A Friend is a Treasure

A friend is a treasure—or at least, that’s what I always believed. My treasure was Tom, my best friend since childhood. We were inseparable, like brothers, growing up together, facing every challenge side by side. That was until everything changed two years ago, when I contracted the TG flu.

The news about the TG flu had seemed like something out of a sci-fi movie—a virus that could change your gender. People made jokes about it, never taking it seriously. But the day I started feeling the symptoms, I knew something was terribly wrong. The fever, the body aches—it all seemed normal at first, just like any flu. But then my body began changing in ways I couldn’t have imagined. My chest began to swell, my voice softened, and soon enough, the person staring back at me in the mirror was a stranger. I was becoming a woman, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Through it all, Tom was there. He stood by me, even when the world seemed to be turning upside down. While others recoiled, unsure of how to react to my transformation, Tom never left my side. He helped me through every confusing stage of the change, offering me his unwavering support.

“It’s still you,” he would say, placing his hand on my shoulder, reassuring me. “None of this changes who you are inside.”

His words comforted me in ways I never realized I needed. For months, I struggled to accept my new body, to feel at peace in my own skin. But with Tom, I began to see that maybe—just maybe—I could still be myself, even if everything felt different.

Things shifted between us after one fateful night at a company party. The night was filled with laughter, drinks, and an undeniable tension that had been building for months. After the party, as we walked home, I kissed him—a soft, tentative kiss that surprised even me. I wasn’t sure why I did it, but in that moment, it felt right.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” Tom confessed, his voice low, as we stood beneath the streetlights, the world around us quiet.

His words sent a thrill through me. Before I knew it, we were back at my apartment, and what started as a kiss turned into something much deeper. That night, as we made love, I experienced sensations that were completely foreign to me. Every touch felt electric, every caress sending shivers through my new body. There was something so intense, so raw about the way he held me, and I found myself lost in the moment. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional. For the first time in months, I felt like I was truly connecting with someone, and it both scared and excited me.

Afterwards, I lay beside him, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding. The weight of what had just happened settled over me, and for a moment, I was filled with doubt.

“What now?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Tom turned to me, his gaze soft. “We figure it out,” he said, his fingers tracing my arm. “Together.”

But "together" didn’t last long. A few weeks after that night, I missed my period. At first, I thought it was just my body still adjusting to the transformation. But deep down, I knew. The pregnancy test confirmed it. I was pregnant with Tom’s child.

I called him immediately, panic and excitement swirling within me. “Tom, I’m pregnant,” I told him, my voice shaking.

There was silence on the other end of the line before he finally spoke. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

But he never came. Days turned into weeks, and my calls went unanswered. I was left alone, pregnant, and heartbroken. The person who had always been there for me had disappeared just when I needed him most.

The pregnancy was difficult. My body, already changed by the TG flu, was now going through even more transformations. My belly swelled, my breasts ached, and I was constantly exhausted. Some days, I’d stand in front of the mirror, running my hand over my growing bump, wondering how I’d gotten here. I felt lost, scared, and completely unprepared to raise a child on my own. But as the months passed, I found a new kind of strength. My daughter’s kicks became a reminder that I wasn’t alone, that I had someone to fight for.

When she was born, everything changed. The moment I held her in my arms, I knew I’d never regret a single moment of the journey. She was perfect, and in her eyes, I found a new purpose. My little girl became the center of my world.

Now, two years later, I’m in a different place. My daughter is a bundle of energy and joy, her laughter filling our home. I still think about Tom sometimes, about the life we could’ve had. But I’ve moved on. 

Last year, I met Ethan at a company retreat. He was different—patient, kind, and most of all, present. We connected right away, and before long, we were in a relationship. Ethan has been everything Tom wasn’t. He’s been there through thick and thin, especially during this second pregnancy. Now, I’m nine months pregnant with our son, and Ethan has been by my side every step of the way. Every doctor’s appointment, every late-night craving, every moment of doubt—he’s there, holding my hand and reminding me that we’re in this together.

I think back to that night with Tom sometimes, the night that changed everything. But I no longer feel the pain or regret I once did. My daughter, the baby boy I’m about to bring into the world, and my relationship with Ethan have given me a life I never could’ve imagined. I’ve learned that family isn’t always what you plan—it’s what you make of the unexpected twists life throws your way.

And as I stand here, ready to welcome my second child, I feel nothing but gratitude for the journey I’ve been on. It may not have been easy, but it’s been mine. And now, as I look forward to the future, I know that no matter what comes next, I’ll face it with love, strength, and the family I’ve built.