"I'm sorry I disappeared." The words came out rough. "I'm sorry I scared you. Both of you."
My mother's hand found my father's and squeezed.
"We just wanted to know you were safe," she said. "We've been so worried. The not knowing was..."
"I know. And I'm sorry." I took a breath. "I'm safe. I've been safe the whole time. I was staying with someone who helped me. Someone who cares about me."
"Where?" My father's voice was controlled and neutral. "Where have you been?"
I hesitated, looking at Tristan.
"That doesn't matter right now," Tristan said. "What matters is that he's here, he's okay, and he wants to explain."
My father's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded.
Another breath. This was the moment.
"There's something I need to tell you," I said. "Something I should have told you years ago."
My mother leaned forward. My father went still.
"I'm gay." The words hung in the air. "I think I've always been, somewhere deep down. But I spent years telling myself I was wrong, that it was confusion, and that I could make it go away if I just tried hard enough. I couldn't marry Elizabeth. I couldn't stand up there and promise my life to someone I could never love the way she deserved."
Silence.
My mother's face went through several emotions I couldn't name: shock first, then grief, then something that looked almost like recognition.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Because I didn't think you'd understand." I held her gaze. "Because I kept hoping I was wrong. That it would go away."
"Oh, Tobias." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "All those years. You were carrying this alone?"
"I thought I had to."
"I'm so sorry." She was crying openly now. "I should have seen. Should have made it easier for you to talk to us."
I moved instinctively, crossed to her couch, sat beside her, and pulled her into my arms.
"It's okay," I said.
"It's not." She clung to me. "You shouldn't have had to hide."
She pulled back after a moment, cupped my face in her hands. Her makeup was smeared, her composure gone.
"Are you happy?" she asked. "Now? Wherever you've been?"
"Yes." The word came out steady. "For the first time in my life, yes."
"Then that's what matters." She kissed my forehead.
My father had been silent through it all.
He sat on the couch across from us, jaw tight, hands clasped between his knees. When I finally looked at him, his expression was unreadable, closed off in a way I recognized from boardroom negotiations.
"Dad?"
He stood abruptly. But instead of walking to the window, he turned to me.
