Page 82 of After the Rain

"Maybe the attorney is right," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Maybe I should step back, let you focus on getting Cooper back without the complication of our relationship."

"Ezra, no."

"Your son needs you more than I do." The lie came easier than I'd expected. Cooper did need Wade, desperately. But the truth was that I needed Wade just as much, and losing him would destroy me.

"There has to be another way."

"What if there isn't? What if loving me costs you Cooper? How could either of us live with that?"

Wade pulled me against him then, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. We stayed like that for a long time, memorizing the feeling of being together, knowing it might be the last time.

"I can't lose you," he whispered into my hair.

"You won't lose me. But you might have to let me go for a while."

The next morning became a blur of preparation for the hearing. Wade and his attorney scrambled to gather character witnesses, documentation of Cooper's happiness and stability, expert testimony about healthy child development in diversefamily structures. Every hour revealed new challenges and obstacles to mounting an effective defense.

I spent the morning doing the hardest thing I'd ever done—packing my belongings from Wade's house. Each item I removed felt like dismantling our life together piece by piece. My coffee mug, the one Cooper had declared was "Mr. Mitchell's special cup." The change of clothes I kept in Wade's dresser. The stack of books Cooper had asked me to read to him.

By afternoon, Wade's house looked like I'd never lived there at all. No evidence of the domestic happiness we'd built, no trace of the family we'd become. Just a father's house, carefully scrubbed of any sign of inappropriate influence.

Sarah called that afternoon, her voice thick with tears.

"My parents want me to testify against Wade," she said. "They've given me a list of things to say about his instability, about inappropriate behavior they claim to have witnessed."

"Will you do it?" Wade asked.

"How can I? I've seen you with Cooper. I know how happy he's been. But Wade, they're threatening to cut off my support, to make my life hell if I don't cooperate. I have no idea what to do."

The system was designed to turn people against each other, to make love feel like betrayal, to punish authenticity and reward conformity. Every ally became a potential liability. Every friend risked becoming collateral damage.

That evening, Wade sat alone in his house for the first time since we'd become a couple. I'd checked into a motel across town, removing myself from his life as completely as possible. If the Fletchers sent investigators back for additional documentation, they'd find no trace of our relationship.

I lay in that sterile motel bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling, thinking about Cooper's question from that morning: "Did I do something wrong? Is it because I love Mr. Mitchell?"

Maybe he had done something wrong. Maybe we all had. Maybe love wasn't always enough to protect the people you cared about from a world determined to tear them apart.

The hearing was set for the next morning, and I knew I should stay away. My presence would only make things worse for Wade, would give the Fletchers more ammunition to use against him. But I couldn't abandon him completely. He was facing the fight of his life, and I needed him to know he wasn't alone.

I arrived at the courthouse early, taking a seat in the back of the gallery where I could watch without drawing attention. Wade arrived with his attorney, looking pale and exhausted. Across the aisle, the Fletcher family's legal team looked like they were preparing for war—multiple lawyers, boxes of evidence, expert witnesses in expensive suits.

The resource disparity was staggering. Wade's small-town attorney looked overwhelmed by the opposition's preparation and funding. David versus Goliath, except in this version, Goliath had institutional prejudice and unlimited money.

The hearing beganwith devastating testimony from the Fletchers' expert witnesses. Child psychologists who testified that exposure to homosexual relationships caused confusion and trauma for children. That Wade's sudden lifestyle change indicated psychological instability. That Cooper's welfare required protection from his father's poor judgment.

I watched from the gallery as our relationship was dissected and vilified, our private moments of tenderness transformed into evidence of depravity and manipulation. The systematic character assassination was professionally deliveredbut personally devastating. They made loving Wade sound like a crime, made our family feel like a perversion.

When Wade took the stand to testify in his own defense, I could see the exhaustion and defeat in his posture. His authentic emotions about loving Cooper and me were twisted into evidence of instability and poor judgment. The system was rigged against honesty and authenticity.

"Mr. Harrison," the opposing counsel said, consulting his notes with theatrical precision, "isn't it true that you began this relationship with Mr. Mitchell while he was your son's teacher?"

"We became friends first," Wade replied carefully.

"Friends who spent the night together while your six-year-old son was in the house?"

"Our relationship developed naturally over time."

"A relationship that led to Mr. Mitchell essentially moving into your home, becoming a parental figure to Cooper without any legal standing or background checks beyond his employment screening?"

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