The bathroom door closed softly, the latch clicking shut behind Brooklyn. I lingered in the hallway for a moment, letting out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The day had been so full — moving boxes, unpacking, managing my kids’ frustrations and hopes — it felt like a mountain we were all trying to climb together, but each of us carried different burdens.
From behind the bathroom door, I heard the familiar clatter of boxes being shuffled, toiletries rattling as Brooklyn tore through his things. His frustration was growing sharper by the second. A toiletry bag landed with a thud on the counter, his face tight with tension.
I stepped closer, knocking lightly on the doorframe. "Hey, bud, what's really going on in there?" I asked gently, hoping to cut through the frustration radiating off him.
A long sigh followed. Brooklyn’s shoulders visibly slumped as he turned to face me. "I’m just trying to find the Midol, Dad," he muttered, his voice cracking as he tried to hold it together. "I know it’s in one of these boxes, but I can’t find it." His short hair stuck up at odd angles from where he’d been running his hands through it over and over. "It feels like my body’s betraying me right now. I just want it to stop."
His words hit me hard — a mix of exhaustion and anger in his tone. I moved closer, pushing the door open wider. Brooklyn turned away, stiff and frustrated. I rested a hand on his arm. "Hey," I said softly, "it’s okay. Let’s find it together. You don’t have to do this alone."
Brooklyn hesitated before letting out a shaky breath, nodding reluctantly. I stepped inside the bathroom. The place was a mess — open boxes, scattered toiletries, half-emptied bags. Brooklyn leaned against the sink, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the floor. His expression was a painful blend of irritation and vulnerability.
I knelt down by one of the boxes, shuffling through its contents. "You know," I said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood, "when I was your age, I used to lose everything. Mom had to tape my name on my stuff to keep me from misplacing it. She swore I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached."
Brooklyn snorted, though a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "Yeah, well, you didn’t have to deal with..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at himself.
I paused, looking up at him. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. "No," I said gently, "I didn’t. And I know this is hard, Brook. It’s not fair. But you don’t deserve to feel like this."
Brooklyn sighed, glancing up for a brief second before his gaze dropped again. "Sometimes, no matter how much I try to change, my body just keeps reminding me of who I used to be." His voice cracked, raw with emotion.
I took a deep breath, sifting through a few more items until my fingers finally wrapped around a small box. "Got it," I said, holding up the Midol with a smile.
Brooklyn’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude as he took the box from me. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice cracking again. He clenched his jaw, looking away. "I hate that I still need this."
I stood, placing the Midol on the counter before resting a hand on his shoulder. His face was partially hidden beneath his auburn hair, but I could see the struggle in his expression. "Brooklyn, you're doing everything you can. You're facing something incredibly hard, and you’re handling it with so much strength. It’s going to take time, but you’re strong. And you’re not alone — not for a second."
Brooklyn turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. I could see the fear and uncertainty reflected there, the worry that maybe he’d never become the person he truly wanted to be. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "It’s just... I get scared," he admitted quietly. "Being in Florida... people here don’t always... accept people like me."
A sharp pang of protectiveness rose in my chest. I squeezed his shoulder. "I know, Brook. And I wish I could promise that everyone will understand. But no matter where we are or what happens, I’ve got your back. You’re my son, and I’m so proud of you. If anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me first."
Brooklyn bit his lip, his eyes watery as he tried to hold it together. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
I gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze before letting my hand fall. "Hey," I said, a smile creeping back to my face, "you’re not just my kid — you’re a pretty cool guy too. I mean, video games, comics, girls... you’re practically living the dream, right?"
Brooklyn let out a shaky laugh, caught somewhere between a chuckle and a hiccup. He shook his head, his voice deepening slightly. "Yeah... well, I’m trying."
I nodded, smiling wider. "That’s all anyone can ask for, bud." I reached over and ruffled his hair lightly. For a moment, we just stood there — father and son, quietly facing the uncertainty of this new chapter.
Suddenly, a sharp wave of nausea rolled through me. My stomach lurched violently, and I grimaced, leaning heavily against the counter. "Ugh," I muttered, swallowing hard, trying to steady myself.
Brooklyn’s eyes widened in alarm. "Dad? You okay?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but the nausea only worsened. My vision blurred as cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Before I knew it, I was stumbling toward the toilet, dropping to my knees as the first dry heave hit. I felt Brooklyn’s hands on my back, steadying me.
"Daddy?" Brooklyn’s voice broke slightly as he knelt beside me. It was higher-pitched, the old voice he used to have slipping out in his concern. His hand rested on my back, his presence warm and reassuring, even though I could hear the fear in his voice.
Brooklyn had instinctively reverted to his old voice. It didn’t happen often, but when he was scared, his defenses cracked. I knew that voice. It was softer, more vulnerable — the voice of the child who used to curl up in my lap when things felt too heavy.
I took a shuddering breath, managing to rasp, "I’m okay," though my throat was raw and bile clawed at its edges. I reached up, patting his arm.
Brooklyn bit his lip, glancing away. "I hate that I did that," he whispered, his voice trembling. "It just comes out when I’m scared. I don’t want to sound like... that anymore. But when I saw you like that, it just... all came down."
I smiled weakly, my hand still on his arm. "Brook, it’s okay. No one’s perfect, especially not when they’re scared. It’s natural to reach for what makes us feel safe. But you’re still my kid — whether it’s the old voice or the new one. That’ll never change."
Brooklyn nodded, his lips twitching. "Yeah. I just don’t want to go back. I want to keep moving forward."
"And you are. Every day, you’re moving forward. Even when you slip, it doesn’t mean you’re not getting there."
He smiled, his eyes still glistening. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice steady now. "We got this."
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my body slowly release. "Listen, Brook," I said, "I think I need to check on your sister. She’s had a tough day too."
Brooklyn nodded. "Yeah, I get it. She’s trying, even when she says things that hurt. She’s just confused too."
I nodded, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I know. And it’s important we all keep talking, even when it’s tough. But just know, I’m always here for you first."
Brooklyn blinked rapidly, a small smile forming. "Thanks, Dad."
I pushed myself up, taking a steadying breath. "Alright, I’m going to talk to Brianna." I ruffled his hair lightly. "Take care of yourself, and if you need anything, just yell."
Brooklyn shrugged. "Yeah, I will. Good luck. She’s probably obsessing over her hair or makeup."
I chuckled. "That used to be you until recently, remember?"
Brooklyn snorted. "Don’t remind me."
I smiled, giving him a final look before heading out of the bathroom, feeling the weight of the day but also a quiet strength, knowing we were figuring this out — together. "We got this," I said softly, ruffling his hair one last time.
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