Page 68 of After the Rain

Mrs. Garrett's face had turned red. "Anyone can write a letter. That doesn't address the specific concerns we've raised about inappropriate personal relationships."

"Actually, it does," Dr. Williams replied. "Because several of these letters specifically mention Mr. Mitchell's professionalism and appropriate boundaries, including during the challenging family situations that seem to be the focus of your complaint."

The conference room door opened, and Brook entered with Dr. Martinez. My heart clenched with gratitude. They'd come to testify on my behalf.

"Dr. Williams," Brook said, settling into a chair beside me, "I've worked closely with Ezra for three years. I've observed his teaching, collaborated on curriculum development, and watched him interact with hundreds of students and families. His professionalism and dedication are beyond reproach."

"Mrs. Chen," Mrs. Garrett interrupted, "you're hardly an objective witness. Everyone knows you and Mr. Mitchell are... close friends."

"Yes, we are," Brook said calmly. "Which means I've had more opportunity than most to observe his character and conduct. I've seen him stay late to help struggling students, attend weekend school events to support his kids, and communicate with parents with nothing but respect and appropriate professional boundaries."

Dr. Martinez leaned forward. "As school counselor, I work closely with teachers to support students experiencing family transitions. Mr. Mitchell's approach to helping children navigate divorce, remarriage, and non-traditional family structures is exemplary. He focuses on emotional support and age-appropriate education, never personal opinion or agenda."

"The Harrison situation—" Mrs. Garrett began.

"The Harrison situation," Dr. Martinez interrupted, "involved a child struggling with a family tree assignment that didn't accommodate his parents' divorce. Mr. Mitchell provided creative educational support that helped Cooper complete the assignment while processing his family changes in a healthy way. That's exactly what we want teachers to do."

I watched Mrs. Garrett's case crumble in real time, her confident accusations giving way to increasingly desperate deflections. The contrast between her vague complaints and the specific, detailed support from colleagues and parents was stark.

"Furthermore," Brook continued, "I want to address the allegation about 'agenda-pushing.' Mr. Mitchell's classroom instruction on family diversity follows district-approved curriculum designed to help all children feel included and accepted. Teaching children that families come in different forms isn't political indoctrination—it's basic human decency."

The hearing continued for another hour, but the outcome felt inevitable after the flood of support. Mrs. Garrett and her allies left looking frustrated and defeated, their accusations revealed as the targeted harassment they'd always been.

Dr. Williams walked me to the parking lot after the formal proceedings concluded.

"Ezra, I want you to know that this complaint was never really about your teaching or your professional conduct. This was about a small group of people uncomfortable with your sexuality trying to find ways to target you professionally."

"I know," I said quietly. "But knowing that doesn't make it less scary."

"The board will review everything, but I'm confident this matter will be dismissed. You have overwhelming support from parents, students, and colleagues. Mrs. Garrett represents a very small, very vocal minority."

Relief flooded through me like water breaking through a dam, but it came with exhaustion that made my knees weak. Three hours of having my character and professionalism dissected by strangers had left me feeling scraped raw.

"However," Dr. Williams continued, her tone growing serious, "I need you to understand that this probably isn't over. People like Mrs. Garrett don't give up easily when they're challenged. Be prepared for continued scrutiny, and find ways to protect yourself professionally while living your personal life."

I nodded, though the warning made my stomach clench again. Victory felt hollow when it came with promises of future battles.

Wade was leaning against his truck in the parking lot when I emerged from the building, his face tight with worry that dissolved into relief when he saw my expression.

"How bad?" he asked, pulling me into his arms without caring who might see.

"Better than I hoped," I murmured against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of sawdust and coffee. "They had dozens of letters supporting me. Brook and Dr. Martinez testified on my behalf. Mrs. Garrett looked like she'd swallowed glass by the end."

Wade's laugh rumbled through his chest. "I wish I could have seen that."

"I'm sorry you couldn't be in there with me."

"I'm not. This was your fight, your professional reputation. You handled it perfectly." He pulled back to look at my face, his hands framing my jaw. "I'm so fucking proud of you."

The simple declaration broke something loose in my chest, months of fear and tension finally beginning to ease. Wade had taken time off work to wait for me, to provide support even when he couldn't be directly involved. The gesture meant everything.

"Whatever they decide," Wade said quietly, "we face it together."

Looking into his eyes, I believed him completely.

That evening, after Cooper's bedtime routine, Wade and I finally found ourselves alone together without the weight of professional crisis hanging over us. The house felt peaceful and domestic, a stark contrast to the morning's formal interrogation.

Wade opened a bottle of wine while I examined Cooper's latest art project, prominently displayed on the refrigerator. It showed the three of us as stick figures holding hands outside a house, with "MY FAMILY" written in careful kindergarten letters across the top.

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