I was woken up by the noise and sudden light from the curtains in my bedroom being drawn. My arm instinctually shot into position to shield my sensitive eyes from the evil plaguing my comfort known as Morning Sunlight. And the one who forced me to confront it was none other than Lucretia Toughhazel, the head maid as well as my personal attendant. She turned to face me, the sunlight behind her making her silhouette look extremely ominous. “Now, Young Miss Thatcher, I will NOT have you lounge in bed all day! I have drawn you a bath, and you WILL take it, or so help me God I shall use the Physical Education Saint Florentine’s College gave me.” Her tone was sharp, authoritorial, made you want to avoid as hard as possible failing her commands. Of course, that tone had little effect on me at that moment, as the title Lucretia titled me with was a massive signal.
“Father isn’t home?” I slid out of bed carefully, hopeful about the answer to my question.
“Quite so, Miss Thatcher. He’s supposed to be out of the house until Monday morning. But as I said, chop chop, off you go, or I will carry you to the bath myself once it’s ice cold, and neither of us wants that, now do we.” I finally got a glimpse of her smile now that my eyes had finished adjusting. I of course knew Lucretia kept her dark green hair tied back in a high ponytail, a pair of thin square glasses adorning her face, brown eyes behind them. I was familiar with the mole above the left corner of her lips, as well as the small scar on her chin. Every time I asked where she had gotten it, she changed the story. I think ten of them included being a former spy who got it on a mission.
Honestly I only kept asking her because her convoluted explanations were always delivered with such a deadpan response it was hilarious. She was currently keeping both of her arms behind her back, but she moved one of them to gesture to my en-suite bathroom. I scampered inside, getting out of my pajamas and into the bath in a manner of seconds, sighing contently as I did. The click of Lucretia’s high heels echoed throughout the bathroom as she stepped inside. “That’s a good girl, Miss Thatcher. I’m glad to see the puberty blockers I’ve been slipping you behind your Father’s back have been doing their job.” She sat down on a stool set up specifically for her to wait on. “It’s been nearly two years, isn’t that right? Your first dose shortly after your twelfth birthday, with your fourteenth coming up next week.”
“Yeah. Thanks for doing that for me, Lucretia.” I dove slightly down in the bath, so I could blow bubbles.
“It is my job to make sure you as my charge are happy and healthy and taken care of, and if that includes poking you with a needle once a fortnight so you keep your voice, well so be it. Don’t spend too long in there, Miss Thatcher, and make sure to wash behind your ears.” I heard the clicks of her heels once more, but they stopped shortly before leaving the room. “Oh, right, what shall it be today Miss, something more extravagant, or something comfortable for lounging?” I got my mouth out of the water to answer.
“Extravagant! I know the package from the tailor arrived two days ago, the timing couldn’t be more perfect!” I turned my head to the door, Lucretia standing in it, arms behind her back once more, as she nodded.
The extravagant outfit was a mint colored lolita outfit I had tailor made. The poofy skirt felt great, the shoes added just a little to my height with their heels, and overall the outfit helped sell the idea that I was a late bloomer of a girl. Especially once Lucretia helped tie my medium length hair into twin tails. I was giggling to myself, happy with what I saw in the mirror, twirling in place to make the skirt spin. I loved these calm moments, where the mansion had just me and Lucretia in it. I could just be me. Lucretia grabbed hold of my shoulders gently from behind at that moment, as I was looking into the mirror. “I still do not understand, Miss Thatcher,” she began, looking slightly sad on my behalf, clearly “why you haven’t informed your Father that he has a daughter yet.”
I grabbed my arm, sighing, looking down at the ground. “I’ve tried, Lucretia. I’ve tried approaching him in his study a few times to come out, but every time I get scared. Worried what he’d do. Worried he’d send me off to some horrible place to try and have it beaten out of me.” I turned to look at the one person I knew in the deepest reaches of my heart was safe. “He’s always so distant, so hands off. It feels like he’s constantly making himself busy so he can avoid spending time with me.” Lucretia nodded at my reply, and with a slight shrug of her shoulder, she placed her hand on top of my head, stroking it gently.
“It is not my place to apologise for your Father’s behavior in regards to you, Miss Thatcher. I can promise you, however, if your Father does attempt such a horrific act, I shall exercise the skills I learned from the extracurricular activities I enjoyed at Saint Florentine’s College.” Lucretia stopped with the head pat and stepped aside. “I do believe it is high time for breakfast though, Miss Thatcher. I can smell Pamela’s cooking all the way from over here. French Toast, how delightful. Come along.” The clacks of two pairs of heels echoed throughout the hall as we made our way to the dining hall.
“My oh my little Angela, you’re looking like a princess straight out of a fairy tale!” Pamela was carrying the plate of french toast to the table, smiling as she saw me. She gave off the kind of energy you just want to hug. Soft and sweet and kind, pink hair tied into an elaborate bun.
“Pamela, have some decorum while talking to Miss Thatcher.” Lucretia stepped right next to Pamela, so as to move the chair to help me sit down.
“Oh hush now you sourpuss, I know you like seeing dear Angela grin from ear to ear.” Pamela quickly planted a peck on Lucretia’s cheek, hopping up slightly to reach it, which earned her a cough from her girlfriend.
“That might very well be the case, Pamela, but we are still on the clock! Now, Miss Thatcher, I do hope you enjoy your breakfast.” Lucretia pushed my chair in once I had sat down, and she stepped away to follow Pamela for their own breakfast. At least as far as I could gather, considering Lucretia reached her hand out for Pamela to hold before departing. And as per usual, Pamela’s cooking was excellent. I could only squeak in joy at her skill. But it was lonely to eat breakfast on your own.
“Lucretia! Pamela! Could you join me for breakfast?” I called out, hoping they could hear me. I was answered by a familiar clacking noise on the wooden floors, Lucretia entering the room with Pamela in tow, carrying their breakfast trays.
“Miss Thatcher, I apologise for making you panic with our departure.” Both of them sat down next to each other and next to me. Lucretia straightened herself out, while Pamela put a loose strand of hair behind her girlfriend’s ear.
“Food always tastes better with more folks at the table, we just had to get ourselves our own grub. We each only have two hands, you know, Angela sweetie.” Pamela rubbed Lucretia’s cheek tenderly before they both dug in. Pamela was, of course, completely correct about the tendency of food tasting better when surrounded by loved ones.
The rest of my weekend went by as usual. Three good meals a day with Lucretia and Pamela by my side, light exercise, a walk through the garden, a quick swim in the indoor pool. I was enjoying a novel in the main lounge sunday evening, when the door opened unexpectedly. My father stood in the doorway, unannounced, returning from his trip earlier than expect. So early in fact, I was lounging in a very casual dress and hoodie combo, my hair still tied into twintails.
I couldn’t read his expression as he looked at me. Whether he was creeped out, weirded out, disgusted, worried, ashamed, angry, afraid. His poker face was impenetrable. But, there was no way to avoid it now, no going back. I stood up and approached him, standing just outside his reach. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, the words getting caught in my throat. But he just stood there, impassive, patiently waiting for me to explain myself, so that he could decide what to do with me based on my answer, I was sure. I was starting to shiver a bit, the beginning of a panic attack announced by me breathing heavier.
That was, until I heard a very familiar and very comforting sound. Click, clack, click, clack. “Master Thatcher, we weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow morning. Had your meeting gone badly?” Lucretia shot me a look, a look that said it’d be okay, but she was keeping her arms at her side instead of behind her back. An extremely unusual pose for her.
“It went better than expected, in fact, Miss Toughhazel. I do believe we will be hosting the McLeans in a fortnight.” Father hadn’t shifted his gaze from me while answering Lucretia’s question. I gulped, but with her there, I managed to find the courage.
“Father, I have an important announcement to make.” I looked him right in the eyes, and he gave me a slight nod, signaling me to continue. “I’m a girl. I know deep inside that I am supposed to be one. That… that my name is Angela. And I want you to know that this is not something you could push out of me. So, don’t try it.”
Father knelt down. He stepped slightly closer to me, went down on one knee, and gently grabbed hold of my shoulder. I was not expecting him to smile at me. “I am proud of you. I am incredibly proud of you for finally standing up for yourself, Angela.” I hadn’t been expecting that reaction in my wildest dreams. I caught Lucretia easing up in the corner of my vision, her arms going behind her back to their usual position. My Father continued. “I do apologise for making it unclear I would support you, in whatever endeavor you choose.” He pulled me into a hug. And that really broke me. I started sobbing uncontrollably.
“Lucretia’s been giving me puberty blockers since I’ve turned 12,” I admitted inbetween the tears.
“I have failed as a father and I must, absolutely must make up for it now. Lucretia, I do not want my daughter wearing anything that makes her uncomfortable ever again. And get me Mayor Clarke on the line.” Father pulled away from the hug in that moment, giving my shoulders a quick supportive rub. “Now all I’m wondering is whether to introduce you to the McLeans’ son or daughter when they visit.” I just snorted at that.
“A bit too early dad, a bit too early.” I was glad the tension in the air was gone. I never got to see this side of Father, he was always too busy and I was always too intimidated by him to approach him.
I was really glad I had misjudged him.
It was two weeks later, the McLeans had just arrived, and Father was greeting them at the door as I stood by. “Let me introduce you all to Angela, my daughter.” Father gestured to me, and I curtsied. Mister McLean raised his eyebrow upon seeing me, before turning to my Father.
“Adam, I could swear you said you had a son, 14 years of age.”
“You must have misheard me, Sean. I distinctly remember mentioning I have a daughter. Now come on, come join me in the study, we have business to discuss. Angela, you and the kids go have fun, show them around the place.” Dad gave me a wink as he ushered Mister McLean to his study, leaving me alone with a pair of twins that were two years my seniors.
“Huh. Cool dad. Wish ours remembered Alex coming out as nonbinary three months ago.” The twin I figured was not Alex shrugged and gave me their hand to shake. “I was eavesdropping on those two when your dad mentioned you. Mags, she/her.” I shook her hand in return.
“Alex, ze/zim/zis.” I shook zis hand upon zim offering it.
“Angela, she/her. Come along you two, Lucretia specifically prepared a treasure hunt for us so we would have something to do.” I showed the pair the first clue Lucretia had provided me. I had a father I didn’t have to hide away from now, might as well try and make some friends on top of it.
I just read a legend? !!! a man in a novel about a trans character who is not a reverend son of a bit*h (it's a joke if you don't understand, I don't want anyone to be offended).
But seriously, sometimes the abuse of male characters (mostly parents) are quite strong, I feel that all the novels are still 10 years behind, even if I say for example 2085, at least in my generation I don't see much abuse of Homosexuals, trans, etc, although it is not that he knows many and I understand that those who write from their experience see it differently.
Trans authors, and hell a lot of other queer authors sh*t on Dads in their stories as a form of catharsis venting due to their bad relationship with their actual dads, for example mine's a passive aggressive egotistical narcissistic shithead that expect me to do everything perfectly exactly as he wanted on the first try without him telling me what he wanted, and he'd get mad if my autistic ass failed at that.
But from time time it feels nice to write a proper good dad.
@Katie-the-Angel-Witch are you secretly me because that's how my dad was too
“Adam, I could swear you said you had a son, 14 years of age.”
“You must have misheard me, Sean. I distinctly remember mentioning I have a daughter. Now come on, come join me in the study, we have business to discuss. Angela, you and the kids go have fun, show them around the place.”
ahhhhh! Supportive Dad is great... But a supportive Dad that retroactively corrects past misgenderings of her like this without even f*cking explaining like "Nope! I have a daughter, always have. If you think I spoke of her in any other way you must have misheard." Xusbbshdhdvsghsbavsa!
heartwarming.
Heck yeah, awesome dad, and a trans friend?
Love that for her
Thanks for the story!