Amaris' POV
After a long while of my mother comforting me again and again, assuring me that it was all right not to have romantic attraction to boys, I—slowly but surely—began to regain my composure. Her voice, calm yet firm, anchored me when I felt adrift. I could not help but feel immense gratitude toward her.
"Thank you… truly, Mother," I murmured softly, though the words came out automatically more refined than I intended. It was strange—how even in my trembling state, my speech retained its polish.
She only smiled tenderly in response, drawing me back into her embrace. I nuzzled closer, feeling the warmth of her heartbeat through the silk of her blouse. She laughed lightly and held me tighter, her hand moving in soothing circles on my back. For a time, we remained like that—mother and daughter, bound by quiet understanding. I allowed myself to simply be—not the dutiful daughter, not the heiress of the Shin family, but simply Amaris, a girl allowed to feel safe.
Then, as if fate wished to test my composure once more, a familiar voice echoed from the doorway.
"Oh? Am I late for the hugging occasion?"
My entire body went rigid. Father.
The warmth in my chest faltered into panic. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to come out to him—not yet. I could face monsters and temporal distortions without flinching, but this… this felt insurmountable.
Mother sensed my dread immediately. Her hand found my back again, steady and reassuring. When I looked up, she was smiling—softly but with that rare look that told me she believed in me completely.
"Go on," her eyes seemed to say.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned toward my father. His expression was calm, kind even, though I could see the faintest trace of curiosity in his gaze.
"Father," I began, my voice quivering despite my best efforts. "I… I have something important to tell you."
He blinked, taken aback by my serious tone, but his smile never wavered. He crossed the room and took a seat beside us, placing one hand on his knee and the other over mine.
"What is it, dear?" he asked gently.
The simple question undid me. I inhaled sharply, gathering all the resolve that years of training, etiquette, and discipline could provide—and yet, when I tried to speak, my throat constricted.
"I… I—"
My voice betrayed me, fading into silence. My father tilted his head slightly, patient and understanding, waiting for me to continue. The compassion in his eyes only made the tears threaten to spill faster.
'He's kind… but will he still be kind after I say this?'
I clenched my trembling hands together. No—if I couldn't say it now, I never would. I forced the words out, trembling but clear:
"Father… I… do not like men."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Father's expression froze. His smile faltered just slightly, his eyes widening as the words registered. I felt every second stretch painfully long—as if time itself, my own element, had turned against me. My breath came shaky and uneven.
'Of course… I knew it.' Father had always been a man who valued tradition. Mother was the progressive one in the family, the one who didn't care much for societal norms. I should have been content with her acceptance. Why had I pushed my luck? Why had I—
Before I could spiral any further, I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders.
It wasn't Mother's.
"Father…?" I whispered.
His embrace was steady, grounding. "It's fine, dear. Why are you crying?" he said softly. "I was only surprised. But I still love you, my child. Always. No gender, no identity, will ever change that love. Never."
The gentleness in his tone broke me completely. My tears fell freely now—not from fear, but from relief so profound that it left me breathless. I wrapped my arms around him, clutching him tightly.
"Thank you, Father… truly, thank you," I hiccuped through my tears.
He chuckled quietly, brushing his hand through my hair. "Anytime, dear. Anytime."
For the first time that day, the tension in my chest released.
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*A few minutes later*
"You know," Father said with an amused tone, "I had my suspicions for quite a while now."
"Right," Mother added, laughing softly. "She did show signs."
Father burst into hearty laughter, and Mother joined him soon after.
I pouted, crossing my arms in protest. "I was not that obvious," I said, though my words still came out far too refined to sound like a proper sulk.
They both laughed harder, which only deepened my pout.
"I was a very, very girly girl," I continued, as though to defend myself. Even with my past self being… well, who I was before, I did my best to adapt. "I wore dresses, skirts, even ribbons—"
"And yet," Father interjected between laughs, "you spent more time dismantling electronics than playing tea party."
Mother smiled fondly. "You had a rather… fascinating obsession with technology, dinosaurs, and martial arts. Meanwhile, girls your age were busy with tiaras and dolls."
I frowned, cheeks puffed out slightly. "That is still implying I was a tomboy, Mother."
Father clutched his side from laughing too hard. "We didn't say that, dear," he managed between chuckles.
Mother laughed too, shaking her head. "You were simply… different. Exceptionally so."
I huffed softly, though I could feel my own lips twitching upward. Their laughter, though teasing, was warm—filled with affection.
Then Mother's expression softened. "Either way, I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to share your secret with us, dear," she said, smoothing my hair tenderly.
Father nodded, his grin mellowing into something gentle. "Well, at least you won't be dealing with teenage pregnancy. That's a win in my book."
"Father!" I exclaimed, scandalized.
He raised both hands innocently. "What? It's true!"
Mother laughed until tears formed in her eyes, and despite myself, I began laughing too. The weight that had been pressing down on me lifted entirely. For the first time since my confession, the air felt light—pure.
I shook my head with an exasperated smile. "Truly, I am fortunate to have such wonderful parents," I murmured, before pulling them both into another hug. "Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Father. Truly, for accepting me."
"Of course," Father said, his tone turning uncharacteristically serious. "You are free to identify as you wish. Nothing changes that you are our daughter."
His words washed over me like sunlight breaking through clouds. A knot I didn't realize I had been carrying for years finally came undone.
Mother chuckled lightly, resting her head on his shoulder. Then she said, with an almost mischievous glint in her eyes, "So… does coming out mean you have a crush on a girl?"
I froze.
Why did she have to ask that?
My mind instantly conjured an image—Kira's face, her laughter, her warm eyes. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks before I even formed a reply.
"I… I do not quite know why she came to mind—no, wait—" I stumbled, waving my hands in mild panic. "It is not about… lo— lo— that," I stammered helplessly. "It is not about liking anyone romantically. I me—merely wished to be honest about my identity so as not to cause misunderstanding. That is all."
Mother and Father exchanged a glance. The knowing smiles on their faces were infuriatingly gentle.
"Sureee," Mother said, drawing the word out teasingly.
I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples. "Mother, please… do not misunderstand."
"Of course, dear," she said sweetly, though I could hear the unspoken 'we'll talk about this later' in her tone.
Father chuckled quietly to himself. "Ah, young love," he murmured, which only made me groan softly.
This… would be a very long afternoon explaining that I did not, in fact, have a crush on anyone.
Or at least, that was what I told myself.
Because deep down, when I thought of Kira Ford's bright laughter and gentle warmth, I wasn't entirely sure if I believed my own words anymore.