Page 48 of After the Rain

"Some days better than others," I admitted. "There are still moments when I want to hide, when I wonder if it would be easier to move somewhere more accepting. But this is my home, and Cooper needs consistency right now. So I choose to be myself and deal with whatever consequences come."

"Even when it's lonely?"

"Even when it's lonely. Though it's been less lonely lately."

The admission hung between us, carrying weight we weren't quite ready to examine fully.

"Thank you," Wade said quietly. "For sharing all of that. For showing me that it's possible to survive the fear and confusion and come out stronger on the other side."

"You're going to be okay, Wade. Whatever you figure out about yourself, whatever you decide you want—you're going to be okay."

By the time we left the coffee shop, something had shifted between us. Not back to where we'd been—that easy intimacy was gone, probably forever. But forward to something new, something built on honesty and mutual respect rather than confusion and panic.

It wasn't everything I wanted, but it was a beginning.

Monday afternoon foundme on playground duty, watching Cooper play with renewed energy and enthusiasm. The change was remarkable—just one weekend of knowing that the adults in his life were communicating again had transformed him back into the bright, confident child I'd known before the complications began.

"Mr. Mitchell!" Cooper bounded over to me during recess, his face flushed with excitement. "Daddy said you and he are friends again! Does that mean you can come to my birthday party next month?"

The innocent question stopped me cold. Cooper's birthday party would be a family event, likely including Sarah and her parents, Wade's friends and colleagues, people who might have opinions about his gay son's teacher being present.

"I'd have to talk to your dad about that. Birthday parties are family celebrations."

"But you're like family to me," Cooper said with the matter-of-fact certainty that only six-year-olds possessed. "You know all my favorite books and you helped me learn to write my name incursive and you make Daddy smile. That sounds like family to me."

Christ. How do you explain to a child that love isn't always enough to overcome adult fear and social pressure?

"That's very sweet, Cooper. Let me talk to your dad, okay?"

Cooper nodded and ran back to the monkey bars, leaving me standing alone with the weight of his innocent expectations pressing against my chest.

That evening, my phone rang at eight o'clock sharp.

"Hey," Wade's voice was soft, tentative. "I hope it's okay that I'm calling. I wanted to check in, see how your day went."

We talked for an hour, the conversation flowing more easily than our careful coffee shop reconstruction had managed. Wade told me about Cooper's excitement over their renewed friendship, about his latest therapy session, about the slow work of untangling thirty-eight years of learned behavior and expectations.

"Cooper asked if I could come to his birthday party," I said when the conversation turned to upcoming events.

Wade was quiet for a moment. "What did you tell him?"

"That I'd have to talk to his dad about it."

"It's going to be complicated. Sarah's parents will be there, some of my business associates, neighbors who've probably heard the rumors. Having you there might create... situations."

"I understand." And I did, even though it hurt. "Cooper's happiness is what matters."

"Is it wrong that I want you there anyway?" Wade's voice was barely above a whisper. "That I don't want to keep hiding the people who matter to me just because other people might be uncomfortable?"

The admission hit me like lightning, hope and heartbreak tangled together so tightly I couldn't separate them.

"It's not wrong to want that. But wanting it and being ready for the consequences are different things."

"I know. And I'm not ready yet. But I'm working on it. Dr. Marlow says authenticity is a practice, not a destination. I'm trying to practice being honest about what I want, even when it scares the hell out of me."

"What do you want, Wade?"

The question hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility and danger in equal measure.

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