Page 81 of After the Rain

"We need a lawyer," I said, though the words felt inadequate against the magnitude of what we were facing.

"With what money? You see what we're up against." Wade gestured at the thick stack of evidence the Fletchers had compiled. "This is months of professional preparation. Private investigators, expert witnesses, legal teams. They've been planning this since Cooper's birthday party."

The attorney Wade hastily retained that afternoon confirmed our worst fears. Michael Lee was a family law specialist with twenty years of experience, and his assessment was brutally honest.

"This is a well-funded, professionally prepared attack designed to use your sexuality and relationship against you," he said, reviewing the custody petition with a grim expression. "The Fletchers have built a compelling case for conservative judges who may share their prejudices."

We sat in his sterile office, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, while he explained the immediate challenges we faced. Emergency hearings favored the status quo, which nowmeant Cooper living with Sarah. Judges in their county tended toward traditional family values. Wade's late-in-life coming out would be portrayed as a midlife crisis rather than authentic self-discovery.

"Every aspect of your journey will be weaponized against you," Lee continued. "They'll argue that your relationship proves you prioritize sexual gratification over Cooper's stability. Every night you've spent together, every public display of affection will be used as evidence of poor parental judgment."

I felt Wade flinch beside me. Our beautiful, tender moments—lazy morning breakfasts, goodnight kisses on the porch, hands held during Cooper's soccer games—all of it was evidence now. Evidence of my corruption of their family.

"What about my presence in all this?" I asked, though I dreaded the answer.

Lee’s expression softened with sympathy. "Mr. Mitchell, I have to be honest. Your relationship with Wade complicates the defense strategy significantly. The opposing counsel will argue that this relationship is evidence of Wade's poor judgment, that he's putting his own desires ahead of his son's wellbeing."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that your best chance might be for Wade to agree to end your relationship in exchange for maintaining custody. It's not fair, but judges sometimes view that as evidence of putting Cooper's needs first."

The suggestion hit me like a physical blow. Choose between love and family. Choose between my happiness and Cooper's stability. Choose between the life we'd built and the life Wade needed to preserve.

Wade's response was immediate and fierce. "No. I won't sacrifice Ezra to appease bigots. There has to be another way."

But Lee’s expression told us there might not be.

The financial reality was even more stark. Mounting an effective defense against the Fletchers' resources would require tens of thousands of dollars Wade didn't have. Meanwhile, the Fletchers could afford experts, investigators, and prolonged legal warfare designed to exhaust Wade's resources and resolve.

"Justice depends on economic privilege," Lee said quietly. "I wish it weren't true, but in cases like this, the side with more money usually wins."

That evening, Wade and I sat in the living room trying to process the day's devastating developments. Every corner held evidence of our domestic happiness that had been twisted into ammunition against us. Cooper's toys in the corner, my coffee mug on the side table, the framed photo of the three of us from the zoo trip last month.

The silence where Cooper's voice should be was deafening.

Wade cycled through desperate strategies—character witnesses, appeals processes, media campaigns to expose the Fletchers' prejudice. But I could see the futility of fighting a system designed to punish people like us.

"They have unlimited resources and institutional prejudice on their side," I said quietly. "What do we have?"

"We have the truth. We have Cooper's happiness. We have evidence that he's thriving."

"Wade, look at this petition. They've taken Cooper's happiness and twisted it into evidence of inappropriate influence. They've made his love for me look like grooming. They've made your authenticity look like instability."

Wade was quiet for a long moment, staring at Cooper's abandoned dinosaur figures on the coffee table. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"The attorney thinks I should end our relationship."

"I know."

"He thinks it's the only way to get Cooper back."

"I know."

"I can't choose between you and Cooper. You're both my family now."

The pain in his voice shattered something inside my chest. This beautiful man, who'd found the courage to live authentically, who'd opened his heart to love he'd never imagined possible, was being forced to choose between the two most important relationships in his life.

And I knew what I had to do.

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