Author's Note: I know I'm writing on a delicate and controversial subject and it is my full intent to approach this with as much grace as I can. And I'm only putting this here because someone already translated this, using scripture, to take Loki's words at the end to mean, "You can't be beautiful while you're a male." That is NOT the message of the story, and I would hope the writing made that more than obvious. When the idea came to my mind, it made me choke up and I did my best to recreate it. I hope I did it right.

Summary: A heartbroken mother of a transgender boy is at the end of her rope when her insurance refuses to cover the hormonal treatments needed so her son can begin the transition. Late one night, she hears the sound of weeping coming from his room and investigates.

From the day I gave birth, Cameron was beautiful.

His brown eyes glittered with curiosity, and his face often glowed with a smile. When he was a child, our days were filled with games, stories, and laughter. I would teach him everything I knew about life as best I could and he would teach me things I'd never have learned without him.

"Can we really be anything we want to be when we grow up?" he asked me once while we sat down to dinner.

"I think we all want that," I answered with a nod.

"Did you always want to be a mommy when you grew up?"

"I think so," I answered honestly. "Though I think when I was your age, what I really wanted to be was a superhero so I could fly." He smiled at me and I reached over to pour him a glass of milk. "What about you?" I asked him, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

His answer took me by surprise.

"I want to be beautiful when I grow up."

The years went by, and Cameron grew from a curious child into an intelligent boy with a thirst for knowledge. Every night before bed, we would read stories together, and we would take turns, introducing each other to new fairytales of faraway lands and mythical creatures. Even after Cameron grew to an age where I felt he would probably grow out of it, he still waited for me at the end of the night, excited to read our stories together.

One night, I sat down on the bed to find he had colored one for me while he was in school, and I opened the colorful pages filled with crayon scribbles, smiling at the stick figure people that covered the pages.

"What's this story about?" I asked him, and he pointed to one of the figures.

"It's a prince," he answered. "But he's sad because he's ugly." He turned the page and a drawing of the stick figure standing beside a messy cluster of trees lay on the next page. "So he went into the forest and found the fairy queen." His finger trailed to the next page, resting on a small figure, that I could only assume was supposed to be the fairy queen, hovering in front of the prince. "The fairy queen tells him he can have one wish, so the prince says, "I wish I wasn't ugly anymore.""

He paused, hesitating as he stared at the page he needed to turn, and I raised an eyebrow.

"What does the fairy queen do?" I asked him.

A frown formed on his small face and he pulled his paper book out from under my hands, closing it. "Nothing," he answered.

I furrowed my brow, looking to his story and back to his sad eyes. "I'd love to hear the ending, sweetie," I encouraged him. "I'm sure you wrote a good one." But he shook his head, holding the story close to his chest. Deciding not to push it, I gave his back a rub and kissed his forehead. "Okay, Cameron," I said gently. "Well... bedtime then, I guess."

I stood up and he laid back as I pulled the blankets over him, tucking him in. As I turned to shut off the lights, his voice stopped me once again. "Mommy?" he asked,

"Yes?"

"Can I really grow up to be whatever I want to be?" The look in his eyes made my heart break. There was a deep sadness mixed with hope within them, and inside I began to suspect something had been bothering him for a while, something he didn't feel comfortable telling me yet.

"Cameron," I said, kneeling down beside him. "Whatever you grow up to be, I'll always love you. No matter what. Got it?"

He forced a smile and nodded. "Got it," he replied. I kissed his forehead once more and stood up, walking to the door and switching off the lights.

"Sleep well, sweetie."

I waited until the next day when he left on the bus for school, and, hating myself for sneaking, I slipped into his bedroom, looking to find his story stuffed hidden under his pillow. Pulling it out, I flipped it open, turning the pages until I got to the last one.

My heart froze.

Standing on the last page was not a prince. Instead it was a stick figure with long blonde hair, a pink dress, and a crown. The prince had become a princess.

I tried not to over-think it. There was always a chance I had read it wrong. Or perhaps it hadn't been his way of trying to tell me something. He was just a child after all. I had heard the stories of parents with children realizing at young ages that they were born with the wrong body. But Cameron had never said or done anything to hint to that... had he?

I shook my head. He was still young and over-thinking this could lead to severe problems. I knew my son. If something like this were to ever bother him, I knew he would come to me about it. Tucking the story back under the pillow, I left his room, resolving I would not tell him what I had seen.

But as the months rolled past, I couldn't help noticing that something was indeed hurting him. His smiles were fading, his laughter grew quiet, and he began to distance himself from me. When I asked him if anything was wrong, he always assured me that he was fine, and even my mother suggested that it was simply his way of growing up and that spending less time with me was something I should have expected. I didn't push him, but I couldn't stop feeling that something was wrong.

When he turned 13, everything changed.

I had come home early from work, and heard something clatter upstairs, right where his room lay. The crash was soon accompanied by the sounds of scrambling and, fearing the worst, I ran up the stairs to find him. "Cameron?" I called out, and I heard him swear, his voice sounding flustered, and I darted down the hall, throwing open his door.

Cameron spun around to face me, his eyes wide with horror. I froze, slowly taking in what I saw. He stood, bright red lipstick on his lips and eyeliner on his eyes, and he wore a pink blouse and denim skirt.

I stared, not knowing what to do or say, my eyes continuously moving from one part of his ensemble to another until at last he broke down, buckling to his knees in tears. "I'm sorry, Mom!" he wailed.

Not even needing to think about it, I ran to him, throwing my arms around him and letting him collapse against me as he sobbed, repeating over and over again, "I'm sorry!"

"Shh!" I hushed him, trying to soothe him by rubbing his back. "Cameron, I need you to calm down, Sweetie. You're not in trouble, just please calm down." It was several minutes before he was able to calm himself, and once his weeping quieted down I slowly removed him from my embrace, reaching forward to wipe away the eyeliner that had begun to streak down his cheeks, and I urged him to talk to me.

So we talked. For several long hours we talked and he told me everything. He told me how he had prayed when he was little that God would fix him. He told me about how he would sneak my jewelry when I wasn't home and try it on, or play with my makeup in the mirror. He told me how he had gone alone in private to buy a set of girl's clothing that fit him and would put the outfit on when no one was around and how pretty it made him feel.

He told me how he'd known for too long that his body was wrong.

"I'm not a boy, Mom," he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I know you want me to be a boy and I've tried because I want you to love me-"

"I will always love you, Cameron!" I cut him off, throwing my arms around him as the tears rolled down my cheeks. "No matter what!"

"Mom..." he whimpered and I squeezed him tighter, wishing now more than ever that I had approached him about this sooner. "...I wish we really could grow up to be whatever we wanted," he muttered weakly and I choked, slowly releasing him.

I was hesitant. I knew the repercussions would be severe if we went about this lightly, but somehow I knew this wasn't a phase. Still, I knew we needed to play it safe, so very shortly after that day, I arranged for us to begin counselling to confirm what the next course of action would be.

Cameron's father had been out of the picture shortly after he was born, and it had been left to me to raise and provide for him. Counselling was not cheap, and a part of me grew worried of what financial struggles we'd face if any further action was needed. Our health insurance was poor at best, and I was afraid of what would happen if we weren't covered for whatever would be needed.

But when the therapist confirmed Cameron was speaking the truth, I knew I couldn't wait. My child was trapped in the wrong body, and all I wanted was to help free her so she could love herself again. There was no question in my mind that it needed to happen. The same could not be said for the insurance company.

The night I sat on the phone with them, Cameron sat at the dinner table, staring at me while dragging her fork carelessly across her food. "But this is not cosmetic!" I argued. "We're not even talking about any operations right now. They're hormones! Medication my child needs for... Yes... Yes but that's not the... I see..." I turned my back to Cameron, wandering into the living room and sinking onto the sofa, continuing to talk though my voice began to break. "Uh-huh... Uh-huh... Okay... Well that's just... that's just great." I hung up and sighed, resting my head in my hands, wondering what on earth we were to do now.

I had already been quoted the prices on the hormones. It was beyond anything we could afford. But the longer we went without them the harder the transition would be for Cameron, and we both knew that.

"They're not going to cover it... are they..." Cameron asked, and I looked up, shaking my head through tears.

"I'm so sorry, honey," I whispered.

Her eyes lowered and she set her fork down, rising from her seat as tears rolled down her cheeks. I knew there were so many things she wanted to scream in that moment, but she refrained, turning instead an fleeing to the stairs. I remained in the living room, crying softly as I thought hopelessly of a way I could help her. The only solution that came to mind was to take on another job, but I was already working full time. A second job, be it part or full time, would have me away from home for too long, and the last thing I wanted was to be away from Cameron at a time when she needed me the most.

For hours I sat, struggling to find a solution, my tears flowing harder as my frustration grew. Before I knew it, it was getting very late, but my exhaustion was not what pulled me out of thought.

The sound of Cameron sobbing loudly did.

I stood up from the sofa, my heart hanging low in my chest, and while I knew I had nothing I could say or do to ease her pain, I knew I couldn't leave her alone, and I made my way up the stairs, opening the door to her room.

What I saw made my breathing catching in my throat.

Cameron stood in front of her mirror, crying but with a large smile on her face. She was wearing a beautiful pink ball gown, much like the one in her drawing she'd made years ago. Her hair had grown til it reached her shoulders, and she wore a diamond tiara on her head. But what was more, as I looked her over, I became aware of the very distinct changes in her build. Her hips curved outwards and her breasts were more pronounced. Her Adam's apple was gone, and even her face had a very subtle hint of femininity added to it.

I choked as tears rolled down my cheeks. She was the princess from her story.

Stepping into view and placing a hand on her shoulder, a tall, handsome man, with long black hair and dressed in leather, smiled down at her reflection. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a handkerchief and handed it to her to dry her eyes.

"Thank you, Loki," she cried, turning and throwing her arms around him, and he smiled, welcoming her embrace.

"You see?" he asked, gesturing to the mirror as he released her. She turned and looked at herself again, her smile growing all the more brighter as he whispered, "You are beautiful."