Page 47 of After the Rain
The Fletcher estate had been sold to pay legal fees and restitution. The new owners, a young interracial couple with twin daughters, had installed rainbow wind chimes in the garden and flew a Pride flag during June. Life had a sense of poetic justice sometimes.
Mrs. Garrett's campaign against Ezra had backfired spectacularly when her harassment was exposed during our court proceedings. Her own family, had publicly disavowed her behavior.
She'd moved to another state after losing custody and facing social ostracism in Cedar Falls. Her replacement as head of the parent organization was Maria, Kane’s wife, who had transformed the group into an advocate for inclusive families and anti-bullying initiatives.
Mrs. Garrett's legacy was exactly the opposite of what she'd intended.
Dr. Williams had been promoted to superintendent three years ago, partly based on her skillful handling of the discrimination complaints against Ezra.
The district now had some of the most progressive anti-discrimination policies in the state, attracting federal funding for inclusive education initiatives.
The school board that had once considered firing Ezra now featured three openly LGBTQ+ members, including Tom Bradley's daughter, who'd been inspired by our courage to run for public office.
Change happened one election at a time, one heart at a time, one family's courage inspiring others to be brave.
The small conservative town that had once tried to destroy our family had become a model for rural LGBTQ+ acceptance.
The annual Diversity and Inclusion Festival now drew visitors from across the region, bringing tourism revenue and national recognition.
Three LGBTQ+-owned businesses had opened downtown, and the city council had passed a comprehensive non-discrimination ordinance with overwhelming public support.
Even the Moonbeam Diner had been transformed.
It now featured a "Love is Love" corner booth with rainbow cushions and photos of all the couples who'd had their first dates there, including one of Ezra and me from our early nervous coffee meetings.
The owner, inspired by our story, had created a scholarship fund for LGBTQ+ students pursuing education degrees.
The diner's coffee mugs featured the slogan "Brewed with Pride" and rainbow handles. Every time I saw them, I remembered sitting there with Ezra, both of us terrified and hopeful and falling in love despite every reason to protect ourselves.
"When should we have the wedding?" Ezra asked, admiring his ring while leaning against my shoulder as we sat on our bench.
"Tomorrow," I replied immediately. "I've waited five years to call you my husband. I don't want to wait any longer."
"Can we at least wait until I finish the school year?" Ezra laughed. "June would be perfect. Pride month feels appropriate for our wedding."
Cooper bounced between us with the excited energy of a child planning the best party ever. "Can we have it at the park? Can Jazz be my best man? Can we invite everyone?"
"Everyone who fought for our right to love each other deserves to celebrate with us," I promised.
As the sun set over the river where our love story began, Cooper took photos of us with my phone.
Our engagement photo would join dozens of others on the Moonbeam Diner's wall of love, but more importantly, it represented the completion of a journey from fear to authenticity, from hiding to celebration, from legal battle to legal recognition.
Our Victorian house welcomed us home with the porch light glowing warm and yellow in the gathering dusk. The house where I'd first told Ezra I loved him, where we'd built the life we'd dreamed about in that backyard surrounded by oak trees and possibility.
Fort Awesome stood proud in the backyard, now featuring improvements Cooper had designed and implemented over the years.
The treehouse had become neighborhood headquarters for kids whose parents felt safe letting them play in our yard, knowing they'd be welcomed and protected regardless of their family structure.
"I can't believe we're getting married," Ezra said as we settled on our front porch swing, Cooper racing inside to call everyone he could think of with the news.
"I can't believe it took me five years to ask."
"You asked when you were ready. When we were ready."
I thought about that first terrified conversation in Dr. Marlow’s office, when I'd barely been able to admit I was attracted to men, let alone imagine building a life with one.
The journey from that moment to this one had required more courage than I'd known I possessed, but it had led us here—to this porch, this family, this love that had survived every attempt to destroy it.
"Do you ever think about what would have happened if we'd given up?" I asked. "If we'd let them win?"
"Never," Ezra said firmly. "We were always going to end up here, Wade. It might have taken longer, might have been messier, but love like ours doesn't just disappear because other people are uncomfortable with it."
Cooper burst back onto the porch, phone in hand. "Jazz cried when I told her. Happy crying. And Uncle John says he's already started writing the ceremony. And mom says she's planning the bachelor party but she won't tell me what that means."
"Sarah's planning my bachelor party?" I asked, slightly terrified.
"She says it's revenge for all the stress you put her through during the custody battle," Cooper reported cheerfully.
"Great. I'm going to die before my own wedding."
"She promises you'll live," Cooper added. "Probably."
As the three of us sat on our porch in the fading light, I felt the same completeness I'd experienced that first Christmas in this house, but deeper now, more permanent.
The legal battles were behind us, our community had embraced our family, and we'd built something beautiful from all the pain and uncertainty we'd endured.
The rain that had once threatened to destroy our relationship had nourished the ground where our love now flourished.
Cedar Falls had become the kind of place where all children could grow up proud of who they were and confident that love, in all its forms, would be celebrated rather than condemned.
"After the rain," I said quietly, watching fireflies begin their evening dance across our yard.
"Comes the rainbow," Ezra finished, squeezing my hand.
Our rainbow stretched across the entire sky of our shared future, bright with promise and permanent with commitment. Some storms were worth weathering for the beauty that followed, and some battles were worth fighting for the peace that endured.
I was living proof that love always wins, especially when good people refuse to let hatred have the final word.
The scared, confused man who'd sat in Dr. Marlow’s office five years ago could never have imagined this moment—engaged to the love of his life, raising a confident and happy son, surrounded by a community that had chosen inclusion over prejudice.
But that man had taken the first terrifying step toward authenticity, and every step since had led us here. To this porch, this family, this love that had transformed not just our lives but our entire community.
"So," Cooper said, settling between us on the porch swing. "When do I get to start calling Papa Ezra 'Dad' too?"
Ezra's eyes filled with tears. "You can call me whatever feels right to you, kiddo."
"I think 'Dad Ezra' sounds good. That way I have Dad Wade and Dad Ezra and everyone knows I have two dads who love me."
"That sounds perfect," I said, my voice thick with emotion.
Perfect. After everything we'd been through, everything we'd survived, everything we'd built together—that was exactly what this was. Perfect in its imperfection, perfect in its hard-won happiness, perfect in its promise of forever.
In three months, I'd be Wade Harrison-Mitchell, husband. The word still felt new and miraculous, like a gift I'd never expected to receive.
After the rain, indeed, comes the rainbow. And ours was just beginning to shine.