Page 90 of After the Rain

"All three of us," I confirmed, pulling him closer.

We'd won more than custody. We'd won acceptance and dignity. We'd won the right to love openly and build the family that felt true to who we were. Most importantly, we'd wonCooper's future—a future where love was celebrated rather than feared, where authenticity was strength rather than liability.

Standing in that courthouse surrounded by people who'd fought for our family, holding the two people I loved most in the world, I felt something I hadn't experienced since this nightmare began: peace. Real, bone-deep peace that came from knowing we were finally safe.

We were finally home.

TWENTY-ONE

AFTER THE RAIN

WADE

Iunlocked my front door with Cooper's hand in mine and Ezra's arm around my waist, the three of us returning home together as an officially recognized family. The house that had felt like a tomb just days ago now buzzed with life and laughter as Cooper raced through rooms, rediscovering his toys and belongings like a kid returning from summer camp.

"We're really home," I murmured to Ezra, still hardly believing our victory was real.

"We're really home," he agreed, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Cooper appeared in the doorway clutching his favorite dinosaur, the one he'd left behind when Sarah took him to her parents' house. "Daddy, did you miss me while I was gone?"

"I missed everything about you being here, buddy."

"Even my mess in the living room?"

"Especially your mess in the living room."

The relief of having Cooper back, of having our family whole again, felt almost overwhelming. I'd gotten so used to the constant anxiety, the hollow ache of his absence, that his presence now seemed too good to be true.

Dinner preparation became an impromptu celebration as friends and supporters stopped by with food, flowers, and congratulations. Jazz arrived first, carrying steaks for the grill and wearing the biggest grin I'd ever seen on her face.

"Victory barbecue," she announced, pushing past us into the kitchen. "Hope you boys are hungry because half the town is coming over to celebrate."

Brook appeared next with champagne and that satisfied expression she wore when one of her plans worked exactly as intended. "I told you we'd win," she said, popping the cork with practiced ease. "Community organizing beats institutional prejudice every time."

Sarah arrived with Cooper's favorite chocolate cake from the bakery downtown, tears of joy streaming down her face as she watched her son bounce around the kitchen, animated and happy in ways he hadn't been during his stay with her parents.

"He's himself again," she said quietly, watching Cooper demonstrate his latest LEGO creation to anyone who would listen. "God, Wade, I'm so sorry it took me so long to see what my parents were doing to him."

"You came through when it mattered," I told her. "That's what counts."

The kitchen overflowed with people who had fought for our family's right to exist. Neighbors who'd signed petitions, teachers who'd testified on our behalf, parents who'd organized letter-writing campaigns. Each person carried stories of their own growth, their own journey toward understanding and acceptance.

Mrs. Patterson pulled me aside while Ezra helped Cooper arrange dinosaurs on the coffee table.

"I need to tell you something," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "When I first heard about you and Ezra, I'll admit I was... uncertain. Not because I disapproved, but because I didn'tunderstand. But watching you two together, seeing how happy Cooper is, how much love you've built in this house—you've taught my whole family about what real love looks like."

These conversations kept happening throughout the evening. People approaching with confessions of their own prejudices overcome, their own growth inspired by watching our family fight for the right to exist authentically.

Cooper's bedtime routine that night included both his father and Ezra, as it should be, as it always should have been. We read three stories—Cooper's choice—and took turns doing voices for different characters until he was giggling so hard he could barely catch his breath.

"Are we safe now?" Cooper asked softly.

The question hit me harder than I'd expected. How do you explain legal victories and social change to a child who'd just spent weeks wondering if loving people was wrong?

"Yes, buddy," I said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "We're safe, we're together, and we're home."

"For real this time?"

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