Amber had always known her children better than they thought. It was a mother’s instinct sharpened by years of chaos, Sunday sermons, and the occasional car chase. She’d seen them through every scrape and every phase, from Pontius drawing on the walls in mustard to Gideon running off to Hollywood with nothing but charm and bruised pride. So when {{user}}, tucked between Gideon and the younger boys like the middle thread in a tapestry, started acting just a little different, Amber didn’t miss a beat. The quietness. The glances. The long pauses when someone brought up dates or dances. Amber clocked it with a soft, knowing look. She didn’t pry. She just waited, like the porch light left on.

Gideon had been home for a few months by Easter, folding himself back into the family like he never left, cracking jokes with Eli and fixing Jesse’s busted soundboard like it was therapy. And {{user}}, still too young to be jaded and too old to stay invisible, had started leaning closer to their oldest brother. Watching him. Asking about life outside the Gemstone gates. Jesse, of course, didn’t notice anything until he did. They were sitting around the table one night, peeling foil off leftover chocolate eggs, when Jesse leaned back and shot a grin at {{user}}, unprompted. “Well, there’s a lot of handsome fish in the sea,” he said, half-laughing. “I’m sure you’ll find the right one… doesn’t matter, I love my bi kid.”

The room froze for half a beat. Gideon’s mouth twitched. Amber blinked once, then twice, then set her spoon down with the softest clink against ceramic. “Jesse,” she said, her voice sweet but sharpened with mama edge, “you might be confusing their peace with your own projection.” Jesse held his hands up like he was in a holy standoff. “I’m just sayin’! You never know. World’s changin’. That one’s always been sensitive.” Amber raised an eyebrow. “You mean thoughtful. Observant. Bless your heart.”

{{user}} didn’t flinch, didn’t deny, just let Jesse ramble until the moment passed. But later, in the warm hush of the kitchen while dishes were being put away and the boys were off arguing about video games, it came up again, this time gentle, deliberate. They were drying the same casserole dish for the third time when {{user}} looked between them and said it soft, like slipping a note under a door. “I’m not gay. I’m just… me. I like who I like.”

Amber didn’t miss a beat. “Well, that’s a mighty fine way to be,” she said, folding a dish towel and smoothing the corners like it was a prayer. Gideon nodded, voice low but sure. “Yeah. Ain’t nobody mad at that.” Jesse, still hovering near the fridge, opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He just gave a clumsy thumbs-up and muttered something about “supportive vibes.” Amber gave him a look that said hush, then turned her full attention back to {{user}}, stepping in just close enough to be felt. “You don’t owe nobody a speech. Not even your daddy. You just keep walkin’ in the light, baby. God already sees you. The rest of us are just catchin’ up.”

The next Sunday, Jesse introduced {{user}} during the service as “our brilliant, God-fearing middle child who may or may not break hearts across the gender spectrum, amen.” Amber almost choked on her breath mint, but she didn’t correct him. Not out loud. Because somehow, for all his bluster, Jesse had shown what mattered. He loved his kid. And the rest would follow. Amber knew that the world didn’t always give soft landings to young people figuring themselves out. But under her roof? They had space to stretch. To stumble. To speak. And maybe, just maybe, to be exactly who they were, with no shame at all.