Don't you remember, mom?

We moved away from the busy restaurant, down a quieter stretch of the beach. The moonlight shimmered on the waves, casting a soft glow over everything. My mother kept glancing at me, as if she was afraid, I'd disappear if she looked away. We finally stopped near the water, the sound of the waves almost drowning out the heavy silence between us.

I didn't know where to begin, and neither did she. Her hands were still shaking, and she clasped them together to steady herself. Aunt Helen stood a short distance away, giving us space but keeping a watchful eye, her presence a silent reminder of everything that had happened.

"John," my mother whispered again, her voice fragile. Her eyes searched my face, trying to find her son in the girl standing before her. "I... I don't understand."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat painful. "You should, we met in California, like this. I'm still here," I managed to say, but my voice sounded weak, unsure. Was I still John? Or had I become too much of Heather to go back? The question haunted me every day, but now it felt like it was suffocating me.

She took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with tears. "What happened to you?" Her voice cracked, full of anguish. "How did this... how did you become...?"

I felt the tears spill over, and I brushed them away angrily, hating how vulnerable I felt. "It was to protect me," I said, my voice breaking. "To hide me from Dad and the people he hired to find me.

Her eyes darted to Aunt Helen, a flash of anger crossing her face, but it softened quickly as she took in my appearance again. "But it's been so long," she whispered, her gaze falling to my small, delicate hands, my rounded hips, the way my hair framed my face. "Why didn't you come back sooner?"

I looked away, shame and confusion burning through me. "I couldn't," I whispered. "I didn't know how. Everything changed, and... and I changed." I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold back the sobs. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

She stepped closer, her hands reaching for mine. Her touch was warm and familiar, but it felt different now, more delicate, as if she was afraid of hurting me. "I've missed you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Every day, I've missed you. My little boy... my John."

Hearing her call me that made something shatter inside me. I wanted to be John again, to be her son, to feel whole and sure of who I was. But at the same time, Heather had become so much a part of me that I didn't know how to separate the two.

"I don't know if I can be him again," I admitted, the words breaking me. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore."

Her tears fell freely now, and she pulled me into her arms, holding me tight. "We'll figure it out together," she promised, her voice fierce. "I don't care how you've changed. I don't care if you're John or Heather or someone in between. You're my child, and I love you."

I broke down then, clinging to her as the weight of everything I'd been carrying crushed me. The fear, the confusion, the longing to be loved for who I was, whoever that might be—it all came pouring out. And in her embrace, I felt a small, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back to myself, whoever that turned out to be.