My mother’s hand went to her mouth. My father’s expression went carefully blank—the way it did when he was processing something he didn’t want to deal with. Gia’s eyes were wet, but she nodded, encouraging.
“Who?” my mother asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you… with?”
“Étienne Savard. My teammate. We’ve been living together since November. We’re together. We’re in love.”
My father stood up abruptly and walked out of frame. I heard a door slam somewhere in the house.
My mother was crying now, quiet tears streaming down her face. “Your teammate? Marco, no. No, this can’t—you’re confused. This is just?—”
“I’m not confused, Mama. I’ve known who I am for seventeen years.”
“But the Church—” Her voice broke. “What you’re describing is a sin. You know that. You were raised to know that.”
“I know what the Church teaches.” My throat was tight. “But I also know who I am. And I love him. That’s not something I can change. It’s not something I want to change.”
“Have you tried?” She leaned toward the camera. “Have you prayed? Talked to Father Michael? There are programs, support groups for people struggling with?—”
“I’m not struggling with anything except hiding.” The words came out harsher than I intended. “I’m done hiding, Mama. I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Gia finally spoke. “Mama, listen to him. Please. He’s still Marco. This doesn’t change who he is.”
“Did you know about this?” My mother turned to look at her.
“For years,” Gia said quietly. “And I’ve watched him suffer. I’m glad he’s finally being honest.”
“Glad?” My mother’s voice rose. “You’re glad your brother is choosing to live in sin? To throw away everything we taught him?”
“I’m glad he’s choosing to be happy!” Gia’s voice matchedhers. “I’m glad he found someone who loves him. That matters more than?—”
“Don’t.” My mother held up a hand. “Don’t tell me what matters. I know what matters. Salvation matters. His soul matters.”
“My happiness matters too,” I said quietly.
She looked back at the camera, and the devastation on her face nearly broke me. “I raised you better than this, Marco. I raised you to know right from wrong. To follow God’s word. And now you’re telling me you’re choosing this… this lifestyle over your faith?”
“I’m choosing honesty over pretending. I’m choosing love over fear. And I’m choosing to tell you now because I’m going public with this next week. Management will know. The team will know. The media will know. Everyone will know. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
“After Christmas?” She went pale. “Marco, you can’t. The family, the parish, everyone will?—”
“Everyone will know I’m gay. Yes. That’s the point.”
“Your father—” She glanced toward wherever he’d gone. “He was counting on a grandson to carry on the Morelli name. This is going to kill him.”
“Then I guess he’ll have to decide if he loves his son more than he hates who I am.”
The words came out colder than I meant them, but I was too raw to take them back.
Gia reached over, squeezed my mother’s shoulder. “Mama. Please. Just… take some time. Think about it. But don’t lose him over it. Please.”
My mother was crying harder now, her hands shaking. “I need to think. I need to pray. I can’t… Marco, I can’t do this right now.”
“Okay.” My voice was barely steady. “Take your time. ButMama—I love you. That hasn’t changed. And I hope eventually you can accept this. Accept me.”
“I need to go.” She reached for the phone.
“Mama, wait?—”
The call ended.
