Shadows of Acceptance, Echoes of Love / Chapter 3: Meeting Dylan, Facing Truths
Shadows of Acceptance, Echoes of Love

Shadows of Acceptance, Echoes of Love

Author: Hunter Farrell


Chapter 3: Meeting Dylan, Facing Truths

Tapping the notes on the desk, she looked at me.

Her fingers drummed a restless rhythm, her eyes searching mine for weakness. I held her gaze, refusing to back down.

"These were written to him by Dylan Ortega."

The name landed between us like a stone. I searched my memory, trying to recall if I’d ever heard it before.

"A boy, failing most of his classes."

She said it with a kind of disdain, as if his grades defined him. I bristled at the judgment in her tone.

"He looks delicate and shy. I never expected him to do something like this."

Her words were laced with suspicion, as if being quiet made him suspect. I wondered what kind of home he came from, what burdens he carried.

"If I’d known, I would never have made them lab partners."

She shook her head, regretful. I thought of all the times partnerships were assigned without a second thought, never knowing what might blossom—or break—in the process.

"Underage, blindly following this trend of liking boys—he’ll ruin his whole life."

She sounded so certain, so final. I felt anger rising in me, but I kept it in check. This wasn’t about her beliefs—it was about my son.

It took me a moment to process what she meant by "boy."

The word echoed in my mind, reshaping everything I thought I knew. I looked at my son, searching for answers in his face.

She kept talking, and I slowly understood.

Her words blurred together, a litany of warnings and fears. I tried to focus, to piece together the truth beneath the panic.

A crush.

With a boy—his lab partner.

The realization hit me like cold water. I remembered the way he’d talked about his partner at dinner, the fondness in his voice. It all made sense now.

He’d told me his new partner had no mom, worked hard but just couldn’t keep up, and that he wanted to help him.

He’d been so earnest, asking if we could buy extra supplies for the lab, if we could invite him over for dinner. I’d thought he was just being kind.

At the start of the semester, he often mentioned his new partner to me.

He’d tell stories about their experiments, about how they made each other laugh. I’d smiled, happy he’d found a friend.

I thought they were good friends, but now things had gotten this far.

It was more complicated than I’d realized. Friendship, affection, maybe something deeper—I wasn’t sure.

Far more complicated than I thought.

I felt a wave of guilt for not seeing it sooner, for not asking more questions. I wondered what else I’d missed.

Not because I object to homosexuality, but because—how does he know what kind of person he is?

He’s so young, still figuring out the world. I worried he was rushing into something he didn’t fully understand, that he might get hurt.

He’s a teenager.

Teenagers feel everything so intensely, like the world is ending or beginning every day. I remembered what that was like.

If someone led him down the wrong path, that worries me.

I didn’t want him to be pressured, to make choices for the wrong reasons. I wanted him to be sure, to be safe.

If, after doubting himself over and over, he finally confirms and accepts who he is, that worries me too.

Because I knew the world wouldn’t always be kind. I worried about what he might face—judgment, cruelty, heartbreak.

But he’s never shown any signs of being gay before, not even when he saw that beautiful older girl in our neighborhood.

He’d blushed when she walked by, joked with me about having a crush. I’d assumed he was just like any other teenage boy.

He would joke with me: "Mom, I like that girl."

I’d tease him back, pretending to be shocked. It was our little game.

"Aren’t you embarrassed? So young and already acting up."

He’d laugh, rolling his eyes, and I’d ruffle his hair. Those moments felt so simple, so easy.

"All these notes were passed to him by that boy, I saw it very clearly."

The principal’s voice cut through my memories, sharp and certain. She stacked the notes in front of me, as if they were evidence in a trial.

"Ask him and he says nothing, ask again and he still says nothing."

Her frustration was palpable. I could see she’d already made up her mind about both boys.

The principal was clearly upset. I know my son well.

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