Author's Note: Hi, thanks for reading my story. Now that Christmas is over I can return to these darker chapters. This is a flashback, 11 years ago. Hopefully illustrating how much Whit and Lucy have been through. On a personal note I had a wonderful Christmas. My wife bought me a jewelry box with a little spinning ballerina, something I've always wanted. I had my second HRT appointment and found despite my conservative plan I'm getting very close to female levels. Still, fully coming out seems impossible. Hope you all are having a good Holiday season and looking forward to 2026. ❤ sarah

Chapter 10 March 11th 2014

“Hi honey I’m home,” Whit said as he walked into the house and hung his jacket off a chair. There was no response. He sat his small lunch cooler on the table and walked through the house, Lucy was off from the nursing home today and her car was in the drive. Eventually he sat down and turned on the TV. An hour later Lucy entered the house. She looked like a kid that had played dress up in her Mom’s closet. Wearing a weird colorful skirt that Whit had never seen, a sweater, jacket, and tall mismatched socks.

“Wow, what kind of look is that?” Whit asked with a grin.

Lucy gave him an angry stare, and Whit knew immediately. “I’ve been on a walk, do you have a problem?” she asked. The words weren’t slurred but they didn’t sound like they were coming from his wife’s mouth.

“Umm, Lucy, what’s the matter?” Whit asked.

“Oh nothing Darren, or should I call you Sissy now? Would you like that?” Lucy spit back.

“Lucy, please.” Whit said.

The woman marched across the floor, her gait just slightly off and waved her hands. “Don’t Lucy me you fucking faggot. I’ve read it all, I found your shit.”

Whit followed her, “You’ve been drinking. Where did you go?”

Lucy turned around and her eyes were bugging out of her head, she raised her voice and spread her arms wide, “I’ve been with my friends having Sissy adventures, we’re going to dress up for the ball and ride unicorns, and fuck each other with our magic wands, you sick pervert.”

Whit froze, he couldn’t respond. She had obviously found the secret art folder on his computer.

“That’s what I thought, so shut the fuck up and leave me alone,” Lucy said as the bedroom door slammed in Whit’s face.

Shell shocked Whit wandered to the fridge and got a diet soda then shuffled to the couch. He felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, just a gaping empty hole in his head. He thought how some people might turn to drugs, alcohol, or some other juvenile behavior, to fill the emptiness. Whit was lucky, he didn’t need to, he didn’t mind feeling empty. He sat there and stared at the wall, occasionally taking a sip of his soda and thought about how all of this was his fault.

His entire life hinged on one single night, years ago. He’d been dating Lucy for a while and they were talking about marriage. She found transgender porn on his computer. He was going to come out, to tell her everything, but instead he rambled for 30 seconds about some art project he was researching, alternative sexuality. He swore he wasn’t actually into it. He knew this was his greatest failure but he had no choice. He couldn’t be honest.

Time passed slowly, ten minutes, twenty minutes. Then suddenly Lucy was back in the living room, looking even more unhinged. “It’s for you,” she said and handed him the phone.

Whit slowly took their cordless house phone and held it to his ear, “Hello?” he said.

Whit heard his Mom’s soft and confused voice, “Darren, hi… Um… Is everything alright. Lucy called, um… Is she OK?”

Lucy flipped him off and walked away. “What did she say?” he asked.

“Just you had something you needed to tell us,” she said.

“I’m sorry Mom, she’s just messing with me, being funny. Everything’s fine,” Whit said and hung up the phone. He went to the bedroom and found the door unlocked.

“Well did you tell your Mom she has a daughter now?” Lucy said in a mock cutesy voice.

“Why the fuck… Why? Leave them alone, please.” Darren said. He was no longer empty, he could feel a protective rage growing. The world couldn’t know how fucked up things were for them.

Lucy stumbled off the bed. She was dizzy, her limbs felt heavy. She knocked the empty vodka bottle off the nightstand, it made a dull thud of cheap plastic. She got in his face, shining crazy eyes that were the eyes of some monster, not his wife’s. “Everyone is going to know. If you don’t tell them, I’ll tell them how big a faggot you are,” she said.

Whit drew his fist back, shifted his weight into his left foot and at the last second he pivoted left and threw a punch into the rock hard plaster walls. A weird jolt shot through his arm. He looked down to see his pinky finger was in the wrong place. More off to the side of his hand.

“Wow, that’s not right,” he calmly said. Whit took the finger and tugged it, feeling another jolt of pain as the finger snapped back into its socket. He could move it normally but it felt loose.

Lucy watched in horror and began to sob. “Oh my God you’ve broken your hand. I made you break your hand. She sobbed and ran to the kitchen nearly hitting a wall. She came back with an ice pack from the freezer.

She was hysterical, babbling about her baby. How she made her baby hurt himself. How she killed her baby. The hospital. The pills she took. She confessed she tried to get someone to fuck her, but they weren’t interested. She wanted to die. All the while Whit just looked at his hand dumbfounded.

“It’s not broken, it’s OK, let's just lay down, everything is going to be fine,” Whit said.

The next morning Lucy couldn’t remember anything that had happened the night before.