A DIFFERENT KIND OF MASK

Yuki's pov

The wig felt strange as it tugged snugly over my head, a little tighter than I would have liked. Lily stood behind me, arms crossed in exasperation, her lips pursed as she stared at my reflection in the mirror.

“You know,” she said, tugging the wig to adjust it just right, “when you called me asking if you would look good as a girl, I thought you were just fishing for compliments. If I knew you planned to lie your way into a job, I would have said no!”

I grinned, brushing her off with a dramatic flick of my hand. “Oh, come on, Lily. I’ve been bullied half my life for looking like a girl anyway. I might as well make money from it. Call it poetic justice.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. And you think you can fool them? For how long? A week? Maybe three?”

“Three weeks is more than enough to prove my worth,” I said confidently, shrugging.

She didn’t look convinced. But then, as she stepped back and I turned to the mirror, a strange hush fell between us.

The reflection staring back at me wasn’t me anymore.

My brown eyes, wide and soft, looked almost doll-like framed by the flowing chestnut wig. My lips, naturally full and tinted faintly pink, were as flawless as any model's. My pale, smooth skin practically glowed under the soft bathroom light. Even my hands, with their slender fingers and perfectly shaped nails, seemed to belong to someone else.

“You… look more feminine than I do,” Lily said, her voice tinged with awe and, dare I say, a hint of jealousy.

I tilted my head, my reflection mimicking my every move. “Well, damn,” I muttered, biting my lip thoughtfully. “If I were into girls, I’d totally date me.”

Lily snorted. “Stop it. You’re gonna make me gag.”

We both laughed, the kind of laughter that let you forget all the chaos in your life for just a second. But as the wig shifted slightly on my head, I caught sight of a small box tucked away in the corner of my closet.

My mother’s box.

I pulled it out without thinking, the laughter dying down as Lily watched me in silence. It had been years since I opened this. It still smelled faintly of her perfume, like lavender and something sweet I could never quite place.

Inside was a pair of delicate gold earrings—her “good luck earrings,” as she used to call them. They glimmered softly as I held them up to the light.

I slid them on, closing my eyes for a moment as I whispered a quiet prayer. “Please, Mom. Help me make this work.”

When I opened my eyes, Lily was staring at me, her expression softer now. “You look just like her, Yuki. Even more than usual,” she said quietly.

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. Dad would have been so fucking pissed.”

Lily barked out a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. He hated it when people said you looked like her. ‘He’s a boy!’ he’d yell.”

I was about to respond when a loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by a panicked voice.

“Laurie? Laurie, where are you?”

Lily and I exchanged a look before bolting down the stairs. My grandfather stood in the middle of the living room, his hands trembling as he knocked over a stack of photo frames. His eyes were wild, darting around the room as though searching for ghosts.

“Laurie? Laurie, come home! It’s not safe out there!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

“Grandpa, it’s okay,” I said, stepping closer. But he flinched, his gaze narrowing as he looked at me.

“No, no!” he yelled, backing away. “Who are you? I don’t know you! Where is Laurie? I just want to see my daughter!”

Lily tried to calm him down, her voice soothing as she reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “No! Don’t touch me!”

My heart sank. He didn’t recognize us. Not me, not Lily. Just the ghosts of his past.

I hesitated for a moment before I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror—the wig, the earrings, the soft features I inherited from my mother.

“Otōsan,” I said softly, using the Japanese word for father as I stepped closer. “It’s me. Laurie. I’m here.”

His frantic movements stilled. His eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he looked calm.

“Laurie,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you. You’ll be late for work.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, Otōsan. I’m here now.”

He reached for my stomach, his touch light and trembling. “How’s the baby? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And Peter? Where’s Peter?”

I froze. Peter. My father.

“He’s… he’s at work,” I lied.

My grandfather smiled, a faint, wistful smile that tugged at my heartstrings. “Good. Good. You always were the perfect family.”

I wanted to scream. To cry. To tell him that Peter was gone, that Laurie was gone, that they weren’t coming back. But what good would that do? This was his reality now, fractured and fragile as it was.

“I love you, Laurie,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years.

“I love you too, Grandpa,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision as I gently hugged him.

This wasn’t just about a job anymore. This was about him. About giving him the care he deserved. The care he needed.

I had to make this work. I had to.

And as I stood there, holding him close, I made a silent promise to myself.

I wouldn’t let him down.