Everything's Going to be Okay P1

 

The golden light filters through the window, warm against my skin as I stand there, one hand resting on my swollen belly. I can’t help but stare at my reflection in the glass. Even now, months later, the sight of my pregnant body still shocks me. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not the pregnancy, not this body, none of it. I gently rub the bump, my mind spinning with thoughts, the weight of everything heavier than the baby growing inside me.

It started as a joke. A dare. The pill was meant to transform men into women for a month—a temporary experience, a novelty. I remember laughing as I swallowed it, my friends cheering me on, all of us half-drunk and not really thinking about the consequences. Just thirty days, I thought. What’s the worst that could happen?

The first few days were strange—exciting, even. Seeing myself in the mirror with softer features, wider hips, curves where there had been none. I thought I’d just ride it out, laugh about it, and go back to being me when the time was up. But then there was him. My best friend. He saw me differently, and I felt it too. The tension, the way he looked at me, touched me lightly as we joked around. And that party... We had too much to drink, and before I knew it, we were kissing, fumbling our way into bed. It was messy, unplanned, and we both woke up the next morning trying to laugh it off.

“We were drunk. It’s no big deal,” I had said, pulling the blanket tighter around myself, not quite able to look him in the eyes.

He laughed, awkwardly, nodding. “Yeah, just... one of those nights. We’ll forget about it. No harm done, right?”

“Right,” I agreed, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to ignore the way my body still felt different, still felt his.

But a few weeks later, something didn’t feel right. I hadn’t changed back. The thirty days came and went, and I was still waking up in this body—still seeing the face of a woman in the mirror. Then came the nausea, the exhaustion, and the moment that changed everything: two pink lines staring back at me from the pregnancy test.

I told him in the most awkward way possible, blurting it out over dinner.

“I’m pregnant,” I said, my voice cracking as I dropped the fork onto the plate, my appetite vanishing.

He froze, eyes wide, trying to make sense of what I’d just said. “What... What do you mean? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know!” I had snapped, more out of frustration with the situation than at him. “The pill—*this pill*—was supposed to be temporary. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. I’m... pregnant. And I’m not changing back.”

He had stared at me, speechless for what felt like an eternity. I could see the confusion, the fear, all the emotions swirling in his eyes. But then, after what felt like hours, he just sighed, nodded, and said, “Okay. We’ll figure this out.”

“Figure it out?” I had echoed, incredulous. “Do you have any idea what this means? This is permanent. My body... it’s not going to change back. I’m going to be a woman. Forever. And we’re having a baby.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, his face tight with worry. “I know. I get it... But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His words had silenced me. I hadn’t expected him to say that. I’d expected panic, fear, maybe even for him to pull away. But there he was, offering to stand by my side. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

Now, standing by the window, my hand resting on the baby bump, I can’t stop thinking about that conversation. The weight of it still lingers. We’ve been through so much in these last few months, and every day, the reality of this new life settles in a little deeper. The baby kicks, and I place my hand over the spot, feeling the life moving inside me. It’s surreal—this body, this experience. I never thought I’d be here.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Hey, you okay?” It’s him, standing in the doorway, looking at me with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I murmur, turning to face him. “Just... thinking.”

He walks over, his eyes trailing down to my belly. His hand moves gently over the bump, and I feel a strange mixture of comfort and fear. This—whatever we’ve become—still feels so fragile. “About the baby?” he asks softly.

“About everything,” I admit. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, remember? I wasn’t supposed to stay like this... be pregnant, be stuck in this body. And now...” I trail off, unable to find the right words.

“And now we’re having a baby,” he finishes, his voice soft but steady.

“Yeah,” I whisper, my heart tightening.

There’s a long pause, the silence thick between us. Finally, I ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for weeks. “Do you ever wish it hadn’t happened? That I’d just... turned back into who I was?”

He looks at me for a long time, his brow furrowing in thought. Then, with a small shake of his head, he says, “No. I don’t.”

I stare at him, surprised. “You don’t?”

He takes a deep breath, his hand still resting on my belly. “Look, I didn’t expect this. I didn’t plan for any of it. But I don’t regret it. Not you, not the baby, not any of it.”

I blink, caught off guard by his words. “You’re serious?”

“I’m serious,” he says softly. “It’s been... crazy, yeah. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We’ve got this baby on the way. You’re different, sure, but you’re still you. And we’re in this together. We’ll make it work.”

I feel a lump rising in my throat. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I confess, my voice trembling. “I look in the mirror, and I don’t see myself.”

He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “I see you,” he says quietly. “I’ve always seen you.”

The baby moves again, and we both feel it—this life, this connection between us. It’s overwhelming, terrifying, but as he looks at me with those steady, unwavering eyes, something inside me softens. Maybe we can do this. Maybe this new reality, this new life, isn’t as impossible as I thought.

For the first time in months, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be okay.