On the third night, he went inside.

The stone had a name, though he’d never spoken it aloud. It was the word she , a pronoun that landed on him each morning like a cold pebble dropped into an empty jar. His wife, Elena, used it with love. His daughter, Mira, used it with habit. The jar filled, year by year, until Leo felt he might shatter from the weight of being seen as someone he was not.

The circle was silent. Then a young person with a buzz cut and a gentle smile said, “Hi, Leo. I’m Alex. I started transitioning at twenty-two. My mom still calls me her daughter. It’s okay to be late. It’s okay to be scared.”