Walsh Family Universe V2

The Fresh Start Initiative facility looked the same as it always did—modern, sterile, trying too hard to seem friendly with its potted plants and abstract art. Ash had been here once a year, every year, since the regression. Eight times now, counting today.

"Remember," Mom said as they walked through the automatic doors, "be honest with them. They're trying to help."

Ash nodded, though his stomach was tight. These appointments were always uncomfortable—being examined, evaluated, discussed like a case study instead of a person.

The waiting room had new magazines but the same awful chairs. Mom checked in at the desk while Ash sat, looking at the other families waiting. A couple with what looked like a five-year-old girl. An older man with a teenage boy. All participants in the program. All living their mandatory second childhoods.

"Noam Walsh?" A nurse appeared in the doorway. "We're ready for you."

The first part was always medical. Height, weight, blood pressure, the standard physical exam. The nurse—Maria, her badge said—was efficient and kind.

"Four foot nine," she announced, marking the chart. "You've grown two inches since last year."

"That's good, right?"

"That's very good. Right on track for a ten-year-old boy." Maria smiled. "Any health concerns? Injuries, illnesses?"

"I sprained my ankle in October. But it's healed now."

"Playing sports?"

"Baseball and swimming."

"Active lifestyle, that's excellent." Maria made notes. "Any changes in appetite, sleep patterns, energy levels?"

"No. Everything's normal."

Blood draw next—Ash barely flinched anymore. Then urine sample, reflex tests, lung capacity, all the routine measurements.

"Dr. Singh will be in shortly for the examination," Maria said, leaving him in a gown on the exam table.

Dr. Singh had been his physician since the beginning. A woman in her fifties, calm and professional. She'd watched Ash grow from an angry two-year-old into... this.

"Good morning, Noam. How are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

"Good, good. Let's take a look at you." She began the physical exam—ears, throat, heart, lungs. All routine until she said, "I'm going to check your development now. This is standard for your age. Just relax."

The genital exam was always the most uncomfortable part. Not because Dr. Singh wasn't professional—she was—but because of what it represented. Proof that his body was his, was male, was developing correctly.

"Everything looks healthy and age-appropriate," Dr. Singh said, making notes. "You're entering early puberty. Tanner stage 2. Have you noticed any changes?"

"Like what?"

"Body odor, some early hair growth, mood changes, growth spurts."

"I've been using deodorant since the summer. And I've grown a lot."

"That's normal. Over the next few years, you'll experience more changes—voice deepening, more body hair, continued growth. Your parents will receive literature about what to expect." Dr. Singh sat on her stool, looking at him seriously. "How do you feel about puberty? About these changes?"

Ash thought about how to answer. "It's... fine. Good, I guess. It's the right puberty this time."

"The right puberty," Dr. Singh repeated, making a note. "Can you explain what you mean?"

"I went through puberty wrong the first time. Female puberty, in the wrong body. This time it'll be right. Male puberty in a male body."

"And that feels positive to you?"

"Yes." No hesitation there.

"Good. That's very good." Dr. Singh smiled. "The male puberty experience will be different from what you knew before. If you have questions or concerns at any point, don't hesitate to ask your parents or your doctor."

After the physical came the neural scan. Ash lay still while the machine hummed around him, reading his brain activity, checking the NCI, measuring cognitive function.

The technician—someone new Ash didn't recognize—operated the machine silently. Twenty minutes of stillness while lights flashed and the machine recorded whatever it recorded.

"All done," the technician finally said. "You can sit up. Dr. Brennan will review the results with you."

Dr. Brennan's office was on the third floor. Ash had been here many times over the years. The same desk, the same chairs, the same view of the parking lot.

Dr. Brennan himself looked exactly as he always did—late fifties, graying hair, wire-rimmed glasses, the kind of face that could be stern or kind depending on the situation.

"Noam. Shannon. Please, sit." He gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Happy belated birthday, Noam. Ten years old. That's quite a milestone."

"Thank you."

"Let's review your year." Dr. Brennan pulled up files on his computer. "Academic performance is excellent. You're consistently performing above grade level in all subjects. Your teachers report you're a model student—focused, participatory, well-behaved."

Ash nodded. School was easy. He'd learned to just do what was expected.

"Socially, you maintain strong friendships. Marcus Chen, Tyler Hoffman, several teammates from your sports activities. Your parents report you're well-adjusted socially, popular with peers."

"I guess."

"Athletics have become a significant part of your life. Baseball and swimming, both at competitive levels. You made all-stars in baseball last year and placed second in regional swimming championships."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you feel about these activities? Do you enjoy them?"

"I do. A lot, actually."

"Interesting." Dr. Brennan made a note. "In your previous life, you showed no interest in athletics. You were artistically inclined—drawing, painting, creative pursuits. Now those interests have shifted almost entirely to sports. Can you explain that shift?"

Ash thought about it. "I'm good at sports. My body... it works right now. It does what I tell it to. And there are clear goals—win the game, beat your time, make the team. It's satisfying in a way art never was."

"Because there are measurable achievements?"

"Because I earned them myself. Not because my brain is older or because I remember things other kids don't. Just because I practiced and worked hard and got better."

Dr. Brennan nodded slowly. "That's a mature observation. You're saying athletic achievement feels more authentic to you than academic achievement."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"And the social aspects? Being part of a team?"

"That's good too. My teammates are my friends. We hang out, we play together. It's... normal."

"Normal," Dr. Brennan repeated. "That word comes up a lot with you. Wanting to be normal. Wanting to feel normal."

"Is that bad?"

"Not at all. It's developmentally appropriate for a ten-year-old to want to fit in with peers." Dr. Brennan leaned back in his chair. "Let's talk about your relationship with your parents. How would you describe it?"

Ash glanced at Mom, who sat quietly beside him.

"It's fine."

"Fine?"

"Good, I mean. They're... supportive. They come to my games and meets. They help with homework. They're good parents."

"Do you still feel anger toward them? Resentment about the choice they made?"

The question hung in the air. Ash was aware of Mom tensing slightly beside him.

"Sometimes," Ash said carefully. "Not as much as I used to. But sometimes I remember that I didn't choose this. That I begged them not to do it. And that makes me angry."

"That's understandable. Do you express that anger?"

"No. What's the point? It doesn't change anything."

"Repressed anger can be harmful—"

"I'm not repressing it. I'm just... living with it. It's there, but it's not everything anymore."

Dr. Brennan made several notes. "Let's discuss your identity. Do you still think of yourself as Ash?"

Ash hesitated. This was the question he'd been dreading.

"Sometimes. Less than I used to."

"And when you think of yourself, what name comes to mind first?"

"Noam," Ash admitted quietly.

"When did that shift happen?"

"I don't know. Gradually. Somewhere around seven or eight, I guess. I still remember being Ash. Remember my old life. But day-to-day, I'm Noam. It's my name on my homework, on my baseball roster, what my friends call me. At some point it just became... who I am."

"And how do you feel about that shift?"

"Sad, sometimes. Like I'm losing who I was. But also... it's easier. Being Noam is easier than trying to hold on to Ash."

Mom made a small sound, quickly suppressed. Dr. Brennan glanced at her, then back to Ash.

"Easier how?"

"Ash was in the wrong body, struggling with addiction, disappointing everyone. Noam gets to be in the right body, has friends and activities he's good at, makes his parents proud." Ash shrugged. "It's not hard to see which life is better."

"Do you believe you're thriving, Noam?"

Ash considered the question carefully. "Most of the time, yeah. I have good days and bad days. But mostly good."

"And the approaching puberty? How do you feel about that?"

"Nervous. But also... excited? I've been through puberty before, but it was the wrong one. This time it'll be right. My voice will deepen, I'll grow taller, all the things that should have happened the first time."

"That's a healthy perspective." Dr. Brennan made more notes. "Shannon, how has Noam's behavior been at home?"

"Excellent," Mom said. "He's responsible with homework and chores. Respectful. Typical ten-year-old boy in all the best ways—energetic, focused on his interests, maybe a little messy." She smiled. "He's a good kid. A really good kid."

"Any discipline issues?"

"Minimal. We have to remind him to clean his room or take his sports gear upstairs. Normal stuff. Nothing requiring the NCI."

"The NCI hasn't been activated since..." Dr. Brennan checked his records, "since he was four years old. That's excellent. Shows strong behavioral adaptation."

He turned back to Ash. "Let's talk about the future. You're ten now. Eight more years until you reach legal majority. How do you think about those eight years?"

"I try not to think about it too much. Just focus on now. On baseball season, swim meets, school. If I think too far ahead, it feels overwhelming."

"That's a reasonable coping strategy. Do you think about what happens when you're eighteen?"

"Sometimes. I'll be forty years old mentally. But I'll look eighteen. I don't know what that'll be like."

"It will be complex," Dr. Brennan agreed. "But that's eight years away. For now, you're focusing on being ten. That's appropriate."

He pulled up another screen. "Your neural scan looks excellent. Brain development is on track. The NCI remains dormant but functional. Cognitively, you continue to maintain your adult consciousness while your physical development proceeds normally. There are no concerns from a neurological standpoint."

Dr. Brennan looked at both of them. "Overall, Noam is one of our program's most successful cases. He's well-adjusted, thriving in multiple areas, maintaining positive relationships. The approaching puberty will bring new challenges, but I'm confident he'll navigate them well."

"So everything's on track?" Mom asked.

"Everything's on track. Noam should continue his current activities and routine. As puberty progresses, we may want to check in more frequently—perhaps twice a year instead of annually. But for now, I'm very pleased with his progress."

Dr. Brennan turned to Ash. "Any questions for me?"

"Will puberty be... hard? Like, mentally hard?"

"It may be. Puberty is challenging for any child—physical changes, hormonal fluctuations, emotional volatility. For you, it may be complicated by having experienced the wrong puberty before. But you'll also have the benefit of understanding what's happening, which most ten-year-olds don't have."

"And it'll be the right changes this time," Ash said.

"Exactly. Your body will develop in alignment with your gender identity. That should make the experience more positive overall." Dr. Brennan stood, extending his hand. "Keep up the good work, Noam. I'll see you in six months for a puberty check-in."

In the car, Mom was quiet for the first few blocks.

Finally, she said, "You told him you think of yourself as Noam now."

"Yeah."

"How long have you felt that way?"

Ash stared out the window. "A while. I didn't want to tell you. Thought it would make you too happy or something."

"I'm not... it's complicated." Mom's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm glad you're adapting. Glad you're thriving. But I also grieve for Ash. For who that person was."

"I'm still me, Mom. Same consciousness, same memories. Just... different name. Different life."

"I know. But you said it yourself—Noam's life is better than Ash's was. And that's good, but it's also sad. Because it means we couldn't help Ash when he needed it."

They drove in silence for a while.

"Dr. Brennan said I was one of the program's most successful cases," Ash finally said.

"He did."

"Does that make you feel better? About the choice you made?"

Mom pulled into their driveway, put the car in park, but didn't get out. She looked at Ash—really looked at him.

"Yes," she said quietly. "It does. It doesn't erase the guilt or the complexity. But seeing you thriving, hearing that you're happy most of the time, knowing that you have friends and activities you love and a body that finally feels right—yes. That makes me feel better about the choice we made."

"Good," Ash said. "Because I still don't know if I've forgiven you for it. But I also don't know what else you could have done."

Mom's eyes filled with tears. "That's probably the most honest thing you've ever said to me."

"Yeah, well. Dr. Brennan said to be honest."

They sat in the car for another moment. Then Mom wiped her eyes and smiled. "Come on. Let's get inside. You have homework, and I'm sure you want to call Marcus about whatever baseball thing you're always discussing."

"It's not 'whatever baseball thing,' Mom. It's strategy. There's a difference."

"Of course there is."

As they walked inside, Ash thought about the appointment. About Dr. Brennan saying he was thriving. About Mom grieving for Ash while being relieved that Noam was okay.

About the fact that he'd told the truth—he thought of himself as Noam now more than Ash.

Eight years ago, that would have felt like defeat. Like losing himself completely.

Now it just felt like reality.

He was Noam Walsh, ten years old, about to go through puberty for the second time—but correctly this time. An athlete with friends and trophies and a room that smelled like boy.

Ash was still there, buried underneath. The memories, the consciousness, the awareness that this wasn't supposed to be his life.

But Noam was who he was now. And according to the facility's lead psychiatrist, that was not just okay—it was successful adaptation.

"My name is Ash," he whispered later, alone in his room. Testing the words. "I'm thirty-two years old."

The words felt distant. True but not current.

"My name is Noam," he whispered. "I'm ten years old. And I'm about to go through puberty."

Those words felt immediate. Present. Real.

Both things could be true.

But only one of them was who he lived as every day.

Four thousand, nine hundred and four days to go.

But today, he was Noam Walsh, successful program participant, thriving ten-year-old athlete who'd aced his annual review.

And tomorrow he had baseball practice.

And that was enough to think about for now.