“Never call again.”
Étienne’s face crumpled. “Papa, please?—”
But Philippe was still talking, his voice rising again. Afinal stream of French that ended with what sounded like a curse, and then silence.
The call had ended.
Étienne stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear, his whole body trembling. Then a sob broke from his chest, raw and devastating.
I crossed to him, pulled the phone from his hand, and wrapped my arms around him as he collapsed against me.
“He said I’m not his son anymore,” Étienne gasped between sobs. “He said I’m dead to him. That I’ve brought shame on him. That I’m—” His English dissolved into broken French, words tumbling out. “He said he’d rather have no son than a queer son. He told me never to call him again.”
I held him tighter as he shook and my own tears burned hot down my face. “I’m sorry. God, Étienne, I’m so sorry.”
He pulled back slightly, his face red and wet, his eyes devastated. “I have no one now. My mother’s gone. My father just disowned me. I have no family left.” His voice broke. “He was difficult, he was impossible, but he was all I had. And now I don’t even have him.”
The words shattered my soul.
“You have me,” I said, gripping his face in my hands. “Étienne, you have me.”
“Marco—”
“I’m your family now.” My voice was fierce, certain. “You hear me? I’m your family. Not by blood, but by choice. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going anywhere.”
His face crumpled again, fresh sobs tearing through him.
“You’re not alone,” I whispered against his hair, pulling him back against my chest. “You’re never going to be alone. I promise you. I’m here. I’m your family now.”
He clung to me, his fingers digging into my back, and Iheld him through it—through the grief and pain of losing a father who had never deserved him anyway.
I guided him to the couch, pulled him down beside me, let him fall apart while I held him together. Grief sat heavy in my chest—for my mother’s tears, for my father’s silence, for Étienne’s complete devastation. We’d known this was coming. We’d prepared for it. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.
“I cost you your father,” I said quietly when his sobs had subsided to shaky breathing.
“No.” Étienne lifted his head, his eyes fierce despite the tears. “He cost himself a son. That’s on him, not you.”
“But if we weren’t together?—”
“If we weren’t together, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do that. I’d still be bisexual. I’d still be lying to him. He’d still find something to pick apart.” He took my face in his hands. “I did it for myself. For you. I’d do it again, too.”
I kissed him, tasting salt from both our tears. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He rested his forehead against mine. “And I hate that loving you cost us our families. But I don’t regret it.”
We sat there for a long time, wrapped around each other, processing the wreckage of the last hour. Both our families knew, for better or worse.
And we still had to keep going. Had to tell more people. Had to keep breaking ourselves open until everyone knew.
“We can’t stop now,” I said finally. “We have to tell Kinnunen tonight.”
Étienne pulled back slightly. “Tonight? I thought we were going to wait until tomorrow?—”
“If we wait, we’ll talk ourselves out of it.” I stood andpulled him up with me. “We need to do it now while we still have the courage. Before fear wins.”
“Okay.” He took a shaky breath. “Okay. Let’s text him.”
I pulled out my phone, found Kinnunen’s contact, and typed out a text.
