Page 50 of After the Rain

"So what do I do with that?"

"You practice courage. You start making choices based on who you are rather than who you think you should be. And you remember that authenticity is a practice, not a destination."

Leaving therapy that day, I felt like I'd shed a skin I'd been wearing for too long. I was gay. I was attracted to Ezra. I wanted to build an authentic life for myself and Cooper. But I also understood that living openly in Cedar Falls would require more courage than I'd ever summoned before.

The work was just beginning.

That evening, I called Sarah to request another meeting. She arrived at Moonbeam Diner looking worried, clearly expecting bad news about Cooper or custody complications.

"What's going on?" she asked, sliding into the booth across from me. "You sounded serious on the phone."

"I have something important to tell you. About myself." I took a breath, feeling the weight of words that would change everything between us. "Sarah, I'm gay. I think I always have been, but I was too scared or too conditioned to admit it, even to myself."

Her reaction wasn't shock—it was recognition, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

"Oh," she said quietly. "That... actually explains a lot about our marriage."

"What do you mean?"

"I always felt like you were trying so hard to be the perfect husband, but I never felt like you really wanted me. Not the way other men seemed to want their wives. I thought it was something wrong with me, that I wasn't attractive enough or interesting enough to hold your attention."

The pain in her voice nearly broke me. "Sarah, no. It was never about you not being enough. You're beautiful and smart and any straight man would be lucky to have you. I was the problem—I was trying to be something I'm not."

"Why didn't you figure this out before we got married?"

"Because I didn't let myself. I was so focused on doing what I thought I was supposed to do—find a good woman, settle down, have kids, build a normal life. I convinced myself that love would grow if I just tried hard enough."

Sarah was quiet for a long moment, processing. "Did you ever actually love me?"

"I loved you as a friend. I loved the life we built together, the family we created. But romantic love, sexual attraction—no. I was performing those feelings rather than experiencing them."

"That's heartbreaking," she said, but not angrily. "For both of us."

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm so fucking sorry I wasted fifteen years of your life."

"You didn't waste them. We got Cooper out of those years, and he's the best thing either of us has ever done. But Wade... Cooper deserves to see his father living authentically. I want him to grow up knowing it's safe to be whoever he is."

Her immediate support felt like an unexpected gift. I'd braced myself for anger, accusations, demands that I keep my sexuality private to protect Cooper from complications. Instead, she was thinking about what authenticity would teach our son.

"Thank you," I said, my voice cracking. "I was terrified you'd try to limit my custody, use this against me somehow."

"Never. You're a good father, Wade. Your sexuality doesn't change that." She paused, her expression growing serious. "But I need to warn you about something. My parents have been asking me to 'investigate' your friendship with Cooper's teacher. They're convinced something inappropriate is happening, and they're looking for ammunition."

The warning hit me like ice water. Richard and Linda Fletcher had never been my biggest fans, but they'd tolerated meas Cooper's father. If they knew I was gay, if they suspected I was involved with Ezra...

"How much do they know?"

"They've heard rumors around town about you and Ezra spending time together. Dad asked me point-blank if I thought there was anything romantic going on. I told him he was being ridiculous, but Wade... if you're planning to be open about who you are, you need to know they're already suspicious."

The implications settled over me like a weight. Custody battles, community judgment, professional consequences—all the fears that had kept me in the closet for thirty-eight years were lining up like dominoes, ready to fall.

Over the next few days, Sarah's warning proved prophetic. Her phone calls came at increasingly inconvenient times, her voice tight with stress I recognized from our worst fights during the divorce.

The first call came Tuesday evening while Cooper and I were working on homework.

"Wade, my parents are asking a lot of questions about you and Ezra," she said without preamble. "They want to know if you've been having him over to the house, if Cooper's been spending time with both of you together."

"What did you tell them?"

---