“You’re fucking what?!” my father barks, standing from his chair. He never cusses, yet he just did.
“I’m gay. Always have been.” I lift my head and push back from the table, standing up so I’m level with him. My heart's pounding, but I hold his gaze. “Paige knew, and we stayed together until the kids graduated high school.”
“You’re just confused. I’m sure with some counseling that all this can be cleared up.” My mother nervously picks at a cloth napkin.
“Are you serious?” Paige pipes up, pushing back her chair to stand beside me. It’s why I love her. She’s my ride or die. “He’s not confused. He likes men. What’s wrong with that?”
“No son of mine is going to live in sin. We’ll get you some help and then put all this nonsense in the past.”
I glance over at my kids. They’re both on their feet now, eyes locked on my parents with visible disgust. There’s no anger on their faces, just disappointment.
“It’s about time you told us,” they say in unison, like it’s something they’ve known all along. They step closer, flanking me without hesitation. My daughter slips her arm through mine. My son squares his shoulders like he’s ready to take on the world for me.
“Your father’s right, honey,” my mom adds on.
I just shake my head, taken aback at their reaction. Unhappy, confused. Those I could understand, but the cruelness in their words I never expected.
“I don’t need therapy. Being gay isn’t a disease or something that needs to be cured. I love men and if you can’t accept that, then I’m sorry.” I stop. “Actually, I’m not sorry. Accept me or don’t. It’s your choice, but I’m no longer hiding who I am. I lost an amazing man because I did.”
My mother stands, my father pulling her into his arms, tears streaming from her eyes. I raise from my chair, my eyes pleading with them to hear me out. To dig deep within themselves for an ounce of compassion. But it’s as if they’re blind.
“Then I guess you’re no longer our son.” With my father’s words, they turn and leave.
Chapter 25
Malcolm
Devastationdevoursmeabouthow my parents reacted. I knew they wouldn’t be happy. But that I didn’t expect to happen. They’ve pretty much disowned me all because I don’t fit in their cookie cutter world.
My eyes drift up, staring in the direction my parents went, hoping that they’ll turn around and come back. That they’ll apologize for their words. Their faces soft with understanding and arms stretched out wide to give me the hug I so desperately need from them. But they don’t appear. There's nothing but silence.
My legs become weak, giving out on me as I drop back down into my chair. My body hunches forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced through my hair like they can somehow hold me together.
I don’t know why shame crashes over the fragile hold I have on my sanity. I’d come into tonight hoping for acceptance, or at the very least, a sliver of understanding. But instead, I’d been met with cold stares, hateful words, and disappointment carved into my parents’ faces like stone.
"I just wanted them to see me, to accept me,” I whisper, not realizing the words have even left my mouth.
I feel movement beside me, then the warmth of Paige’s arms wrapping tightly around my shoulders. She doesn’t say anything at first—just holds me, steady and strong. I find solace in her embrace when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around me.
"I'm so proud of you," she whispers into my ear, her voice thick with emotion. "I know that tonight was hard. But you did it. You told them this secret that’s been weighing heavily on your soul.”
"I—" I try to argue, to explain that maybe coming out to them was a mistake. Maybe I should’ve waited, softened it somehow, done it differently. But Paige isn't having any of it. She cuts me off gently, her hand smoothing down my back.
“No,” she says firmly. “They’ll come around. They just need time to process.”
I lift my head from my hands, turning to face her, just enough to see her eyes, steady, fierce, full of belief in me.
“And what if they don’t?” My voice cracks. The question feels like it’s coming from the child inside me. The boy who once clung to his mother’s hand in fear and now stands alone, rejected by the same hands that raised me. I’m forty-five and still seeking the approval of my parents.
Paige doesn’t let go. She holds me tighter. “Then that'll be okay, too.”
Tears well in my eyes, the sting of them sharp and immediate.
“It’s their loss,” she continues, not letting me wallow in my sorrows. And when I turn to look away she lets go of me, gripping my chin, turning my head to her. “You are an amazing husband, son, father, and boyfriend. You love deeply. You show up. You try even when it’s hard. Don't let their narrow-mindedness dull that light in you.”
My breath hitches, emotion snagging at my throat, causing me to cough to keep from choking.
“You belong here,” she whispers. “With us. With the people who see you. Who love you. Who accept you for who you are and don’t want you to hide any longer.”
