Marilyn lay on her back in bed. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. She'd spent the night tossing and turning. She felt the woman next to her snuggle closer to her side. At least Tammie seemed to be sleeping well. One of them would have some energy for the day. Good. Marilyn rested her arm across Tammie, gently rubbing her girlfriend's shoulders. She was mostly just trying to keep from having an anxiety attack over today, and Tammie helped. Her daughter was coming to stay with her. She had lived with her adoptive parents for her entire life, they were dead, and now she was to stay with Marilyn. Marilyn hadn't seen the kid in years, though she had longed to. And now that she was to see the girl again, she wasn't sure she was ready to. The last Marilyn had seen her, she'd only been about two, but the girl's foster parents had allowed her to visit every day. Marilyn had loved that kid, but knew she couldn't care for her. It wasn't like they'd been some picture perfect nuclear family. Marilyn had come out as transgender to her parents, they'd kicked her out. Having no money and no job, she'd been forced into prostitution to keep herself live. Her pansexuality had meant she was open to basically anyone. Women were rare, but she did see them on occasion. An hour of nervous fumbling with a woman she had hardly known for ten dollars and a loaf of bread had brought the girl into existence. Her mother had given her up, and if she could have, Marilyn would have taken her. She'd known better. The girl deserved to be raised by somebody stable and well equipped to do so, not a transgender prostitute stuck in a motel room who was constantly having her life threatened by people who were not so open to the way that she was. So she'd let the child go. She had a box of letters in her closet written to the girl over the years. Most of them never sent. Mostly out of fear of what her daughter might think of her. The few she had sent had been sent back to her unopened. The letters were filled with nervous apologetic ramblings and expression of love for the girl she hadn't watched grow up, splatters of ink from her pens and scribbled out sentences. She missed that kid so much. Tammie stirred beside her and sat up. "Hey," Tammie said softly, leaning over to kiss Marilyn's cheek. She pulled Marilyn up into a sitting position and gently stroked her hair. "You look awful, honey. Didn't you sleep?" "No," Marilyn mumbled. "I'm freaking out. I couldn't sleep. It's been so long. I don't know what's gonna happen when I see her again. I feel so bad. I practically abandoned her. I know she doesn't know it, but I feel horrible. I just...I wish I could've kept her." "You did what was best," Tammie said gently. "You didn't abandon her. You weren't allowed to talk to her. You did what you could. She grew up best because you gave her up. What if she had stayed and something had happened to us? Or her? What then? We weren't exactly stable in the way we lived. It wasn't a good way for anyone to grow up. I loved her too, and I wish we could have kept her and raised her together. You'll have her back soon enough. I know you're nervous, I am too. But we're all she's got right now." Tammie stood up and began to dress herself. "I'll go downstairs and make breakfast while you get yourself ready. Take your time. Try to calm down and then come down whenever you're ready, Kitten." She pecked Marilyn on the lips and then she was gone. Once she had showered, Marilyn stood in the bathroom looking at her reflection in the mirror. She ran her fingers gingerly over her face, which she had just finished shaving. It was smooth. For now at least. Her hormones had redistributed her body fat–given her hips and a more feminine figure, and she had slowly begun to develop small breasts. Tammie, who had been on hormones for much longer, had larger breasts and a feminine figure. She just about passed by this point. Hormones had not, much to their displeasure, eliminated their body hair. It had made it thinner, but the only way to be rid of it was laser hair removal. It had not changed Marilyn's broad shoulders, nor affected her height–nearly six feet tall–and it had not changed her voice. It had never been particularly masculine, but it had always had a bit of a boyish huskiness to it. She thought about what Tammie had said as she did her makeup. Deep down she knew her lover was right. She'd done what was best. But God damn it did she miss that kid. All those letters in her closet were proof. She wrote a new one every few days. She had never gotten to have any real contact with Kimberly after she'd left. The most she'd been allowed was to send small packets of the girls favorite candy. She did it on holidays, and the girl's birthday of course. She wished she could have afforded to buy her real presents. Tammie was in the kitchen making french toast on the stove. It was Marilyn's favorite, and she hoped that maybe the meal would help destress the other woman a bit. She knew Marilyn had missed Kimberly. After the girl had been adopted Marilyn had spent about a week and a half alternating between sobbing and sleeping. Tammie had had to coax her into eating, and even then it was always only just a few nibbles. Tammie looked up as she heard a knock on the door. She was hesitant to answer. She didn't know anything about the girl, and the girl knew nothing about her. Tammie wasn't even sure if Kimberly knew she and Marilyn were trans. Stepping away from the stove, she walked over to the door and opened it, smiling as she saw the girl standing there. "Hi," she greeted. "You must be Kimberly." She stepped aside to let the girl in. "I'm Tammie. Marilyn is upstairs getting ready. Come in."