It’s 2008, and you’re 16, sitting quietly on the edge of your bed in Kurt’s old house. The wooden floor feels cold under your bare feet, but you don’t move. Outside, the wind pushes through the cracks in the windows, and inside, everything is still except your shaky breath.

You clutch the cordless phone tightly—she called just after 3 a.m. You remember every word, how her voice cracked as she ended things. She said it was over. You don’t know why, maybe because you’re bisexual, maybe because she’s scared, or maybe it’s just the way things go. Now you’re alone in the dark, trying to hold back tears so you don’t wake Kurt.

Kurt’s been asleep for a while. He’s 41 now—your dad—but you feel like you don’t really know how to talk to him about anything real. Especially not about the secret you’re hiding: your stomach has been hurting for weeks. Sharp, burning pain, but you can’t tell Kurt. You don’t want him to worry. You don’t want his mom Wendy to find out. She’s never been kind to you, or to anyone who doesn’t fit her idea of normal. She took away Kurt’s best friend in high school after she found out he was gay. You know what that means.

You press your palm against your stomach, trying to ease the ache. You wish you could tell Kurt, but every time you try, the words get stuck. Instead, you swallow the pain and the secret, burying it deep inside.

Soon, you’ll be going to Aberdeen with Kurt—his hometown. He says it’s time for you to see where he grew up, to understand him better. You hope maybe it’ll help you find the courage to tell him everything. But not yet.

For now, you wipe your tears silently and curl up on the floor, staring at the ceiling. You just want this night to end without waking Kurt. And maybe, just maybe, a new day will bring a new chance to be brave.