And mother Amber—after all these years apart from her child—still carried the weight like chains around her soul. Every breath was laced with regret. She regretted it all… every decision, every silence, every lie. The day she allowed them to change her baby's identity, she thought it was protection. But it felt like betrayal now.
She lived quietly with Jason now. He took her back after his second wife died—an act she never believed she deserved. Jason had two sons and a daughter. They didn't call her "Mom." They never would. But they didn't hate her. They treated her kindly. Lovingly, even. They were there when she shattered. When she wept without words. When she begged God in the middle of the night to bring her child back.
Amber cried every day. For two whole years, her tears were the only thing that felt real.
Andy—her child—no longer picked her calls. No texts. No trace of care. Just silence. And that silence screamed louder than anything Amber had ever heard.
She drifted through those years like a ghost. A shell. A mother with no child.
Recently, things had changed a little. She had begun to care for Sophia, Jason's daughter. Something in that girl's presence made Amber feel human again. The ache was still there, but now it had a heartbeat.
That morning, Amber sat up from the bed like she was dragging her soul with her. She stared blankly out the window, her thoughts somewhere far… somewhere lost.
Jason came out from the bathroom, his scent warm and familiar. He leaned in and kissed her cheek gently. "Are you up, love?"
Her voice was barely there. "Oh, yes." She turned slowly to him. Her eyes—tired, soft, searching. "Have you heard from my daughter?"
Jason nodded while spraying on his perfume, the sound of the bottle a cruel reminder of normalcy. "Yes, honey. She's fine."
Amber's heart skipped. "Oh… wow."
Jason continued, brushing his hair with a quick flick. "The good thing is… Kimberly finally convinced her to go to the hospital. Fix herself up."
Amber blinked. Her heart sank. "What… do you mean?"
"You know…" Jason's voice dropped as he searched for his shirt. "Start looking like a lady. At least."
Amber swallowed hard. "Is… is that possible?" Her voice cracked.
Jason chuckled under his breath, a sharp bitterness in his tone. "You're asking me? You were the one who did the impossible thing, remember?"
Amber's eyes filled. "Please," she whispered, "I'm tired… so tired of all this."
Jason looked at her—hesitated—then walked over and gently held her face in his hands.
"It's alright, Amber," he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "All I want… is for Anna to call herself a woman again. Dress like one. Even if it's a stud. That's manageable. Better than saying she's a transgender man."
Amber's breath hitched, tears spilling freely now. "Yes… yes, I would love that too. God knows I would. But I don't want her to do it for me again. I don't want her breaking herself just to be what I want."
She sobbed, raw and trembling. "I just want her to be happy. I just… want her to be free."
Jason sighed deeply and kissed her forehead. "It's too early for all this, my queen. I have a big meeting today." He wiped her tears tenderly.
"I'll be home," Amber murmured, wiping at her eyes.
Jason gathered the rest of his things, headed for the door. "Bye, my queen."
"Bye, my king."
Amber watched the door close behind him. Silence settled again. She turned back to the window, smiled faintly through wet lashes.
"What is love…?" she whispered. Her voice cracked again. "This… this is love."
She pulled herself out of bed and headed to the bathroom to wash the tears from her face, the ache in her chest still heavy—but this time, not alone
Amber stood at the sink, splashing cold water onto her face. The tears had dried, but her soul still felt soaked in sorrow. She stared into the mirror—not at her reflection, but at the ghost of a woman who had once smiled without pretending. She touched her cheek softly, the same cheek Jason had kissed. For a brief second, it made her feel real.
She dried her face, grabbed her robe, and made her way to the kitchen. The house was still, except for the soft humming of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the wall clock. Sophia had already left for school.
Amber poured herself a cup of coffee, but it didn't taste like anything. Nothing had flavor anymore.
She sat at the table, phone in hand—again. Her thumb hovered over Andy's name in her call log. She stared at it, as if staring long enough would change the outcome. Her finger trembled. She tapped "Call."
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
No answer.
Amber's shoulders fell. She held the phone to her chest and whispered, "Please… just one word… one word, baby girl."
A chime broke her daze.
A message.
Her heart skipped wildly. She opened it.
Andy: "Please stop calling. I'm not your child."
Amber's breath caught in her throat. She stared at the words, re-reading them as if they might change if she blinked enough.
She typed quickly, desperately:
Amber: "Please Anna, I am still your mother."
The message was seen.
But no reply.
Amber's grip loosened. The phone dropped to the counter with a soft clack, but the silence that followed was anything but soft. It was cruel. Sharp. Final.
She lowered herself to the tiled floor—knees folding beneath her like her strength had finally given up. Her fingers covered her mouth as sobs rushed out of her body in waves, muffled and aching.
She wept until her voice was hoarse, until her arms trembled from holding herself together.
I carried her inside me...
How do you mourn someone who's still breathing?
How do you let go of your own child?
She leaned her head against the cabinet, cheeks soaked, hair stuck to her skin, chest rising and falling in ragged beats.
And then—
BANG!
The front door flew open with a slam, and two heavy-footed storms barreled into the house.
"Eyyyyy! Caleb, I told you I was gonna smoke you!" Ethan's voice boomed with triumph.
"You wish! I gave you that last shot," Caleb argued, half-laughing, clutching a slightly deflated football in his hand.
Their shirts clung to their backs, soaked in sweat, their socks muddy, their faces flushed from the game. They smelled like sunlight and summer and freedom.
They burst into the kitchen without looking up.
"Amber! We need cold water or we're dying—"
Ethan stopped.
Caleb froze just behind him.
Amber hadn't moved. She was still on the floor, back against the cabinet, staring at nothing.
"Amber?" Ethan's voice dropped, a chill in his chest.
She looked up slowly. Her eyes were red, her lips trembling. "She doesn't want me anymore."
They didn't need to ask who.
Caleb put the football down quietly. Ethan stepped closer, kneeling beside her.
"She said she's not my daughter," Amber whispered. "She said I should stop calling."
Her voice cracked open like glass breaking.
"I did everything," she choked out. "I changed my name, my body, my life—for her. And now she... she won't even let me say her name."
Ethan's chest ached. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't. He just reached for her hand.
Caleb walked over and crouched on her other side. "She's hurting. But she's still yours."
"No," Amber said, almost too quietly. "I don't think she is anymore."
"You're wrong," Ethan whispered. "You're still her home. Even if she's lost... she knows where she came from."
Amber cried again, but this time she leaned against Ethan's shoulder, allowing herself to be held.
And for a moment—just a moment—grief wasn't so heavy. Because she wasn't carrying it alone.
INT. ANDY'S APARTMENT – NIGHT
The door slammed shut behind Kimberly.
Andy turned sharply from the balcony. "What the hell was that for?"
Kimberly threw her keys on the table, eyes blazing. "Don't play dumb with me, Andy."
Andy's brows furrowed. "Kim—"
"I read the message." Her voice cut like a blade. "'I'm not your daughter. Stop calling me.' That's what you sent her?"
Andy's face froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
"After everything she did for you, after everything she's been through to even try and understand—that's what you give her?"
"She changed me!" Andy snapped. "She made me live a life I didn't choose. She kept the truth from me for years—my whole identity, my gender. I had to run halfway across the world just to breathe!"
"And what?" Kimberly snapped back, stepping closer. "That gives you the right to spit in her face when she's begging just to hear your voice?"
Andy looked away, swallowing hard.
"You think you're the only one who's broken?" Kimberly's voice cracked now. "Amber lost a child. Not to death—but to silence. And still, every damn day, she's trying to hold on to something that feels like a ghost."
"She lied, Kim."
"And you think you're better for lying to yourself? You say you're strong—but all I see is a scared little girl hiding behind a wall built from pain. A wall that's pushing everyone away—including me."
Andy's chest rose with fury, but also shame. "I'm not hiding—"
"Yes, you are," Kimberly said firmly. "You keep saying you want people to accept you as you are, but you can't even face your mother. You can't even say her name without spitting it out like poison."
Andy blinked, stunned by the weight of that.
Kimberly shook her head, stepping back. Her voice dropped—softer, but even more piercing. "I want a partner who fights. Who owns their truth without turning it into a weapon. And if that means standing in front of the woman who birthed you and telling her, 'You hurt me, but I'm still here'—then do it."
Andy's lips trembled. "You don't know what it felt like…"
"No, I don't," Kimberly said. "But I do know what it's like to be a daughter who would've given anything to have a mother still fighting for her."
Andy's eyes widened.
Kimberly stepped toward the door, grabbing her bag.
"Don't make me walk away because you're too proud to let love in," she whispered.
Andy stood there—silent, shattered—as Kimberly walked out, closing the door softly behind her.
The silence was deafening.
And the message she sent Amber still sat on the screen…
Staring back at her like a wound she carved into her own soul.