Page 97 of After the Rain

"Do you ever think about what would have happened if we'd given up?" I asked. "If we'd let them win?"

"Never," Ezra said firmly. "We were always going to end up here, Wade. It might have taken longer, might have been messier, but love like ours doesn't just disappear because other people are uncomfortable with it."

Cooper burst back onto the porch, phone in hand. "Jazz cried when I told her. Happy crying. And Uncle John says he's already started writing the ceremony. And mom says she's planning the bachelor party but she won't tell me what that means."

"Sarah's planning my bachelor party?" I asked, slightly terrified.

"She says it's revenge for all the stress you put her through during the custody battle," Cooper reported cheerfully.

"Great. I'm going to die before my own wedding."

"She promises you'll live," Cooper added. "Probably."

As the three of us sat on our porch in the fading light, I felt the same completeness I'd experienced that first Christmas in this house, but deeper now, more permanent. The legal battles were behind us, our community had embraced our family, and we'd built something beautiful from all the pain and uncertainty we'd endured.

The rain that had once threatened to destroy our relationship had nourished the ground where our love now flourished. Cedar Falls had become the kind of place where all children could grow up proud of who they were and confident that love, in all its forms, would be celebrated rather than condemned.

"After the rain," I said quietly, watching fireflies begin their evening dance across our yard.

"Comes the rainbow," Ezra finished, squeezing my hand.

Our rainbow stretched across the entire sky of our shared future, bright with promise and permanent with commitment. Some storms were worth weathering for the beauty that followed, and some battles were worth fighting for the peace that endured.

I was living proof that love always wins, especially when good people refuse to let hatred have the final word. The scared, confused man who'd sat in Dr. Marlow’s office five years ago could never have imagined this moment—engaged to the love of his life, raising a confident and happy son, surrounded by a community that had chosen inclusion over prejudice.

But that man had taken the first terrifying step toward authenticity, and every step since had led us here. To this porch, this family, this love that had transformed not just our lives but our entire community.

"So," Cooper said, settling between us on the porch swing. "When do I get to start calling Papa Ezra 'Dad' too?"

Ezra's eyes filled with tears. "You can call me whatever feels right to you, kiddo."

"I think 'Dad Ezra' sounds good. That way I have Dad Wade and Dad Ezra and everyone knows I have two dads who love me."

"That sounds perfect," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

Perfect. After everything we'd been through, everything we'd survived, everything we'd built together—that was exactly what this was. Perfect in its imperfection, perfect in its hard-won happiness, perfect in its promise of forever.

In three months, I'd be Wade Harrison-Mitchell, husband. The word still felt new and miraculous, like a gift I'd never expected to receive.

After the rain, indeed, comes the rainbow. And ours was just beginning to shine.