Page 40 of After the Rain

NINETEEN

FINDING LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

WADE

I sat in my living room surrounded by the debris of my shattered life.

Legal papers scattered across the coffee table like evidence of a crime scene.

Cooper's toys gathering dust in the corner, his dinosaur figures frozen in mid-battle where he'd left them before the world fell apart.

The silence where his laughter used to be felt suffocating, like the house itself was mourning.

I'd lost my son. Sacrificed my relationship with Ezra. The future I'd dared to imagine—morning breakfasts with dinosaur-shaped toast, treehouse bedtime stories, lazy Sunday afternoons building the life we'd found together—all of it lay in ruins around me.

The knock at my door came just as I was considering whether the bottle of whiskey in my kitchen cabinet might make the silence more bearable. I almost didn't answer, couldn't imagine facing another well-meaning neighbor with casseroles and sympathy. But the knocking persisted, sharp and insistent.

Jazz stood on my porch with a bottle of Jameson and the kind of expression that meant she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"You look like shit," she said, pushing past me into the house.

"Thanks. Really needed to hear that right now."

"What you need is to stop wallowing." Jazz surveyed the wreckage of my living room with the practical eye of someone who'd seen her share of disasters. "This is bullshit, and we both know it. But feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to get Cooper back or fix what's broken."

She poured whiskey into two coffee mugs—the fancy glasses felt too civilized for the kind of conversation we were about to have.

"Jazz, you don't understand. They destroyed me in there. Made me look like some kind of predator for loving Ezra, like I'm endangering my own son by being honest about who I am."

"I understand plenty." She handed me a mug and settled into Cooper's favorite chair like she belonged there. "I also understand that feeling defeated is a luxury you can't afford right now. We need a plan, not a pity party."

"What plan? You saw what they brought to court. Teams of lawyers, expert witnesses, enough money to bury me in legal fees until I give up. I'm one guy with a mortgage and a broken heart."

Jazz's smile was sharp as a blade. "You're one guy with more allies than you realize. I've been making calls since the hearing. The construction community is small, Wade, and the Fletchers have enemies."

I looked up from my whiskey, catching something in her tone that made my pulse quicken. "What kind of enemies?"

"The kind that have been waiting years for someone brave enough to stand up to Richard Fletcher's bullshit.

" Jazz leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You think he built his empire on honest dealing and fair contracts?

Hell no. That man's career is built on dirty deals and intimidation.

There are people willing to testify about his business practices, his character, his real motivations for destroying you. "

The possibility of fighting back emerged from the ashes of my defeat like a phoenix I'd never expected to see. "People would actually do that?"

"More than you think. You've been so focused on your own situation that you missed what's happening in this community. Half this town thinks what happened to you is wrong, and they're ready to do something about it."

Jazz pulled out her phone, scrolling through what looked like a contact list. "Brook's organizing a strategy meeting. Dr. Vasquez wants to testify about the real research on kids in LGBTQ+ families, not the biased garbage they brought to court. Even Pastor Mitchell from up in Portland is driving down—turns out Ezra’s Uncle John has strong opinions about using faith as a weapon against families. "

“Ezra’s Uncle getting involved?" The idea of Ezra's uncle taking on the Fletchers made something hopeful stir in my chest.

"That man's been fighting for inclusion his whole career. He sees this as a chance to show that Christianity and acceptance aren't mutually exclusive." Jazz took a long sip of whiskey. "Question is, are you ready to fight back, or are you going to sit here drowning in guilt and self-pity?"

I stared at Cooper's abandoned toys, thinking about my son's confused questions during our brief phone call after the hearing. Why couldn't he come home? Why were people saying mean things about Daddy and Mr. Mitchell? Why did love have to be so complicated?

"I won't let them win," I said, and the words felt like the first true thing I'd spoken since leaving the courthouse. "Cooper deserves better than growing up thinking love is something to be ashamed of. And Ezra deserves better than being collateral damage in someone else's war."

Jazz's grin was fierce and proud. "There's the Wade Harrison I know. Now finish your whiskey and let's go save your family."

Brook's house buzzed with the kind of energy I hadn't felt since Cooper's birthday party—people talking over each other, making lists, planning strategy. But this time, instead of party decorations and cake, we were plotting a counterattack against institutional prejudice.

I arrived to find the living room packed with unexpected allies.

Parents from Cooper's school, teachers I barely knew, business owners I'd worked with over the years.

Mrs. Patterson, whose daughter Emma had been in Ezra's class.

Tom from the hardware store, who'd always seemed like the conservative type.

Even old Mr. Kowalski from down the street, who'd never spoken more than five words to me since we became neighbors.

"Jesus," I whispered to Brook as she led me through the crowd. "Where did all these people come from?"

"You'd be surprised how many people believe in fairness over prejudice," she replied. "You just never had reason to find out before."

Brook orchestrated the gathering with military precision, moving between groups with clipboards and coffee, making sure everyone understood their role in what she kept calling "Operation Family Values"—a name that made several people snort with laughter.

Dr. Vasquez, the child psychologist who'd evaluated Cooper for the school district, approached me with the kind of determined expression that meant business.

"Wade, I need to apologize," she said without preamble. "I should have spoken up during the hearing when they brought in those so-called experts to testify against your family."

"Dr. Vasquez, you couldn't have known?—"

"I could have and should have. The science is clear on children raised by gay parents—no difference in development outcomes, and often higher levels of tolerance and empathy. What the court heard was prejudice disguised as expertise, and I have the research to prove it."

She handed me a thick folder of studies, reports, and peer-reviewed articles. "I'm willing to testify about the actual research, not the cherry-picked garbage they presented. Your relationship with Ezra isn't harming Cooper—if anything, it's showing him that love comes in many forms."

The validation hit me harder than I'd expected. For days, I'd been drowning in doubt, wondering if the Fletchers were right, if my selfishness in pursuing happiness with Ezra had somehow damaged my son.

"Thank you," I managed, my voice rougher than I'd intended.

The crowd fell silent as Sarah walked through Brook's front door, looking exhausted but determined. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as people turned to stare at the woman whose parents had started this whole mess.

"I know what you're all thinking," Sarah said, raising her voice to address the room. "Why should you trust me? My parents started this war, and I let them use me as ammunition."

She looked directly at me, tears bright in her eyes. "But I'm switching sides. I've seen what my parents are doing to Cooper, how confused and hurt he is living in their house. This isn't about protecting him—it's about controlling all of us."

The announcement stunned everyone into silence. Sarah defying her family meant more than just another witness—it meant someone with intimate knowledge of the Fletchers' true motivations was willing to expose them.

"Sarah," I said quietly, "you don't have to do this. I know what it costs to stand up to your parents."

"Yes, I do have to do this. Cooper asked me yesterday why Grandpa Fletcher talks about Mr. Mitchell like he's a bad person when Cooper knows he's good. How do you explain adult prejudice to a kid? How do you tell your child that some grown-ups think love is wrong?"

Pastor John Mitchell's arrival added a completely different energy to the gathering. Uncle John looked exactly like an older version of Ezra but carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who'd spent decades fighting for what he believed in.

"I drove down as soon as I heard what happened," he said, embracing me like family. "This isn't just about your relationship with Ezra. This is about what kind of community we want to be."

Uncle John's plan was brilliant in its simplicity. Instead of fighting the religious angle the Fletchers had introduced, he wanted to reframe it entirely.

"Faith should unite families, not tear them apart," he explained to the gathered crowd.

"There are many of us who believe love is sacred, regardless of the gender of those who share it.

I'm organizing religious leaders throughout the county to make this a religious freedom issue—the freedom to love and worship without persecution. "

The idea of making our fight about religious liberty instead of just gay rights was strategic genius. Uncle John understood the political landscape better than any of us, knew how to speak to people who might be sympathetic but needed permission to support us.