Happy Monday, Reader,

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Not gonna lie. I sat down to write this week's newsletter and... nothing. The words aren't coming, the inspiration isn't there, and I'm not about to force something just to fill your inbox.

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So instead, I'm doing something I don't usually do. I'm sharing a chapter from a novella I wrote last year.

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It's about a young man coming out to his family over Sunday dinner. It doesn't go how he hopes. Maybe you'll recognize something in it. Maybe you won't. Either way, it's mine, and today it feels right to share it with you.

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Thanks for being here, even when the newsletters look different than usual.

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The dining room was filled with the familiar smells of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans—a Sunday staple in their house, just as much a ritual as church. The warm, savory scents usually brought Eli comfort, but tonight they felt heavy, cloying, pressing down on him as he sat there, trying to calm his breathing.

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He looked down at his plate, his fingers gripping the fork tightly enough to make his knuckles pale. Across from him, his younger brother, Noah, was already halfway through his meal, blissfully unaware, focused on shoveling potatoes into his mouth. Eli swallowed, his throat dry, as he glanced around the table.

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His mother moved with her usual graceful efficiency, setting down plates and smoothing her apron with a warm smile. She radiated calm, almost humming as she took her seat. His father, always the quiet center of the family, sat at the end of the table, his presence normally a source of comfort. But tonight, even his father’s familiar calm felt distant, like something Eli could see but not reach.

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A wave of anxiety washed over him. He’d gone over this moment a thousand times in his mind, preparing the words, imagining how he might say it. Yet now, with everyone around him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his words would shatter something unspoken, something fragile and precious in their family. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

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Just say it, he told himself, his heart hammering. You’ve held this in long enough. Just tell them.

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But every time he tried to open his mouth, he could feel the pressure of years of sermons, of his mother’s voice talking about “God’s plan” and “doing what’s right.” He’d hoped, prayed even, that one day he’d wake up and this feeling would be gone, that he’d be... different. But here he was, still the same, with the truth burning inside him like a fuse waiting to be lit.

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Suddenly, his mother broke the silence, her familiar voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Eli, aren’t you hungry? You’ve hardly touched your food,” she said, her brow creasing with concern.

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Eli forced himself to look up, managing a small, tense smile. “I’m… I’m okay, Mom. I just… I wanted to talk to you. To all of you.” He could feel his pulse quicken, a nervous flutter deep in his stomach.

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His mother’s expression softened, her eyes lighting up with that same warmth he’d always found so reassuring. She shared a quick, amused glance with his father, as if expecting him to announce something charmingly naive. “Well, we’re all ears,” she said, her voice gentle, encouraging.

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Eli’s hands trembled under the table, his fingers curling into fists. He glanced at his father, who gave him a small, reassuring nod, but it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. Eli took a deep breath and looked back at his mother, her face open and expectant.

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“Mom… Dad…” His voice came out barely louder than a whisper, and he had to swallow before trying again. “I think you should know… I’ve been struggling to find a way to say it… But… I’m gay. I like boys…”

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A silence stretched between them, growing thick and suffocating, and Eli’s heart pounded as he watched his mother’s face. Her expression wavered, flickering between surprise and something he couldn’t quite place. For a moment, he saw a shadow of confusion, almost disbelief, in her eyes.

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Then, she let out a small, soft laugh, one that usually reassured him, but now felt like a sting. She shook her head, smiling as though he’d just made a charming mistake. “Oh, Eli, honey, don’t be silly. You’re far too young to know anything about all that,” she said lightly. “Besides, you haven’t even dated yet!”

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The words hit him like a slap, a cold wave of dismissal that left him feeling raw and exposed. All the courage he’d spent years building crumbled, leaving a hollowness in its place. He’d spent so long finding the words, so many nights lying awake, feeling like he was broken, something that would never be fixed. And here she was, brushing it all away as if it were nothing.

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“Mom, please,” he said, his voice trembling, barely able to keep the emotion from spilling over. “I know you think I’m too young, but this is real. I’ve known for a long time.”

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She waved her hand, brushing away his words as if they were a passing inconvenience, her smile staying intact. “Eli, honey, don’t worry yourself with these things. You’ll meet a nice girl one day, and everything will make sense. You’ll see.”

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The finality in her tone hit him like a blow to the chest. He looked down, blinking back the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes, his hands curling tighter beneath the table. She doesn’t hear you. She won’t hear you. No matter what you say.

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He chanced a glance at his father, hoping for some sign of understanding. But his father’s face was troubled, his gaze fixed on the table, his jaw clenched tight. Eli felt a sharp pang of betrayal, like a hollow ache deep in his chest. He’d thought his dad would understand, or at least try to. But even his father’s silence felt like an unspoken agreement with his mother, a quiet dismissal that stung just as much.

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Eli could feel the words piling up inside, the ache in his chest growing heavier with each second. Why can’t she just listen? Why can’t she see me?

He took a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he tried one last time. “Mom… please. I’m trying to tell you who I am. Can’t you just… listen?”

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She reached across the table, her hand warm as she squeezed his, her face softening with that same sad patience she’d used with him as a child. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You’re just confused. There’s a girl at church—Sarah. You know her, don’t you? She’s a lovely girl. And she’d be so happy if you asked her to the church picnic next weekend.”

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Eli’s chest tightened, his breaths coming short and fast. He felt trapped, cornered by her certainty, her unyielding belief in a version of him that didn’t exist. Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you just love me for who I am?

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“I don’t want to go out with Sarah,” he said, barely able to keep the frustration from boiling over. “I don’t feel that way about her. Or… or about any girl.”

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Her face softened again, and she smiled, her eyes filled with a sad, almost pitying patience. “You’ll feel differently one day, Eli. It’s just a matter of time.”

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The words echoed in his mind, each one twisting deeper, a reminder that he was invisible to her—that the person he truly was, the truth he’d tried so hard to accept, was something she’d never see.

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Across the table, Noah looked up, his small face scrunched in concern as he watched Eli.

“Eli? Are you okay?”

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Eli forced a smile, though it felt like shards of glass in his chest. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice barely holding. “I’m fine.”

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But he wasn’t fine. He felt like he was breaking, every word she spoke tearing at him, making him feel smaller, invisible. And the worst part was that no one at this table—not his mother, not his father, not even his little brother—could see it.

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His father’s hand rested on his shoulder, a small, silent comfort that felt distant, barely reaching the hurt inside him. His mother’s gaze lingered, still filled with that infuriating, unshakable belief in her own version of him, a version he knew he could never be.

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You have to let me go, he wanted to scream. You have to let me be who I am.

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But the words stayed trapped inside, buried beneath years of silence and fear, and he knew, deep down, that they might never come out.

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A note on this story:

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I wrote this for a class assignment, but that's not really true. Not in any way that matters.

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I wrote it because I read a Reddit post I couldn't stop thinking about. A father asking strangers if he was an asshole for taking his two sons and leaving his wife the moment he found out she was planning to send their eldest to conversion therapy. He packed their bags while she was at work. He didn't look back.

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The post gutted me. It lived in my chest for days, this ache I couldn't name. So I did what I always do when something hurts too much to hold. I wrote it out.

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This story is what came. Just under 10,000 words of trying to understand what happens when the people who are supposed to love you can't see you. When Sunday dinner becomes the moment everything breaks.

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I don't share my fiction here often. But some stories demand to exist, and this was one of them. It'll be here with my regular content for anyone who needs to read it.

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Until next time,