Stewart blinked up at the hospital ceiling, his vision still unfocused. His body felt tiny, swallowed up by the hospital chair. His skin felt disturbing hairless. His wife tilted the seat into an upright position, and he gripped the seat rests to move himself higher, lest his exposed, frictionless thighs and smooth, plump ass slip off the seat. He forced himself to look down. The hospital blanket covered him up to his chest. Trembling, he lifted the sheet. His stomach clenched and he let the sheet fall back over his silicone-filled breasts.

His mouth was gummy from the anesthetic. He swallowed, and even that felt different. His throat was swollen, his vocal cords tight and tender, and pitched an octave higher. "S-Sam," he croaked at his wife but it was his daughter's voice that emerged, or something close enough to make his wife smile. It was good to see her smiling again. That almost made all of this worth it.

She reached out to press the back of her hand against his forehead. "Oh, you poor dear, you're running a fever. Looks like you'll have to stay home for a few days to have mommy take care of you." His wife reached for a bag on the chair beside her. "Let's get you dressed, sweetie. I brought your uniform. The doctors said it’ll help with the transition."

She pulled out something bright and folded. Stewart’s stomach turned. Their daughter's cheerleading uniform. "Samantha, I'm not wearing that.

"Mother," she corrected firmly. "That’s what you should call me now. It’s part of the therapy, remember? It’s important for your adjustment that you start thinking of yourself as my daughter." She pulled back the sheet to hold the top against his bare chest, sizing it. "Oh, heavens, look how much you; 've grown! You've become quite the woman, dear," she tittered. She smiled patiently, maternally, as if explaining the facts of life. "I know it feels strange now, but that’s just because you’re resisting. Once you're back home in your room with your things, things will feel normal again. You'll even be able to hang out with your friends again. Won't that be fun? I want you to be happy, sweetheart. When you're happy, I am happy."

And when she was happy, he was, he thought. His wife had been depressed for so long. If this was what she needed to get better, well, as her husband it was his duty to commit to it. Perhaps he could endure this for a month. He took the white top nervously and slipped one slender arm into the opening. He pulled the pale pink skirt up around his ankles, smoothing it into place over his crafted womanhood.

Her smile widened. "That’s my girl."