“Were you open about being gay?”
“At home.”
“And at work?”
“No.”
“Were you comfortable with your sexuality?”
His laugh was dry and pained. “Depends who was asking.”
Dr. Whitcomb leaned slightly closer. “Noah, you are safe here. No one in this room judges you.”
He glanced at Leah, who nodded.
Then at me.
I kept my face still, though every instinct urged me to go to him.
“You were told that Reid is your partner,” Dr. Whitcomb said.
Noah looked away.
“Yes.”
“Do you understand what that means?”
“That you think we’re together.”
“It is not an opinion. You and Reid have shared a home and a committed romantic relationship for five years.”
His throat worked.
I could see the pulse beating there.
Dr. Whitcomb placed my phone on the table. “We chose a few photographs. You can decline to look.”
Noah closed his eye for a moment.
“Show me.”
The first photograph was from the yard’s anniversary party. Caleb and Owen stood behind us beneath a banner. Noah had one arm around my waist. I was holding a glass of beer. We both looked sunburned and happy.
He studied it without speaking.
The second showed us sitting on the stern of a sailboat. Noah’s head rested on my shoulder. Our joined hands lay between us.
The third had been taken by Leah during a coastal hike. Wind had blown Noah’s hair across his forehead. He was smiling at me instead of the camera.
I remembered the second after she captured it.
Noah had kissed the corner of my mouth and whispered that I looked like I needed rescuing from nature.
He saw none of that.
“These can be altered,” he said.
“They can,” Dr. Whitcomb agreed. “Do you believe they were?”
