The author was inspired by these words in writing the title and this novel and gives thanks to THE ONE above.

Chapter 9: Beau and THE ONE

The morning light filtered through the blinds of Delores's apartment as she sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by legal documents, coffee cups, and the weight of an impossible decision. Rebecca Chen's words from the previous evening echoed in her mind: "Are you prepared for that level of scrutiny?" The question had seemed rhetorical at the time, but now, in the stark clarity of dawn, it felt like the most important question she had ever been asked.

Her laptop was open to a legal website explaining inheritance disputes, the screen filled with terms like "discovery process," "depositions," and "character witnesses." Each phrase felt like a small violence, a reminder that her most private moments would soon become public record, dissected by strangers who would judge her worthiness based on criteria she had never agreed to accept.

The celibacy clause haunted her most. Rebecca had been blunt about its implications: any romantic relationship, any hint of sexual activity, any evidence that she wasn't living as a nun would be used to disqualify her from the inheritance. It was a trap designed by parents who couldn't accept their daughter's sexuality, weaponized by a brother who saw her love as a liability to his bank account.

But what if I could prove celibacy? The thought had been circling her mind since she'd first read the will. What if I could satisfy their conditions, claim the inheritance, and then live my life however I chose?

It would mean lying, of course. It would mean hiding any romantic relationships, avoiding the support group where she might meet someone special, living in the shadows of her own life. But it would also mean financial security, family recognition, and victory over Craig's attempt to erase her.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Maria: Coffee this morning? You've been MIA and I'm worried.

Delores stared at the message, realizing she had been isolating herself since the will reading, pulling away from friends who might complicate her legal position. Maria was wonderful—warm, funny, politically engaged, exactly the kind of person Delores enjoyed spending time with. But Maria was also openly lesbian, visibly queer, the kind of friend whose very presence in Delores's life could be twisted into evidence of moral failing.

She typed and deleted several responses before settling on: Rain check again? Still dealing with family legal stuff.

The lie tasted bitter, but it felt safer than the truth. Safer than admitting that she was considering sacrificing her authentic relationships to satisfy the prejudices of dead parents and a greedy brother.

Rebecca Chen's office occupied the third floor of a converted Victorian house in Virginia-Highland, its warm wood paneling and comfortable furniture designed to put clients at ease during difficult conversations. But Delores felt anything but at ease as she sat across from the attorney, legal documents spread between them like evidence of a crime.

"I've been thinking about our strategy," Delores began, her voice carefully controlled. "About the celibacy requirement."

Rebecca looked up from her notes, her expression neutral but attentive. "What about it?"

"What if I could prove it? What if I could satisfy that condition and eliminate Craig's strongest argument against me?"

"You mean live celibately for the duration of the legal proceedings?"

"I mean... what if I already am? What if I have been for the past two years?" Delores's words came out in a rush. "I haven't been in a serious relationship since my ex and I broke up. I could document that, provide evidence, show the court that I'm meeting their requirements."

Rebecca set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. "Delores, I need you to think very carefully about what you're suggesting. Are you talking about proving a negative—that you haven't been sexually active—or are you talking about committing to celibacy going forward?"

"Both. Either. Whatever it takes to win."

"And what happens after you win? Do you plan to remain celibate for the rest of your life to honor your parents' wishes? Or do you plan to live authentically once the inheritance is secure?"

The question hung in the air between them, exposing the fundamental dishonesty of Delores's proposal. She would be trading her right to love for her right to inherit, sacrificing her future happiness for present financial security.

"I don't know," Delores admitted. "I just know that I can't let Craig win. I can't let him use my sexuality against me, can't let him prove that Timothy was more real than I am."

Rebecca leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. "Delores, I've been practicing law for fifteen years, and I've seen what happens when people compromise their authentic selves to satisfy legal requirements. It never ends well. You might win the inheritance, but you'll lose something much more valuable in the process."

"What's more valuable than being recognized as my parents' daughter?"

"Being recognized as yourself. By yourself." Rebecca picked up a framed photo from her desk—a picture of herself with a woman and two children, all of them laughing at some shared joke. "This is my family. My wife, our kids. For years, I hid this part of my life because I thought it would hurt my career, damage my reputation, make me less effective as an attorney."

"What changed?"

"I realized that I was already less effective because I was spending so much energy hiding who I was. I was less present, less authentic, less able to connect with clients who needed someone who understood what it meant to live in the margins." Rebecca set the photo down carefully. "The day I stopped hiding was the day I became the lawyer I was meant to be."

Delores felt tears threatening. "But you didn't have to choose between your family and your authenticity. You didn't have to prove your worth to people who had already decided you weren't worth loving."

"No, I didn't. But you don't have to make that choice either. You're assuming that the only way to win is to play by their rules, to accept their definition of worthiness. But what if there's another way? What if we challenge the rules themselves?"

"The will is clear—"

"The will is discriminatory. It violates public policy. It treats you as less than human because of who you are and who you love." Rebecca's voice grew stronger, more passionate. "We don't have to accept that discrimination. We can fight it, challenge it, expose it for what it is—prejudice disguised as moral principle."

Delores was quiet for a long moment, wrestling with the competing voices in her head. The practical voice that whispered about financial security and family recognition. The fearful voice that warned about the risks of authentic living. And underneath it all, a quieter voice that sounded suspiciously like Janet from the support group: True family sees the soul before the shell.

"What if we lose?" Delores asked finally.

"Then we lose fighting for what's right instead of winning by accepting what's wrong. Then we lose with our integrity intact instead of winning with our souls compromised." Rebecca's expression softened. "Delores, I can't make this decision for you. But I can tell you that in my experience, the victories that require us to betray ourselves are the most hollow ones of all."

That evening, Delores found herself walking through Piedmont Park, needing movement and fresh air to process the day's conversations. The park was busy with evening joggers and dog walkers, families enjoying the mild October weather, couples holding hands as they strolled past the lake.

The couples were what caught her attention most—the easy intimacy, the casual affection, the simple freedom to love openly without fear of legal consequences. An elderly man and woman sat on a bench sharing a newspaper, their fingers intertwined after what was probably decades of marriage. Two women pushed a stroller together, their wedding rings catching the late sunlight. A young man had his arm around another man's shoulders as they watched their dog chase a frisbee.

All of them living authentically, loving openly, claiming their right to happiness without apology or explanation. All of them taking for granted the very thing that Delores was being asked to sacrifice for money.

Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. The caller ID showed a number she didn't recognize, but the area code was local.

"Hello?"

"Delores? This is Beau. I'm at the airport."

Her heart skipped. "You're home."

"Just landed. I was wondering... could we meet somewhere? I know it's late, but I'd really like to talk before I see Craig or deal with any of the legal stuff."

Delores looked around the park, at all the people living their authentic lives without fear. "Are you hungry? There's a diner near the park where we could grab dinner."

"That sounds perfect. Text me the address?"

The Majestic Diner was exactly the kind of place where difficult conversations could happen—busy enough to provide privacy through noise, casual enough to avoid pretension, open late enough to accommodate a brother returning from war and a sister preparing for legal battle.

Delores arrived first and chose a booth in the back corner, her hands wrapped around a coffee cup as she watched the door for Beau's arrival. She hadn't seen him in person since their father's funeral, and she wasn't sure what to expect. The Beau who had left for Iraq eight months ago had been conflicted about her identity, caught between love and inherited prejudice. The Beau returning might be different, or he might be exactly the same.

When he walked through the door, she recognized him immediately despite the changes. He was leaner, more weathered, carrying himself with the careful alertness of someone who had spent months in a war zone. But his eyes were different—clearer somehow, more settled, as if he had found answers to questions that had been troubling him for years.

He spotted her and smiled, and in that smile she saw something she hadn't seen since before her transition: uncomplicated affection. Not the careful politeness that had characterized their recent interactions, not the strained tolerance of someone trying to do the right thing despite their discomfort, but genuine warmth.

"Delores." He slid into the booth across from her, and she noticed that he used her name without hesitation, without the careful pause that had always preceded it before. "You look good. Tired, but good."

"You look different. Older, maybe. Or just... I don't know, more settled?"

"Seminary will do that to you." Beau signaled the waitress for coffee. "Eight months of studying theology while dodging mortars has a way of clarifying your priorities."

They ordered food—comfort food, the kind of meal that felt appropriate for a conversation that might change everything between them. As they waited, Beau reached across the table and took her hand, a gesture so unexpected that Delores felt tears spring to her eyes.

"I owe you an apology," he said quietly. "Actually, I owe you about sixteen years' worth of apologies, but I'll start with the most recent ones."

"Beau—"

"Let me say this, please. I've been thinking about it for months, and I need to get it right." He squeezed her hand gently. "I'm sorry for not seeing you. I'm sorry for being so caught up in my own confusion that I couldn't recognize your courage. I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to earn my acceptance instead of just giving it freely."

Delores felt the tears spill over. "I never expected you to understand immediately. I knew it was hard—"

"It shouldn't have been hard to love my sister. It shouldn't have been complicated to see that you were happier, more yourself, more alive after your transition. It shouldn't have taken me eight months overseas and a seminary education to realize that THE ONE's love doesn't come with gender requirements."

The phrase hit Delores like a physical blow—not painful, but startling in its power. "THE ONE's love?"

"It's what I've learned to call the divine. More inclusive than the language I grew up with, more honest about the nature of unconditional love." Beau's expression grew more serious. "Delores, I need you to know something. I'm coming home as an ordained minister in the Episcopal Church. I'm coming home with new understanding of what faith really means, what family really means, what love really means."

"And what does it mean?"

"It means that you are exactly who THE ONE created you to be. Not a mistake to be corrected, not a test to be endured, but a beloved daughter whose authentic life is a gift to the world." Beau's voice grew stronger, more confident. "It means that anyone who can't see that is missing out on knowing something beautiful."

The waitress brought their food, but neither of them moved to eat. They sat in the emotional weight of Beau's words, in the recognition that something fundamental had shifted between them.

"Craig called me," Beau said finally. "He told me about the will, about his legal challenge. He tried to frame it as upholding family values, but I know what it really is."

"What is it?"

"It's greed disguised as moral superiority. It's using our parents' prejudices to justify his own financial interests. It's everything that's wrong with the kind of religion I was raised in—the kind that excludes instead of includes, that judges instead of loves, that sees shells instead of souls."

Delores felt something loosening in her chest, a tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying. "So you're not here to try to talk me out of fighting this?"

"I'm here to ask if you'll let me fight with you. As your brother, as a minister, as someone who finally understands what THE ONE's love really looks like." Beau's eyes were bright with determination. "I'm here to tell you that you're not alone in this, that you have family who sees you and loves you exactly as you are."

"Even if it costs you money? Even if it means going against Craig?"

"Especially then. Money is just money, Delores. But family—real family, the kind that sees souls before shells—that's everything." Beau finally picked up his fork, then set it down again. "I have something else to tell you. I'm being ordained as a transitional deacon next month, on my way to becoming a priest. And the Episcopal Church... they're fully inclusive. They celebrate LGBTQ+ members, ordain them, marry them, welcome them as full participants in the life of the church."

Delores stared at him, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. "You're saying..."

"I'm saying that when this legal battle is over, when you've claimed your rightful place in this family, I'd be honored to officiate at your wedding if you ever find someone you want to marry. I'm saying that THE ONE's love is big enough to include all of us, and I'm finally ready to live like I believe that."

The tears came freely now, tears of relief and joy and the kind of hope she had almost given up on. This was what she had been fighting for without even knowing it—not just financial recognition, but family recognition. Not just legal victory, but the victory of being seen and loved for who she really was.

"So what do we do about Craig?" she asked when she could speak again.

"We fight him. We challenge the discriminatory clauses in the will. We show the court that love is love, that family is family, that THE ONE's children deserve equal treatment regardless of who they are or who they love." Beau's expression grew fierce. "And if he wants to use religion to justify his greed, he'll have to get past a minister who actually understands what THE ONE's love looks like."

Delores felt the last of her doubt dissolving. The choice she had been wrestling with—between authenticity and inheritance, between love and money, between her true self and her family's approval—suddenly seemed clear. She didn't have to choose. She could fight for both, could demand recognition as both her parents' daughter and as the woman she had always been inside.

"Rebecca asked me today if I was willing to live celibately to satisfy the will's requirements," she said. "I was actually considering it."

"And now?"

"Now I think that's exactly the kind of compromise that would make this victory meaningless. If I have to deny who I am to claim my inheritance, then I haven't really won anything at all."

Beau smiled, and in that smile she saw not just her brother but her ally, her advocate, her family in the truest sense of the word. "Then we fight for everything. We fight for your inheritance, your identity, your right to love whoever makes you happy. We fight for the kind of family that sees souls before shells."

"Even if we lose?"

"Especially if we lose. Because some battles are worth fighting regardless of the outcome. Some truths are worth defending even when the cost is high." Beau reached across the table and took her hand again. "Besides, I don't think we're going to lose. I think THE ONE's love is stronger than human prejudice, and I think the truth has a way of winning in the end."

As they finally began to eat their dinner, Delores felt something she hadn't felt since the will reading: genuine hope. Not the fragile hope that depended on favorable outcomes, but the deeper hope that came from knowing she wasn't alone, that she had family who saw her truth, that she was worthy of love exactly as she was.

The debate was over. The choice was made. She would fight for her inheritance without compromising her authenticity, would demand recognition without sacrificing her right to love. She would trust that THE ONE's love was bigger than human prejudice, stronger than legal challenges, more real than any document could capture.

And she would not fight alone.

The battle ahead would be difficult, public, emotionally devastating. But she would face it as herself—fully, authentically, unapologetically herself. Because that was what THE ONE's love demanded: not perfection, not conformity, not the sacrifice of truth for comfort.

THE ONE's love demanded her soul, her life, her all. And she was finally ready to give it.