Page 32 of His Elder

"The Church—"

"Will have to figure out how to reconcile a gay member with their doctrine. That's not your job to do for them."

I pressed both hands over my face. My whole body was shaking now, trembling with the weight of everything he was offering. Permission. Acceptance. The possibility that maybe, maybe I wasn't broken.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"I know."

"If I admit this—if I stop trying to change it—then I lose everything. My family. My faith. My entire future."

"Maybe." Vance's voice stayed steady. "Or maybe you lose a version of your future that was never really yours to begin with."

I looked up at him through my fingers. He sat there, calm and certain, like he'd already walked the path I was terrified to even glimpse.

"How are you so sure?" I asked.

"I'm not sure about much. But I'm sure about this." He met my eyes. "And now you know. We both know. About each other."

The enormity of it settled between us. A secret. A weapon. A bond.

"We can't tell anyone," I said.

"I know."

"If anyone finds out—"

"They won't. Notfrom me."

"Kempton already suspects you're not fully committed. If he even thinks—"

"Let me worry about Kempton." Vance stood, moved to the door. "You should sleep. We have district meeting tomorrow."

He was giving me space. Letting me process.

“Van…Eli.”

He paused, hand on the doorframe.

"Thank you," I said. "For not reporting me. For... understanding."

Something shifted in his expression. Something almost like warmth.

"We're companions, Samuel. That means something." He hesitated. "And for what it's worth? You're not broken. You never were."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

I sat alone in the dark, his words echoing.

You're not broken.

I'd spent years being told I was. Years believing it. Years praying desperately for God to fix the fundamental flaw in my nature.

And here was Vance—actuallyEli, I corrected myself again—who looked at the same feelings and saw nothing that needed fixing.

I pulled out my journal, stared at the blank page. Every entry for the past six months had been the same: prayers for strength, gratitude for opportunities to serve, carefully documented teaching moments and scripture insights.

Nothing real. Nothing true.