Stevie stood on the rooftop of her family's old apartment building and peered down at the city lights flickering like distant stars below. The cold wind nipped at her skin as it blew past. She barely noticed, being numb to any sort of feeling both inside and out. As her bare feet teetered on the cemented edge, her mind drifted back to the tangled web of memories that had led her to this moment.

Growing up, Stevie's family was anything but conventional. Her father, a woman who lived as a man, and her mother, a man who embraced the identity of a woman, had always told her that she was born the “normal” way. In her young mind, that meant something very different from the other kids in school. 

While every other kid in her kindergarten class was born from their mommies, Stevie announced, “Well, I was born from my daddy.”

“You mean your mommy?” Another child asked. 

Stevie froze in confusion. Luckily, the teacher was privy to her parental situation and was wise enough to not explain but change the subject. “Hey, kids! How about we paint pictures of our favorite family moments?”

For Stevie’s sake, her parents drawn on paper still looked like a typical mommy and daddy. 
It wasn’t until middle school that Stevie noticed just how different her parents were from others. Especially when the other children pointed it out. 


“Look, there’s Stevie! She came out of her dad!” A student would yell at her which was always followed by boisterous laughter. 

For Stevie, that first year of middle school was spent mostly in the girls' bathroom, sobbing until the bell rang. 

The next year was no better, but she finally found the courage to ask her parents, whom she loved so much, what exactly everybody meant when they laughed at her. 

Stevie walked into the kitchen on a Saturday morning, with her dad making breakfast and her mom sitting at the table watching the news. 

“Those damn Trump supporters are at it again with their...