[The author's describing their relationship with a transgender daughter]

That’s when I found it, a link to his Bluesky account and a blog, after he’d told me about a thread he’d joined there. What I read made me feel physically sick. On his profile, he described himself as a trans lesbian, now on estrogen. I kept scrolling, my heart sinking with each post. There were repeated cries for help: “I want to kill myself,” “I’m so lonely.” Post after post radiated despair.

Then I saw a photo of vials of estrogen. He had been buying hormones online and injecting himself. There were links to music he’d made - dark, noise music. The titles told a story of despair and loneliness. In some, he could be heard crying, whispering pleas. There were photos of self-harm on his legs. There were even nude images of him, images nobody should feel the need to share publicly.

Then the final blow: he wasn’t just visiting a nearby city. He was flying to a foreign country to meet someone he called his “wife.” I was horrified. Panicked. I picked up the phone and called him immediately, desperate to understand what was happening, and how we had gotten here.

He was angry when he found out I had seen his profile, but he agreed, reluctantly, to share his flight details and put me in touch with the parents of the boy he was going to visit. I was slightly reassured that his story checked out. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. At that point, I was imagining the worst. He’s now back home. We’ve talked. I’ve cried a lot. This shouldn’t be happening to vulnerable children. When I see people publicly celebrating “trans pride,” I feel a deep anger.