Page 62 of After the Rain

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that my truth is causing you pain."

"It's not your truth that's the problem," she said quietly. "It's how other people are weaponizing it. My parents think maybe Cooper should spend more time with me until things calm down. Not permanently," she added quickly. "Just until the community stops paying so much attention to your personal life."

The words hit me like ice water. "Your parents think Cooper should live with you more because I'm gay?"

"It's not that simple."

"It sounds exactly that simple."

Sarah was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Wade, they're scared. They think if you're open about your relationship with Ezra, it could affect Cooper at school, in the community. Kids can be cruel to children who are different."

"Cooper isn't different. He's just a kid with a gay dad."

"But that makes him different in Cedar Falls. You know it does."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the birthday party checklist that suddenly felt like evidence of my naivety. I'd been planning a celebration while the foundation of my relationship with Cooper was being undermined by people who saw my love for Ezra as a threat to my son's wellbeing.

"Sarah, what are your parents really telling you?"

Another long pause. "They want to meet with you. To discuss Cooper's best interests. They think there might be ways to handle this situation that protect everyone involved."

"Handle this situation? You mean my sexuality?"

"They mean the public attention, the controversy, the potential impact on Cooper's social development."

The clinical language felt rehearsed, like Sarah was repeating talking points someone else had given her. The woman I'd beenmarried to for fifteen years wouldn't naturally speak about our son's wellbeing in such detached terms.

"Sarah, are you okay? You don't sound like yourself."

"I'm fine. I'm just trying to think about what's best for Cooper."

But her voice was getting smaller, more distant, like she was retreating into herself. I recognized the pattern from our marriage—the way Sarah would withdraw when she felt overwhelmed or pressured by expectations she couldn't meet.

"Can we meet in person tomorrow? Before Cooper's party preparations? I think we need to have this conversation face to face."

"I... my parents want to have dinner with you first. Tomorrow night. They said they have some thoughts about how to move forward."

The formal phrasing confirmed my suspicions. This wasn't Sarah making parenting decisions—this was the Fletchers orchestrating a campaign, and Sarah was either complicit or being manipulated into participation.

"What happens if I refuse to have dinner with your parents?"

"Wade, please. They're just concerned about Cooper's future. Can't you at least hear them out?"

The pleading in her voice broke my heart. Sarah sounded scared, like someone who'd been backed into a corner and couldn't see a way out. But I couldn't tell if she was scared of her parents or scared of me, and that uncertainty made everything worse.

"Okay. I'll have dinner with your parents. But Sarah, I need you to remember that Cooper is happy. He's thriving with our current arrangement. Whatever your parents are worried about, it's not based on our son's actual experience."

"I know. I just... I need you to understand that there are considerations beyond what we can see right now. Long-termimplications for Cooper's social development, his relationships with peers, his sense of identity."

Again, the clinical language that didn't sound like Sarah. Someone was feeding her these concerns, probably with statistics and case studies to back them up.

"We'll talk more tomorrow night," I said. "But Sarah, I'm not going to apologize for being gay, and I'm not going to hide my relationship with Ezra to make other people comfortable."

"I'm not asking you to apologize. I'm just asking you to consider all the options."

The next evening found me driving toward the Fletcher family estate, my hands tight on the steering wheel as I tried to prepare for whatever confrontation awaited me. The house sat on five acres outside town, a monument to old money and conservative values that had always made me uncomfortable during my marriage to Sarah.

Richard answered the door himself, extending a firm handshake and leading me into their formal dining room. Margaret was already seated at the table, which was set with china and crystal that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.

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