Page 61 of The Dating Coach
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "It's too much. You're already risking your career by being with me. Now you want to pay for—"
"I want to choose you," I interrupted. "All of you. Not just the easy parts. That means protecting Mia, fighting legal battles, facing down investigators, and whatever comes along with it."
She kissed me then, salt from her tears mixing with the desperation of the moment. When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
"I don't deserve you," she whispered.
"That's where you're wrong," I said firmly. "We deserve each other. We deserve happiness and safety and family that chooses us back."
My phone buzzed with a text from Henry:Mia's okay. Bringing her home. Frank's making comfort food.
"See?" I showed Gemma the message. "Family."
We gathered the legal pamphlets, armed with information if not solutions. Walking back to the house, I felt the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. Not the burden my father had placed there – expectations of glory and achievement – but something I'd chosen. Protecting people I loved, building a life on my own terms.
"I'll call the lawyer tomorrow," Gemma said quietly. "Start documenting everything. Maybe we can get ahead of this."
Chapter 27: Gemma
I saw them before they saw me.
My parents stood in the middle of campus quad like avenging angels, my mother clutching a manila folder while my father scanned the lunch crowd with eyes I knew too well. They looked older, grayer, but their righteousness remained untarnished by time or distance.
My phone was already in my hand, texting Mia:Stay in the room. They're here.
Her response was immediate:Coming anyway. I’m not hiding anymore.
Before I could protest, they spotted me. My mother's face crumpled into what might have been genuine emotion if I hadn't seen her practice tears in the mirror before church socials. My father's expression remained stone, disappointment carved into every line.
"Gemma." He said my name like a sentence already passed. "We need to discuss about your sister."
"Mia is fine," I said, proud when my voice didn't shake. "And this is neither the time nor place for this conversation."
"You've left us no choice," my mother interjected, tears streaming. "You won't return calls, you've hidden her from us. Our baby—"
"Your baby is eighteen," I interrupted. "An adult who made the choice to leave rather than submit to conversion therapy."
The words rang across the quad. Several passing students slowed, sensing drama. I wanted to shrink away, to have this confrontation in private, but my parents had chosen their stage deliberately. Public shame had always been their favorite weapon.
"We never said conversion therapy," my father lied smoothly. "We suggested counseling. Support for her confusion."
"Restoration House isn't counseling," I shot back. "It's torture dressed up in scripture. And she's not confused – she's gay. The only confusion is why you can't love your daughter as she is."
My mother gasped as if I'd slapped her. "How can you say that? We love Mia. We want to help her."
"You want to fix her," I corrected. "Force her into a box that makes you comfortable. That's not love – that's control."
"You've poisoned her mind," my father's voice rose, drawing more attention. "Encouraged her delusions. Leading her into sin and degradation."
"The only poison here is your conditional love," I said, anger overtaking fear. "She's happy. She's thriving. She has people who love her exactly as she is."
"Living in sin with God knows who—"
"Living with me," I interrupted. "Her sister who actually gives a damn about her happiness."
"Watch your language," he snapped. "We're still your parents. You will show respect."
"Respect is earned," a new voice said.
