Page 80 of After the Rain

"What's happening, Daddy?" Cooper's small voice cut through the adult tension. He'd abandoned his toys and was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking between us with the intuitive fear that children possess when their world starts shifting.

"It's okay, buddy," Wade said, but his voice cracked on the words. "Just some grown-up paperwork."

Deputy Roland completed his duty with professional detachment, explaining Wade's rights and the court date that had been set. Two days from now. As he walked back to his patrol car, I watched our neighbors' curtains twitch. Word would spread through Cedar Falls before noon.

Wade stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the papers like they might disappear if he focused hard enough. I guided him to the kitchen table, my own hands shaking as I poured coffee neither of us would drink.

The custody petition was a masterpiece of legal character assassination. Page after page of carefully documented "evidence" that painted our relationship as predatory and harmful. Photographs of us holding hands at Cooper's birthday party. Statements from neighbors about my car in the driveway overnight. A timeline of my "increasing presence" in Cooper'slife that made normal dating progression sound like calculated grooming.

"Listen to this shit," Wade said, his voice raw with disbelief. "'The minor child is being exposed to inappropriate homosexual lifestyle choices and unstable adult relationships that compromise his moral development and psychological wellbeing.'" He looked up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "They're talking about us like we're criminals."

But it got worse. So much worse.

The most damaging allegations centered on me specifically. The petition painted me as a predatory figure who had manipulated both father and son for sexual access. It suggested that my job as Cooper's teacher gave me inappropriate influence over the family, that I'd used my position to "groom" both Wade and Cooper for my own gratification.

Reading those words, seeing our love described as manipulation and abuse, made bile rise in my throat. I had to put the papers down and focus on breathing, fighting the urge to vomit right there at Wade's kitchen table.

"This is insane," I whispered. "They're making it sound like I'm some kind of predator."

"They're making it sound like loving you makes me an unfit father." Wade's voice was hollow, defeated. "Cooper, come here, buddy."

Cooper approached cautiously, picking up on the adult fear that was filling the room like smoke. "Are you in trouble, Daddy?"

"No, buddy. But you're going to go stay with Mommy for a little while, okay? Like an extended sleepover."

"Why? I don't want to go to Mommy's. I want to stay here with you and Mr. Mitchell."

The innocence in Cooper's voice broke something inside me. This seven-year-old boy, whose only crime was loving both hisfather and his teacher, was being used as a weapon in someone else's war against who we were.

"I know you do, buddy. But sometimes grown-ups have to make decisions that don't make sense to kids. Can you go pack a bag? Just for a few days."

Cooper's face crumpled. "Did I do something wrong? Is it because I love Mr. Mitchell?"

The question hit like a knife to the heart. Wade's sharp intake of breath told me he felt it too. This was what we'd brought into Cooper's life—confusion, fear, the belief that love could be wrong.

"No," Wade said fiercely, dropping to his knees to pull Cooper into a hug. "You did nothing wrong, and loving people is never wrong. The grown-ups are having a disagreement, that's all. It has nothing to do with you."

But we both knew that was a lie. This had everything to do with Cooper, with his welfare, with his future. The Fletchers were using their grandson as ammunition against the life Wade had built with me.

An hour later, Sarah arrived to pick up Cooper, her face streaked with tears and her movements sharp with barely controlled rage.

"They ambushed me too," she said quietly while Cooper gathered his favorite stuffed animals. "Told me I had no choice, that they'd filed papers and Cooper had to come stay with me immediately. Wade, I'm so sorry. I tried to talk them out of this."

"I know," Wade said, but his voice was empty. "This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it? They're my parents. I should have stopped this before it got this far."

Cooper clung to Wade at the door, and watching them say goodbye felt like witnessing something sacred being torn apart. The little boy didn't understand why his world was suddenlyunstable, why the adults he trusted were crying, why love had become a problem to be solved.

"I'll see you soon, buddy," Wade whispered into Cooper's hair. "I promise."

"Can Mr. Mitchell come visit me at Mommy's?"

Wade and I exchanged a look over Cooper's head. The custody papers were clear—my presence in Cooper's life was now legally problematic.

"We'll see," Wade said, which was the kindest lie he could manage.

After they left, the house felt like a tomb. Wade sat at the kitchen table staring at the legal papers, and I could see him aging in real time. The man who'd been glowing with happiness just hours ago now looked hollow, beaten.

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