Page 62 of The Dating Coach
I turned to find Mia standing behind me, chin raised despite the tremor in her hands. She looked so young but so fierce, my baby sister who'd found her courage.
"Mia!" My mother started forward, but Mia stepped back.
"Don't," Mia said quietly. "You don't get to cry and act like you missed me when you're the ones who drove me away."
"We never—" my father started.
"You gave me an ultimatum," Mia cut him off. "Conversion therapy or homelessness. I chose homelessness. That's on you, not on me or Gemma."
"You're confused," my mother pleaded. "This lifestyle, these people, they've convinced you—"
"No one convinced me of anything," Mia said firmly. "I've known who I am since I was fifteen. The only thing that's changed is that I'm not ashamed anymore."
"You should be ashamed!" The words exploded from my father with volcanic fury. "Look at you now – corrupting your sister, living in sin, throwing away your future for liberal nonsense," he spat.
"My future?" I stepped closer, fury overriding caution. "I'm in medical school. I have a 3.9 GPA. I'm captain of a Division I athletic team. The only thing I've thrown away is the need for your approval."
"None of that matters if your soul is damned—"
"You hate who we really are," I cut in. “And I’m done hiding, and apologizing, and shrinking myself for your comfort.”
I took a breath, decision made. The crowd around us had grown, students filming with phones, witnessing what came next.
"I'm bisexual," I announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I've known since high school. I hid it because I knew you'd react exactly like this – with disgust masquerading as concern."
Mia’s eyes went wide—she hadn’t known. After a moment of stunned silence, she stepped forward and clasped my hand.
My mother’s sob was raw and genuine this time. My father’s face drained from purple to white.
"Both of you?" he whispered. "Both of our daughters?"
"Your daughters who are happy," Mia said, stepping forward. "Who've found love and acceptance and chosen family. Who are becoming amazing people despite your best efforts to break us."
"This is your doing," my father pointed at me, spittle flying. "You corrupted her. Normalized perversion."
He raised his hand – not quite a threat, but the muscle memory of discipline. Before I could react, a wall of bodies materialized between us.
Liam stood at the center, flanked by what seemed like half the hockey team. Behind them, members of the swim team formed a second line. The message was clear: to get to us, they'd have to go through an army.
"I think you should leave," Liam said calmly. "Campus security is already on the way."
"This is a family matter," my father blustered, but his raised hand dropped.
"No," Liam said simply. "Family doesn't threaten. Family protects. And these women have all the family they need."
"You," my mother pointed at Liam with shaking fingers. "You're part of this corruption. Leading Gemma astray—"
"The only place I'm leading her," Liam said evenly, "is toward happiness. Something you apparently never managed."
Campus security arrived then, drawn by the crowd and raised voices. My parents tried to argue, to claim parental rights, but the officers were firm – Mia was eighteen, this was harassment, and they needed to leave or face trespassing charges.
"This isn't over," my father promised as security escorted them away. "We have lawyers. Rights. We'll—"
"You'll lose," I called after them. "Because we have something you don't – truth. And love that doesn't require editing ourselves to be palatable."
They left in a cloud of threats and condemnation, but I barely heard them. The crowd around us erupted in support – applause and pride flags pulled from backpacks and promises of solidarity.
But I only had eyes for Mia, who was crying in earnest now.
