Page 49 of After the Rain

"I want Cooper to be happy and secure. I want to figure out who I am when I'm not trying to be who I think I should be. And I want..." He paused, and I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. "I want you in my life. In whatever way works for both of us."

The confession was everything and nothing, hope and heartbreak wrapped in careful qualifiers. He wanted me, but couldn't say how. He cared, but couldn't promise anything.

"I want that too," I said, because it was true even though it hurt. "But I need you to understand that this is hard for me. Being your friend while I have feelings for you, watching you figure yourself out while I wait on the sidelines—it's not exactly easy."

"I know. And I hate that I'm asking you to do it. But I don't know how else to move forward without losing you completely."

"You won't lose me," I said, and meant it despite everything. "Whatever you figure out about yourself, whatever you decide you want, you won't lose me. But I can't promise it won't change things between us."

"I understand."

We hung up after making plans to maintain regular communication, to focus on Cooper's needs while Wade continued his therapy work. It felt like progress, maybe evenhope, but it also felt like the beginning of a very long journey with no guaranteed destination.

Lying in bed that night, I stared at the ceiling and tried to reconcile the competing truths of my situation. I loved a man who was still figuring out if he could love me back. I cared about a child whose happiness was tied to adults who might never get their shit together. I'd committed to being patient while someone else determined the shape of my future.

It should have felt like settling, like accepting less than I deserved. Instead, it felt like the most honest thing I'd ever done—loving someone enough to let them find their own way, even if that way didn't lead back to me.

Whatever happened next, at least we'd built it on truth instead of confusion. Whatever love looked like for Wade and me, it would be real.

Even if real meant broken. Even if it meant waiting. Even if it meant learning to love someone who was still learning to love himself.

The work ahead was going to hurt, but it was also going to be worth it. Cooper deserved adults who chose courage over comfort. Wade deserved the space to discover who he really was.

And maybe, if we were very careful and very brave, we all deserved the chance to build something new from the pieces of what we'd thought our lives were supposed to look like.

But first, we had to survive the rebuilding. And that was going to require more strength than any of us knew we had.

THIRTEEN

TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

WADE

This session with Dr. Marlow felt different. The desperate confusion that had driven me here weeks ago had crystallized into something sharper, more honest. The truth I'd been dancing around for thirty-eight years was finally ready to be spoken out loud.

"I think I've known I was attracted to men for years," I said, the words falling into the quiet space between us like stones dropped into still water. "Maybe decades. I just convinced myself it was something else—admiration, friendship envy, anything but attraction."

Dr. Marlow nodded, her expression encouraging but unsurprised. "Tell me about those moments of recognition."

The memories came flooding back with painful clarity. College friendships that had felt too intense, the way I'd focus on male actors in movies while Sarah commented on the women. The complete absence of sexual interest after our divorce, which I'd attributed to emotional exhaustion rather than examining what it actually meant.

"There was this guy in my fraternity, Jake Morrison. I told myself I wanted to be him—confident, athletic, popular. But really, I just wanted to be near him. I volunteered for every group project, found excuses to hang out in his room, felt this crushing disappointment when he started dating seriously."

"What did you tell yourself about those feelings?"

"That I admired his confidence. That I wanted to learn from him. That straight guys could have intense male friendships without it meaning anything." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "I was so fucking good at lying to myself that I almost believed it."

"Wade, what you're describing isn't confusion about your sexuality. It's clarity that you weren't ready to accept."

The words hit me like a revelation. "I wasn't confused about my sexuality when I kissed Ezra. I was finally being honest about it for the first time in my adult life."

"How does that realization feel?"

"Terrifying. Liberating. Like I've been holding my breath for decades and can finally exhale." I paused, feeling the weight of everything I'd lost to denial. "But also devastating. Sarah deserved better than a husband who was performing attraction instead of feeling it. And I deserved better than a life built on lies."

Dr. Marlow leaned forward slightly. "Wade, there's a difference between being confused about your sexuality and being confused about how to live authentically in a world that doesn't always accept LGBTQ+ people. Being gay isn't the source of your confusion—fear of how others will react to your truth is what's been causing your distress."

The distinction felt revolutionary. My sexuality wasn't the problem. My fear was.

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