grab my coat and head toward the nearest bus stop.

“Morning, Ian,” Dean (my work supervisor) says as I walk into the small, but packed shop. “Get your coat off and hop on the tills, we are packed as hell today!”

“Looks that way,” I laugh as I drop my coat off before standing behind my usual till, where I spend the whole day checking out customer buying last-minute presents for their loved ones, while desperately trying not to think about my own ‘loved ones’.

I leave the shop just after 5:15pm feeling exhausted from the day’s work and increasingly nervous about tomorrow’s confrontation, which is getting closer and closer with every passing second. Fortunately, it’s the middle of winter so my shivering can be passed off as just feeling cold, rather than the real reason.

“Thanks for letting me have tomorrow off,” I say to Dean as he locks the shop’s shutters.

“No worries, mate,” Dean replies. “Would’ve preferred to have you there tomorrow, but some things are more important. Are- are you feeling okay? About tomorrow, I mean.”

“Not really,” I sigh. “I’ve just got every worst case scenario spinning around my head, mum screaming her face off at me, threatening to sue me, threatening to lock me in an attic for the rest of my life…”

“Yeah… This is reality, mate, and they’ll have to accept that,” Dean says. “You’ve got a certificate from your doctor that says in big bold letters ‘boy trapped in girl’s body’ and ‘must take testosterone’. And didn’t you tell me before that your mum’s caught you self-harming before? She’s got to be sympathetic, surely?”

“You’ve never met my mum,” I say darkly. “She’ll take this personally, have one of her so-called ‘depression attacks’, anything she can think of to try to emotionally blackmail me to get her way, same as she always has.”

“But- but they’re your PARENTS,” Dean argues. “Surely they should only be thinking about what’s best for you?”

“’Should’, yeah,” I snort.

“Well, you never know,” Dean says. “This IS the time of year for miracles, after all. Your parents might surprise you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I snort as I head to the bus stop.

“Well either way,” Dean says, “I’ll see you on Boxing Day, okay?”

“Yep,” I say with a tired, nervous laugh. Never imagined I’d be looking forward to working on Boxing Day more than spending Christmas Eve at home, I think to myself.

The journey home is as quick as usual, despite the roads being busier for the festive season, but it feels like hours instead of minutes, I’m so nervous about tomorrow. Everyone I speak to- Ella, Dean, even grandma- are telling me to be optimistic, but they haven’t spent the last seventeen years being yelled at for not trying hard enough at ballet, or not making enough of an effort to make friends with the popular kids, or wearing the correct, 'fashionable' clothes. It’s hard to be optimistic when you’ve never had anything to be optimistic about. The only good thing that has ever happened to me- becoming Ian- happened solely because I took myself away from my parents’ toxic influence. There’s no way I can go back to London with them, no way at all.

“Good day at work?” Grandma asks as I take off my coat and my shoes.

“Busy,” I reply.

“Good,” grandma says. “Hopefully took your mind off of tomorrow a bit, then?”

“Just a bit,” I sigh. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a call from them, asking if they can come another day?”

“No, thankfully,” grandma says, shooting me a stern glare. “Ian, you know this is going to have to happen, and it’s going to happen tomorrow whether you’re ready or not, so I suggest you get ready for it! I’ll be there to support you, as I have been every day for the past four months. I’ll make sure that when they leave, they’ll leave accepting and loving their new son.”

“As long as they don’t leave WITH their new son, or worse yet, their old daughter…” I mumble.

“You’ve got a life here in Cardiff,” grandma says. “From what she’s told me, your mum has accepted that and is happy for you. I refuse to believe that she’s as bad a parent as you’re making her out to be, Ian.” If only I had a parent who refused to see my flaws, I self-pityingly think to myself.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” I whisper, before spending the rest of the evening watching television on the sofa.

Naturally, I barely sleep during the night, I’m so worked up about the confrontation with my parents. On the rare occasions when I do sleep, all I can see in my dreams are the angry faces of my mum and my dad staring down at me, or shouting incoherently at me, or forcing me back into the girls’ clothes I was so desperate to escape…

“Ian!” Grandma yells, waking me from my fitful sleep. “Time to get up, your parents will be here in just over an hour!” I shiver in fear as I throw back my covers, before heading to the shower to wash my body and my short blond hair.

As the hot water cascades over my tense, tired body, I play with the wispy hairs growing out of my chin to try to calm myself about today. I will confess that there’s a part of me that’s desperate to just hide who and what I am yet again, to pull on the shorts and tights that were a part of my life for so many years… But there’s a much larger part of me that’s glad that’s not an option. Regardless of how it goes today, mum and dad won’t be able to ignore what’s staring them in the face. They’ll leave here today as the parents of a son. Whether they’ll be the proud parents of a son, however…

After pulling on my usual underwear, wrapping my elasticated bandage extra-tight to ensure that my chest is as flat as possible (while still remaining comfortable, of course), I pull on my smartest pair of black designer jeans, followed by a smart designer sweatshirt. When I say ‘designer’, I actually mean ‘not bought from Primark or a supermarket’ so they’re not as expensive as ‘Kayleigh-Ann’s clothes were, but they’re hopefully smart enough to show to my parents that whilst I may be a boy now, it doesn’t mean I’m a total slob. Some smart clothes would actually make a good Christmas present…

“Very smart!” Grandma beams with pride as I sit down at the kitchen table and pick at my toast (unsurprisingly, I don’t have much of an appetite). “Any parents would be proud to have you as their son.”

“Even parents who’ve only had a daughter for the last seventeen years?” I ask.

“ANY parents,” grandma says firmly. “Have you decided yet what you’re going to say?”

“I’ve known what I was going to say for years,” I say with a nervous smile. “I’m just going to tell them that my name is not Kayleigh-Ann, and I am not a girl. Anything else they want to know, they just have to ask.”

“And if they’re any good as parents, that will be enough for them,” grandma says in a soothing voice.

However, grandma’s voice isn’t nearly soothing enough, as with every passing minute, I get more and more anxious, to the point that when a knock comes from the front door, I’m practically hyperventilating. This is it, I think to myself. I’m about to become an orphan… Or a nun… Or worst of all, I’m going to become Kayleigh-Ann again…

“Calm down!” Grandma urges. “There’s nothing they can do or say to harm you. I won’t let them. You’re going to go out there and present them with their son. Alright?”

“Al-alright,” I say, taking several deep breaths to compose myself as a second, more impatient knock comes from the front door. I remain in the kitchen for the next three minutes, trying to strain my ears to hear what my parents are saying to grandma, but their voices are so soft and low- which is particularly rare for my mother- that I struggle to follow the conversation… Right up until grandma reveals the ‘secret’.

“SHE’S WHAT!?!?” Mum screeches in a voice almost loud enough for the whole city to hear. That’s my cue, I think to myself as I take a deep breath and step out to face my parents, dad looking at me with his usual blank stare while mum’s face moves through disbelief, to anger, before finally settling on shock.

“Craig, Angela,” grandma says stoically. “Meet your son, Ian.”

“Umm, hi,” I say, trying my hardest to keep my voice masculine as I nervously wave. What feels like an eternity passes as my parents simply stare at me, before mum closes her eyes and holds her hand to her forehead, making it plainly obvious what’s coming next.

“Ohhh…” Mum weakly moans as she leans back in her chair.

“Angela, don’t you dare!” Grandma barks in a voice so fearsome that it immediately snaps mum out of her ‘depression’. “Say hello to your son! Both of you!”

“He-hello, Ian,” dad meekly mumbles.

“No,” mum says firmly, her facial expression changing to one of pure fury. “I refuse to accept this!”

“Mum,” I whisper. “I- I NEED this. Being a girl, it-“

“It is what you were born to be!” Mum snaps. “But you were always too selfish to care about your responsibilities, weren’t you?”

“M-Mum-“ I stammer.

“All those years of ballet lessons, of acting classes,” mum spits. “All that money, all those years of love, wasted!”

“Did you ever even ask me if I wanted any of those things?” I protest, but my question only makes mum angrier.

“I shouldn’t need to ask, you should have been grateful for all the opportunities we gave you!” Mum yells. “I had NOTHING growing up! No dance lessons, no acting lessons and certainly no celebrity friends! I suppose you’re throwing that career away, too?”

“ANGELA!” Grandma snaps, having clearly had enough of mum’s rant. “You did not have ‘nothing’ growing up! We weren’t rich but I tried to give you everything you wanted, everything you asked for!”

“We were poor!” Mum yells.

“But we were happy!” Grandma retorts. “And Ian wasn’t happy living with you! If I’d forced you to play football, or go on fishing trips with your father, you’d have whined for weeks and had one of your ‘depression’ episodes. Frankly, it’s a miracle Ian hasn’t ended up in the funny farm… Or worse.” I stare at mum as her face falls- clearly she remembers the moment a few months ago when she walked on me attempting to break my own foot.

“How long have you been having these feelings?” Mum asks in a much calmer voice than the one she’s been using up to this point.

“Years,” I whisper. “Sometimes- sometimes I have, umm, hurt myself…” I glance up at grandma as I try to blink tears out of my eyes. Boys don’t cry, after all…

“This has all been confirmed by a doctor,” grandma says. “Medically speaking, Ian IS a boy trapped in a girl’s body, and we WILL respect HIM as such.”

“But- but all the money we wasted,” mum pleads. “We’ve got a boot full of presents, dresses, make-up…”

“You always keep the receipts,” I shrug, though this only serves to darken mum’s mood.

“You don’t care about us at all, do you?” Mum sneers. “About what this will do you and to your father, having to go back to London and explain to everyone that we have a transgendered child…”

“Mum, for the last three years you’ve encouraged me to idolise The Angels,” I retort. “You never had a problem with one of them being transgendered.”

“Your other grandmother will disown you, and probably us as well,” mum argues.

“Angela,” grandma says firmly. “You need to accept that from now on, your daughter is your son.”

“We wasted seventeen years,” Mum whines.

“But you have so many more to look forward to,” grandma retorts. “There are more important things than money, Angela. I like to think I raised you to realise this. Ian-”

“HER name is Kayleigh-Ann!” Mum protests.

“IAN,” grandma repeats in a forceful voice that even makes me wince. “Ian has spent the last few days terrified of this meeting right here, right now. No child should ever be terrified of meeting their parents.”

“But it’s okay for a parent to shame their children, is it?” Mum retorts, bringing an even angrier look to grandma’s face. “I refuse to accept that I’ve wasted the last seventeen years bringing up a girl only to have her suddenly turn round and say ‘oh, I’d rather be a boy if that’s okay’!”

“You heard what he said!” Grandma retorts. “He’s felt this way for years! There was nothing ‘sudden’ about it!”

“We have Christmas and birthday presents in the boot for Kayleigh-Ann including a new dress,” mum says firmly. “The only way SHE comes back to London is if SHE is wearing it!”

“…Then I guess I’m staying in Cardiff,” I say in a quiet, emotionless voice.

“I guess you are,” mum says in a cold voice. “Come along, Craig, we’re leaving.” I bite my lip as I watch mum and dad silently stand up and leave, but once they’ve slammed the front door and driven away, I break down in a very unmanly flood of tears.

“Oh, Ian,” grandma sighs, clearly shedding tears of her own. “Let it out, let it out…” I don’t need to be told twice- I spend the next fifteen minutes bawling my eyes out and trying to resist the urge to slash open every single artery in my body.

Once I’ve calmed down, grandma lets me lay out on the sofa (something she almost never allows) before heading upstairs, returning a short while later with a blanket (that I eagerly wrap around myself) and a plastic bag full of Christmas presents.

“I- I thought mum said that she was taking her presents back?” I ask as grandma sits down in her armchair.

“And she did,” grandma says stoically. “These are my presents from your mother and father. But on top of them- on top of them was something I think was meant for you.” I shed yet more tears as grandma pulls a familiar, well-worn stuffed cartoon giraffe out of the bag and hands it to me.

Naturally, once grandma leaves the room, the giraffe’s leg ends up between my teeth as I spend the rest of the afternoon laid on the sofa, trying to cry and scream away my frustrations at effectively becoming an orphan…

Eventually, by the time evening rolls around, I’ve calmed down enough to sit up on the sofa and toss my giraffe to one side, but I still can’t shake the feeling of utter misery and dread from my guts. The confrontation with my parents is in the past, it’s been and gone, and I’m still in Cardiff, and most importantly, I’m still a boy. It could have been so, so much worse… But I’m still miserable. The last time I was this miserable, I was wearing a bra around my chest instead of an elasticated bandage and tights instead of socks… And I’d hoped I’d left it behind just like I have those feminine undergarments.

“I’ve tried calling them again,” grandma says as she comes through from the kitchen. “Still no answer.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “I- I’m sorry about this…”

“No, don’t you dare apologise!” Grandma says, sitting next to me and giving me a gentle (but very welcome) hug. "I'm the one who should be sorry, I've spent the last few months defending your parents, saying they're not as bad as you think... Obviously, I was wrong. Obviously I raised a daughter who's more interested in things than in her own flesh and blood."

"You don't need to apologise," I whisper. "If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be Ian. I owe you everything."

"You being happy and healthy is all the thanks I need," grandma says. "I think you could probably use an early night."

"Yeah, probably," I sigh.

"Though I will say this," grandma says. "Your mother really didn't seem to be all that upset about the whole 'transgendered' thing. It's almost as if she was using it as an excuse for what she was really upset about- you not doing exactly what she says you should do. She's always been a control freak."

"That's hardly news to me," I say.

"You get an early night," grandma advises me. "You're still the boy you want to be. You've still got a roof over your head, family who love you, good friends, education and a job. And we can and WILL work on your parents. I promise you."

"Thanks," I whisper.

Naturally, I take grandma's advice, heading to bed later in the evening after getting sick of all the Christmas TV grandma insists on watching, particularly the traditional chaos that goes on in the soap operas over Christmas. Reality is enough of a soap opera as it is...

Literally as I'm climbing into bed, though, my phone bleeps, attracting my attention, and when I stare at the screen, my jaw drops at what's displayed on it.

'Ella Henry has sent you a friend request.'

Obviously, as 'Kayleigh-Ann' I'm already friends with Ella, but I'm currently logged into Facebook on my phone as 'Ian'... Meaning that it's 'Ian' who Ella wants to be friends with. Immediately as I accept the friend request, a message comes through from the tall girl.

'Hey,' Ella types. 'Really hope I've got the right Ian, I spent ages looking for Ian Walker in Cardiff before remembering you said you'd changed your surname too.'

'Hey, yep, correct Ian!' I reply, earning a grinning emoji from Ella.

'Awesome!' Ella types. 'How'd it go with your folks today?' I sigh as my moment of happiness from receiving Ella's friend request is replaced by the misery from earlier today, and the only response I send to Ella's question is a crying emoji.

'Oh god, Ian,' Ella types, followed by a 'hugging' emoji. 'So sorry for you. Want me to leave you alone?'

'Actually this chat is the only thing all day that's made me smile,' I reply, earning another grinning emoji in response.

'Aww,' Ella types. 'If you want to talk, I'm happy to listen.'

'My mum's a selfish bitch and my dad's more useless than a chocolate teapot,' I type. 'He didn't say one fucking word whilst he was here, mum and grandma did all the arguing. Mum says I've 'wasted her love'. What the fuck does that even mean?'

'How can you waste love?' Ella replies. 'Surely loving someone is its own reward?'

'You are going to make an AWESOME parent one day,' I reply, which Ella replies to with a 'giggling' emoji.

'Give me a chance, I'm only 18!' Ella types. 'Ugh, grandma's calling me, got to talk to my parents, they'll have just got up and it'll be Christmas Day where they are now.'

'Still miss Australia?' I ask.

'Yeah, think I always will,' Ella types with a 'sad' emoji. 'But every day I'm in London, it feels a little more like home. And now I have at least one true friend in this time zone!' The only reply I have is a smiling emoji to match the actual expression on my face, before Ella logs out of Facebook and I'm left staring into the darkness of my room.

If only I had a friend like Ella I could talk to face to face whenever I wanted, a 'BFF'... Even though it's only girls who are supposed to have those. And a hundred Ellas wouldn't make up for what my parents did and said to me.

Despite my confrontation being behind me, rather than in front of me, I still struggle to sleep, and I'm awake when grandma enters my bedroom with a wide grin on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Ian!" Grandma beams, but despite her encouragement, I'm struggling to crack a smile.

"Merry Christmas," I weakly reply. "Sorry if I'm not feeling very 'merry' today..."

"Don't you worry about anything," grandma says. "You just try to relax and forget about everything today. Well, after helping me prepare Christmas dinner, of course. And after we've been to church. And after you've opened your presents. So get up, get showered and get downstairs, I've already made a start on your breakfast!"

"Yes, grandma," I half-sigh as I throw back my covers and head into the shower as ordered.

When I get downstairs, my jaw drops in shock as I see the large pile of presents on the sofa. In the past, grandma's only ever got me a couple of trinkets and the occasional gift card- none of which was stuff I wanted, of course. Today, however, she's got me a huge pile of carefully-wrapped presents, virtually all of which will be clothes... And knowing grandma, there's a very good chance I'll get an equally big pile for my birthday on Friday.

"Oh my god," I gasp. "There- there's too much here-"

"Nonsense," grandma says. "I've got a new grandson, and I intend to spoil him! I need to make up for the last sixteen Christmases, after all."

"You honestly don't," I whisper. "I- I-"

"All you need to say is 'thank you'," grandma says.

"Thank you," I say, blinking back tears before giving my grandmother a long hug. "Thank you so much!"

"How can you be thanking me now?" Grandma asks. "You haven't seen what I've got you yet!" I giggle as grandma thrusts a present into my hand, which I dutifully unwrap to reveal a brand-new button up shirt with a plain navy blue tie.

The rest of my presents are all unmistakably masculine. Shirts, sweaters, jeans and smart trousers; Lynx deodorant sets; a new pair of smart black shoes and even my very own shaving kit.

"I would've hoped you'd have been able to use that on those whiskers of yours before church," grandma says as I unpackage the shaving kit and begin fiddling with it. "But it'll have to wait for now. Get dressed in your smart new clothes, Ian, we're leaving in fifteen minutes!"

With a genuine grin on my face for the first time in a long while, I take my presents upstairs where I pull on a new pair of jockey shorts, followed by a smart pair of black trousers, a button-up long-sleeved shirt and my new tie. After pulling on a thick pair of socks and my new black lace-up shoes, I stare at my new outfit in my mirror. It doesn't look all that different from my school uniform- with the obvious difference of a pair of trousers and a pair of socks instead of a skirt and a pair of tights- but it feels so, so much different.

There's no frivolousness in my outfit. No need to put on a show, to enhance my look to meet some ridiculous social norm. There's no need to 'compete' with other girls, and certainly no need to compete with any of the boys. I will be indistinguishable from any of the other boys who will be at the church today... And I couldn't be happier.

Sure enough, when I arrive at the church with grandma, I see several other young men there with their families, all of whom are dressed smartly and none of whom care in the slightest about me or about how I look- or especially whether or not I look attractive to them. The teenaged girls who are there, on the other hand, seem to be paying me a lot of attention...

"I know you're not looking for a girlfriend," grandma admonishes me as she catches me staring at some of the girls heading into the church. "But just remember that this isn't the time or the place to start!"

"I know," I mumble as one of the girls smiles at me, causing an odd feeling in my stomach- the same odd feeling I got when Ella told me that she had a boyfriend...

The church service itself passes by without incident. The priest- a younger guy than I was expecting, looking like he's barely thirty years old- spends a lot of the time talking about Jesus's birth and about the 'message' he brought to the world, and the congregation spends a lot of time singing Christmas hymns, before we're finally allowed to leave at just after 11am. As we're leaving, though, grandma takes me to one side to ensure that we're the last to leave, and can therefore spend more time talking to the priest, much to my chagrin.

"Reverend Stubbs, this is my grandson Ian," grandma says as the young man gives me a firm handshake that I try to reciprocate.

"Very nice to meet you, Ian," the priest says with a smile. "Your grandmother has told me a lot about you." Given that you're a god-botherer, hopefully she hasn't told you THE thing about me, I think to myself.

"Nice to meet you," I mumble.

"I'll give you two a moment to talk," grandma says, making me grimace. "Ian, I'll be waiting in the car."

"Thank you as always for coming, Mrs. Jones," Reverend Stubbs says as grandma leaves. "Please take a seat anywhere, Ian."

"Umm, thanks," I say as I sit on one of the hard wooden pews. "I'm, um, I'm not very religious..."

"People find their way to God on their own terms," Reverend Stubbs shrugs. "He's got no problem waiting for you. And he knows how much you've had to wait to be the person you always wanted to be."

"I- I'm sorry?" I ask.

"Your- your transsexualism?" Reverend Stubbs asks. "I'm sorry, if this is a sensitive point then tell me-"

"No, no, it's okay..." I mumble. "So- so you know?"

"Your grandmother is very proud of you," the vicar says. "Of the way you've settled in in a new city when you're only starting to learn to live life as a male."

"I- I'm sorry," I mumble. "I was half expecting a 'fire and brimstone' kind of reaction..."

"And it's sad that in some churches, you'd get that," Reverend Stubbs sighs. "Sure, in the bible it does say 'men should not wear the cloak of a woman, or women should not wear the garment of a man'. But it also says 'judge not, lest you be judged yourself'."

"But- but do you think that God- that he, umm," I stammer.

"I don't believe that God would put someone on this planet only for them to suffer their entire lives," Reverend Stubbs says. "Everyone is entitled to love and acceptance, especially those who are going through a hardship. And depression brought on by gender identity issues is as much a hardship as anything else you'd care to name."

"There are people who wouldn't be as open-minded as you," I mumble.

"Let any one who is without sin be the first to throw a stone," Reverend Stubbs says with a smile. "The words of the lord himself."

"I'm pretty sure the Bible also says 'honour thy mother and father'," I retort.

"Indeed it does," Reverend Stubbs says. "And your grandmother's talked about the demands your mother's put on you as well."

"She actually demanded that I go back with her to London," I say. "Demanded that I become 'Kayleigh-Ann' again."

"It's for the best that you didn't," Reverend Stubbs says candidly.

"But- but isn't that one of the Ten Commandments?" I ask.

"It is," the vicar says. "But it says 'honour' your parents. Not 'blindly obey' them. If blind obedience to them causes you physical or emotional distress, then you shouldn't do it, simple as that. God doesn't want you to suffer, Ian. He doesn't want any of his children to suffer."

"Even those 'children' who start out a daughter but become a son?" I ask.

"ANY of his children," Reverend Stubbs stresses.

"...The Bible really is open to interpretation, isn't it?" I ask, making the older man roar with laughter.

"It certainly has been in the past," the vicar chuckles. "I choose to interpret it as a love story. The unconditional love God has for all of his children. Because none of us are perfect. None of us can cast that first stone, not even me. And as for honouring your parents... My parents wanted me to get a safe job in the banking sector, settle down with a wife and start a family."

"Obviously, that didn't happen?" I ask.

"Especially not as my husband and I are celebrating our two year wedding anniversary in February," Reverend Stubbs says with a wide grin that makes my jaw drop. "God loves ALL his children, Ian, and he has a special place in his heart for you even if- no, especially if the hearts of those who should love you most are closed. Never forget that."

"Thanks," I whisper. "And, um, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Ian!" Reverend Stubbs laughs, giving me a friendly pat on the back as he leads me to grandma's car.

"Thank you for talking to my grandson, Reverend Stubbs," grandma says as I get in the car and fasten my seatbelt.

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Jones," the vicar replies. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" Grandma and I both reply as we drive away.

"So," grandma asks. "Are you feeling any better after that talk?"

"I am, actually," I say with a smile. "Did you know he's married to another man?"

"He showed us his wedding photos in church once," grandma says with a grin of her own. "I reasoned that if God can accept his being gay, then so can I. And yes, the same applies to you, Ian. The difference being that while I like Reverend Stubbs, I don't love him. But I do love you."

"Thanks," I whisper, blinking back yet more tears. "Are- can you, umm, call mum and-"

"I tried calling them this morning, before you got up," grandma says in a quiet, angry voice. "There was no answer. I'll try them again this evening, after dinner. But you shouldn't get your hopes up, Ian."

"Trust me, I'm not," I sigh. "But I figure that if God can unconditionally love everyone in the world, I can try to forgive my parents... Question is, can they forgive me?"

"Especially as you've not done anything that needs forgiving," grandma says in a voice that almost sounds like a growl. "They know where we are when they want to apologise. Let's try to enjoy the rest of our Christmas, okay?"

"Okay," I say with a smile as we arrive back home.

As grandma insisted, I spend the rest of the day trying to be happy as I help her prepare (and, of course, eat) Christmas dinner, before relaxing in front of the television for the entire evening. As grandma promised, she did try calling mum and dad, but as before, they didn't answer the phone, leaving me with mixed emotions as I head to bed. On the one hand, I'm still miserable about my relationship with my parents, but on the other hand, I still have grandma, my friends- including Ella- and a possible new confidante in Reverend Stubbs (not to mention God himself). It's like the whole world is trying to get behind me, all apart from the people who really matter... And that's what hurts the most.

I wake up on Boxing Day morning with a smile on my face, knowing that with several days of work ahead, I'll have the chance to put the past few days entirely behind me and make a fresh start with my life. I can afford to wait to repair my relationship with my parents... But when I open the front door to head to work, I realise that they may not be willing to wait as long.

There, in their car in the street in front of me, are my mum and dad... And in the passenger seat of the car is my paternal grandmother, who also happens to be the single least tolerant person I have ever known. And look she is shooting me is one of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Grandma!" I yell in a state of near-panic as I rush back into the house. "Mum and dad are here!"

"What!?" Grandma yells, rising from her chair to stand by me just as my parents and my other grandmother barge into the house. "Craig, Angela? Why are you here?"

"We are here to take our DAUGHTER back to London, where SHE belongs!" Mum spits as I close my eyes and try to will myself into waking up- but much to my dismay, this is no nightmare, this is very much reality.

"I've told you already," grandma says. "You have a SON, and HE is staying in Cardiff with people who actually love HIM for who HE is!"

"SHE has responsibilities in London!" Mum screeches. "SHE has an acting career to go back to! A celebrity group that's going to make her famous!"

"I never wanted any of that!" I yell. "I never wanted to be a dancer, or an actress! YOU wanted that for me! You never asked me what I want!"

"And what DO you want, Kayleigh-Ann?" Mum sneers.

"...I just want to be an ordinary boy," I say in a meek, soft voice.

"Don't be stupid, you pathetic little girl!" Grandma Walker spits in a voice full of bile. "You know full well that trannies deserve to have people lock them up and throw away the key!"

"But why?" I plead.

"Because it's not right, that's why!" Grandma Walker yells.

"Who are you to say what's right and what's wrong?" Grandma Jones yells at the older woman, bringing a look of pure shock to the other elderly woman's face.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Grandma Walker spits. "Craig, are you going to let her speak to me like that?"

"My mother is the most moral person in the world," dad says in a voice much meeker than my own was a few seconds ago. "If she says something isn't right, then it's not right." The smug look on Grandma Walker's face makes my blood start to boil, and a quick glance at Grandma Jones shows that I'm not the only one who feels that way- but much to my surprise, mum's shooting an angry look at the smug old woman as well...

"Ian tried to take his own life," Grandma Jones says, making me almost throw up with stress. "When he came to see me late last year, I noticed that he has a mark on his wrist. A mark that could only have been made by a sharp object."

"Wh-what?" Mum asks, her jaw dropping.

"Are you seriously telling me that you'd rather have a dead grandchild than a transgendered grandchild?" Grandma Jones asks, showing some smugness of her own at playing her 'trump card'.

"Yes," Grandma Walker says firmly. "If she's going to disgrace her family like that, then she deserves to die."

"Then you don't deserve to be a grandmother, you poisonous old toad!" Grandma Jones growls, making Grandma Walker's face once again contort in a look of pure shock.

"Craig!" Grandma Walker yells at dad, who opens his mouth to respond, but is silenced when my mother begins speaking.

"Did you just seriously say that you wished my child was dead?" Mum yells, stunning both myself and Grandma Jones.

"Yes I did," Grandma Walker sneers. "And you're not fit to call yourself a mother! A REAL mother wouldn't have taken no for an answer and would've put that GIRL back in dresses by force if necessary!"

"Oh, like you've been doing to Craig his whole life?" Mum snaps, making me bite my lip as my stress levels start to boil over. There isn't a single week of my life that I HAVEN'T had to listen to an argument like this...

"Craig does as he is told," Grandma Walker says in a smug tone of voice. "Tell her, Craig."

"I- um," dad stammers.

"Craig!" Grandma Walker snaps. "Tell her! Now!"

"Don't bother, Craig," mum sneers. "If you're going to defend someone who wished your child dead, then you don't deserve to call yourself a father. And I certainly don't want you calling yourself my husband anymore."

"Good!" Grandma Walker says. "I always knew Craig could've done much better than you anyway!"

"Well it's not like I could have done much than him!" Mum yells after dad and Grandma Walker as they storm out of the house together, leaving me, mum and Grandma Jones stood in an awkward silence.

"A-Angela-" grandma says softly.

"I hope you're happy now," mum spits as she grabs her coat and takes out her phone to call a taxi. "Both of you. But especially you, Kayleigh-Ann. Never forget that this is all your fault."

Naturally, after mum leaves, I head up to my bedroom where I stay for the next several hours with my stuffed giraffe's leg lodged firmly between my teeth. Every time I think I'm making progress, I always get dragged back again. Even after I've started transitioning, after I've started taking hormones- after I've started growing facial hair, for god's sake- the world will always conspire to drag me back down again. Now, not only am I estranged from my parents, but my parents are estranged from each other... And it's all my fault.

And yet, I know that if I had done as I was told, if I had been the 'good daughter'... I'd probably not last another year. Now that I've tasted life as 'Ian', I simply can't go back to life as 'Kayleigh-Ann'. A boy's life is one of freedom, one of choice, one of friendship and happiness... All mum offered me was a life of obligation and responsibilities. Even as she was defending me to dad and Grandma Walker, she didn't care about my happiness, only about what I could eventually do for her... Well screw her. Grandma Walker was right about one thing, and one thing only- she doesn't deserve to call herself a mother.

"Ian?" Grandma asks as she knocks on my door, derailing my train of thought. "I've brought you a cup of tea."

"Umm, thanks," I sniffle as grandma lets herself into my room and puts the beverage on my nightstand. "I'm so, so sorry-"

"None of what happened today was your fault," grandma says, having clearly been crying herself. "Quite the opposite, Ian- you're the victim in all this. Your parents should never have got married in the first place, the relationship was doomed from the start. The only thing you're responsible for is keeping them together long after they should have divorced. And your father's mother is pure poison."

"You won't get any argument from me," I whisper as I sip my hot, sweet tea.

"I called your workplace for you, explained what's happened," grandma says, making me grimace.

"Oh- god, work..." I groan.

"It's okay," grandma says softly. "They understood after I explained everything to them. Though they will be expecting you in tomorrow. And I wouldn't pull any sickies in the future if I were you!"

"I don't intend to!" I say, making grandma laugh.

"Good," the elderly woman replies. "Now's the chance to make a fresh start, Ian. The chance to put everything behind you and go forward as the man you want to be, the man you're supposed to be."

"But I've had so many losses," I sigh. "So many setbacks..."

"Then now's the time for you to start winning," grandma says, bringing a determined smile to my face.

----------

"...And that's what I did over my Christmas," I sigh as I help Rob, Neil and Lee set up for our next game of Pandemic Legacy.

"Jesus," Neil whispers. "Sorry to hear that, mate..."

"Mum did actually call later on on Boxing Day," I continue. "Tried to apologise for blaming me and grandma, but it came off as half-arsed, especially when she refused to refer to me as anything other than her 'daughter' and 'Kayleigh-Ann'."

"Note how you said 'tried to apologise'," Lee says.

"Humility was never her strongest suit," I snort. "But that's okay. Like grandma says, I've got to put my losses behind me, got to get on now and try to get some wins under my belt."

"Like talking to that Australian girl?" Neil asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "We've chatted a bit the last couple of days, she's been happy to listen to me pour out my emotions. That way, I don't have to pester you guys with them."

"And we sincerely thank you for that," Lee laughs. "Are we still on for your birthday tomorrow?"

"Hell yeah!" I laugh. "I have every intention of making THAT one of my 'wins'."

"And speaking of 'winning and losing'," Rob says, as he withdraws a small black rectangular box from the board game's box and hands it to me. "Figure you should do the honours."

"Thanks," I laugh as I take box 8 and slowly pull apart its perforated opening.

Much like in the game, in my life, opening the box wasn't the end of the world, as much as it felt like it at the time. It felt like everywhere I went, I was followed by failure, and anger, and recrimination at my choice. Like I had the whole world saying 'you're a disgrace', or 'you've let me down' when in fact I was the one being let down.

Well no more.

I have friends- in Cardiff AND in London- who care about me. I have a grandmother who not only supports me but will go out of her way to ensure I'm happy. I've got my studies. I've got my work, my health and my testosterone. I don't need anything else, especially not 'parents' who see me more as a possession than a person. All things told, I'll probably be happier without them.

I just wish I had the option of being happier with them...