Page 105 of Unbound
"Mr. Miller," Professor Okonkwo said, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "What's your take on the Court's reasoning inLawrence v. Texas?"
Not that long ago, that question would have sent me into a panic spiral. Now, I straightened in my chair, meeting his expectant gaze. "The Court recognized that the Constitution protects a realm of personal autonomy that the state cannot enter. The liberty interest in intimate personal relationships isn'tjust about privacy—it's about human dignity and the fundamental right to define one's own existence."
Professor Okonkwo nodded approvingly. "And how does that connect to our broader discussion of substantive due process?"
"It establishes that liberty isn't just freedom from physical restraint," I continued, warming to the topic. "It's the freedom to make choices about the most intimate aspects of our lives without government interference. The Court wasn't just striking down a sodomy law—it was affirming that the Constitution protects the right to be who you are."
Adrian caught my eye from across the room. We'd chosen to keep our original seats in Okonkwo's seminar, a silent agreement that this was a space for us to be individuals. His proud smile made my chest tighten with warmth, a private acknowledgment that we were succeeding. These moments still amazed me—speaking my truth without shame, thinking critically without fear, existing without apology.
After class, I approached Professor Okonkwo's desk as the other students filed out. He looked up from his papers, his expression softening in the way it had ever since that horrible day six months ago when he'd helped coordinate my rescue.
"Professor, I wanted to thank you," I began, the words feeling inadequate. "For everything. The legal help, yes, but also for pushing me to think. For seeing something in me when I couldn't see it myself."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those perceptive eyes that had first challenged me to question my assumptions. "Jesse, watching your intellectual growth has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my career. You've developed remarkable flexibility in your legal reasoning. The student who sat in my classroom six months ago, parroting doctrine without understanding—that person is gone.In his place is a young future lawyer who understands that the law is a living thing, meant to protect human dignity."
"I almost didn't make it here," I said quietly.
"But you did. And now you're one of my strongest students." He gathered his papers, then looked at me seriously. "What you've been through—that's not just personal history. That's perspective that will make you a powerful advocate someday. Use it."
Adrian was waiting for me in the hallway, casually leaning against the wall with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Even after six months, the sight of him still made my heart skip.
"Ready for tonight?" he asked, falling into step beside me, our fingers naturally weaving together as we headed toward the exit.
Tonight was another Pride group event on campus. Last time, I'd stood across the quad holding a hateful sign. Now, I'd be participating.
"Ready," I said, glancing at our threaded fingers. The gesture was still new enough to send a small thrill through me—the simple freedom to touch him in public, and the profound satisfaction of knowing I had chosen him, and he had chosen me.
We met the others at the house. The living room buzzed with the usual pre-event energy—Phoenix adjusting their rainbow face paint, Diana debating which pride flag to carry.
"Ugh, check it out," Phoenix said, scrolling through their phone with a grimace. "Guess who's making headlines again."
They tilted their screen toward us. It was a link to a local news article, the headline reading: "Controversial Topeka Church Protests Local School Board Meeting." The photo showed a small group of protesters holding familiar signs. Front and centre was my father.
Adrian's hand tightened on mine. "You don't have to look at that."
"No, it's okay," I said, surprised to find that it was. The sight of my father's angry face no longer sent a spike of fear through me. Now, it just looked... pathetic. "It's a good reminder."
"A reminder of what utter assholes they are?" Phoenix muttered.
"A reminder that we won," Andrew corrected, looking up from lacing his boots. He took on the serious, factual tone he used when explaining legal matters. "Look at that photo. He's not the one at the podium anymore. He's just another guy in the crowd holding a sign. They have no real power left."
The plea deal had been finalized three months ago. Andrew had walked me through every line.
"They pled guilty to conspiracy to violate civil rights," Andrew continued for the benefit of the group. "In exchange, they avoided a long prison sentence, but the terms of the deal neutered them. Five years probation, mandatory surrender of their passports, and a permanent injunction preventing them from ever holding a leadership or pastoral position inanyreligious organization. Your father had to formally step down as an Elder of the Topeka Covenant Church. He can preach on a street corner, but he can never again be in a position of authority over a congregation."
"And a broke one," Sam added dryly from their spot on the floor. They had become the lead plaintiff in a massive class-action lawsuit, and the change in them was palpable. "The civil suit bankrupted them. Their house, their savings—almost everything was liquidated. The settlement funds are going into a trust to provide therapy and relocation funds for other survivors."
"And the best part?" Sam looked directly at me, a rare, fiercesmile on their face. "Restoration Ridge is gone. The feds shut it down two months ago. Dr. Hendricks and his whole staff are facing federal prosecution for torture under the Matthew Shepard Act. They're never going to hurt anyone ever again."
The news still felt monumental every time I heard it. The place that had haunted my nightmares for years, wiped from existence.
"Jesse's testimony was the key," Andrew affirmed. "Once the medical records from the Montana hospital were unsealed, it was over for them."
"And the civil settlement came through last month," Sam added, their expression softening slightly as they looked at me. "Individual compensation for all the survivors. Jesse's portion covered his medical bills, ongoing therapy, and lost educational opportunities. Mine is funding my grad school applications."
"Plus the GoFundMe hit twenty-three thousand in four days," Phoenix interjected, pulling out their phone to show the final tally with obvious pride. "Viral compassion at its finest. I made the most gorgeous campaign video—your story, honey, it moved people."
I still couldn't think about it without getting emotional. Strangers from across the country, people who'd never met me, sending five dollars, fifty dollars, whatever they could spare so I could finish my degree.
