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

Chapter 14: Friendship to Fervor

The text message arrived at 11:47 PM on a Thursday night, just as Delores was settling into bed with a cup of chamomile tea and her journal. She had been writing about recounting the story to Paula of Delores and Serina's connection and legal issues at the coffee date three days earlier, trying to capture the feeling of connection that had surprised her with its intensity, when her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

Serina: I know it's late, but I can't sleep. Keep thinking about our conversation. Want to talk?

Delores stared at the screen, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. She had been thinking about Serina too—about the way she listened with complete attention, about the warmth in her eyes when she smiled, about the moment when their hands had touched across the café table and everything else had seemed to fade into background noise.

Delores: I'm awake. Call me?

The phone rang within seconds, and Serina's voice filled her bedroom with warmth and something that might have been nervous energy.

"I hope I'm not overstepping," Serina began without preamble. "But I keep replaying our conversation about your legal situation, and I can't shake the feeling that you're carrying this burden alone when you don't have to."

Delores set down her tea and settled back against her pillows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you talked about fighting for your authenticity, about refusing to hide who you are, but you seemed so... isolated. Like you're preparing for a battle with no allies, no support system."

"I have support. My attorney, my friend Maria, my therapist—"

"But do you have someone who understands what it's like to have your family use your identity as a weapon against you? Someone who's been through the specific kind of rejection that comes from being lesbian in a world that would prefer you didn't exist?"

The question hung in the air between them, and Delores felt something loosening in her chest. She had been so focused on the legal aspects of her situation that she hadn't fully considered the emotional toll, the way Craig's challenge was reopening wounds she thought had healed.

"No," she admitted quietly. "I don't think I do."

"Then let me be that person. Let me be someone who understands what you're going through, who can remind you that you're not alone in this fight."

Delores felt tears starting to form. "Serina, you barely know me. Why would you want to take on someone else's family drama?"

"Because I know what it's like to have your existence challenged by the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. I know what it's like to have to prove your worth to people who have already decided you're not worth loving." Serina's voice grew stronger, more passionate. "And I know what it's like to need someone in your corner who sees your truth, who believes in your worth, who refuses to let you disappear into other people's definitions of who you should be."

"I don't want to burden you—"

"You're not a burden, Delores. You're a person fighting for the right to exist authentically, and that's something I believe in with my whole heart. Besides," and here Serina's voice took on a slightly teasing tone, "I'm pretty sure I'm getting something out of this arrangement too."

"What's that?"

"The chance to get to know someone who has the courage to choose truth over comfort, authenticity over safety. The chance to spend time with someone who makes me feel less alone in my own journey."

They talked until nearly 2 AM, their conversation meandering through topics both profound and mundane. Serina told her about her work with LGBTQ+ youth, about the kids who reminded her of herself at their age—scared, confused, desperate for someone to tell them they were worthy of love exactly as they were.

"There's this one kid, Marcus," Serina said, her voice soft with affection. "Fifteen years old, thrown out by his parents when he came out as trans. He's been living with a foster family for six months now, and he's just starting to believe that maybe he deserves to be happy."

"That must be incredibly rewarding work."

"It is. But it's also heartbreaking sometimes. These kids have been told they're wrong, broken, unworthy of love. It takes time to help them see that the problem isn't with them—it's with a world that can't handle their authenticity."

Delores thought about her own teenage years, about the way she had internalized her parents' discomfort with her true self, about the decades it had taken to unlearn the shame that had been taught to her.

"I wish I'd had someone like you when I was that age," she said. "Someone who understood what I was going through, who could have told me that the feelings I was having were normal and valid."

"What was it like for you? Growing up, I mean."

Delores found herself telling Serina things she had never shared with anyone—about the childhood moments when she had glimpsed her true self, about the years of performing masculinity to make her parents comfortable, about the way she had counted down the days until her eighteenth birthday like a prisoner marking time until freedom.

"I remember being maybe twelve years old and finding this old dress of my mother's in the attic," she said. "Just for a few minutes, I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror, and for the first time in my life, I saw who I really was. But then I heard my father coming up the stairs, and I ripped it off so fast I tore the fabric."

"Did he see?"

"No, but I spent the next week terrified that he would somehow know, that he would see the truth written on my face. I threw the dress away and tried to forget that moment ever happened."

"But you didn't forget."

"No, I didn't forget. It became like this secret knowledge, this understanding that there was another version of myself waiting somewhere, if I could just figure out how to find her."

Serina was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you had to carry that alone for so long. I'm sorry your parents couldn't see the gift they had in you."

"What about you? What was your experience like?"

Serina told her about growing up in a conservative religious household, about the years of trying to be the daughter her parents wanted while knowing she was actually lesbian, about the way she had finally found the courage to come out in college when she was far enough away from home to explore her truth safely.

"The hardest part wasn't the coming out itself," she said. "It was watching my parents grieve for someone who had never really existed. They kept talking about losing their daughter, but I wanted to tell them that their daughter had been dying a little more each day from having to pretend to be someone else."

"Do you ever regret it? The coming out, I mean?"

"Never. Not for a single second. Even with all the pain, all the rejection, all the challenges—I've never regretted choosing to live authentically. Because the alternative was disappearing entirely, and I decided I'd rather exist authentically and alone than exist inauthentically with people who couldn't really see me."

As the conversation continued, Delores felt something shifting between them—a deepening of connection that went beyond shared experience to something more intimate, more charged with possibility. There were moments when Serina's laughter made her stomach flutter, when the warmth in her voice made her wish they were having this conversation in person rather than over the phone.

"I have a confession," Serina said as the clock approached 2 AM. "I've been thinking about you a lot since our coffee date. More than I probably should, given that we barely know each other."

Delores felt her cheeks warm. "What kind of thinking?"

"The kind where I replay our conversation over and over, where I find myself smiling at random moments when I remember something you said, where I catch myself wondering what you're doing and whether you're thinking about me too."

"I am thinking about you. I've been thinking about you since the moment we met, actually. There's something about you that just... I don't know how to explain it."

"Try."

Delores took a deep breath, gathering courage for honesty. "You make me feel seen. Not just understood, but actually seen, like you're looking at who I really am instead of who you think I should be. And you make me feel like maybe I don't have to carry everything alone, like maybe there's someone who would choose to stand with me even when things get complicated."

"There is someone. I'm someone. I'm choosing to stand with you, Delores, whatever comes next."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with promise and possibility. Delores felt something fundamental shifting inside her chest, a wall coming down that she hadn't even realized she had built.

"I should probably let you get some sleep," she said, though the last thing she wanted was to end this conversation.

"Probably. But I don't want to hang up."

"Neither do I."

"What if... what if we don't? What if we just stay on the phone until we fall asleep? I know it sounds silly, but I like the idea of not being alone tonight."

Delores smiled, settling deeper into her pillows. "I'd like that too."

They talked for another hour in increasingly sleepy voices, their conversation becoming more intimate as exhaustion lowered their defenses. Serina told her about the poetry she wrote but never shared, about her dream of opening a residential program for LGBTQ+ youth who had been rejected by their families. Delores shared her secret ambition to write a book about her transition experience, about the way she sometimes felt like she was living multiple lives simultaneously.

"I keep thinking about what you said earlier," Delores murmured, her voice heavy with approaching sleep. "About choosing to exist authentically and alone rather than inauthentically with people who can't see you."

"What about it?"

"I think I've been so afraid of being alone that I've been willing to make myself smaller, to hide parts of myself to avoid rejection. But talking to you tonight... I'm starting to think that maybe being alone isn't the worst thing that could happen to me."

"What would be worse?"

"Being surrounded by people who love an idea of me instead of the reality of me. Being accepted for a performance instead of being seen for who I really am."

"You don't have to choose between authenticity and connection, you know. There are people who will love you exactly as you are, who will see your truth and choose to stay."

"People like you?"

"People like me. People like the friends you've already found, the chosen family you've already built. People who understand that love isn't about conformity—it's about seeing someone's soul and choosing to honor it."

Delores felt tears sliding down her cheeks, but they were good tears—tears of relief and hope and the kind of connection she had been afraid to hope for.

"Serina?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you. For tonight, for listening, for making me feel less alone in all of this."

"Thank you for trusting me with your story. For letting me in."

They fell asleep with the phone line still open, their breathing gradually synchronizing across the digital connection. When Delores woke the next morning, she could hear Serina's gentle snores through the speaker, and she lay still for several minutes just listening, marveling at the intimacy of shared sleep even at a distance.

When Serina finally stirred, her voice was husky with sleep and something that might have been contentment.

"Good morning, beautiful."

"Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in months. There's something comforting about not being alone, even if it's just over the phone."

Delores stretched, feeling more rested than she had since the will reading despite getting only a few hours of sleep. "I know what you mean. I kept waking up and hearing you breathing, and it made me feel... safe, I guess."

"I'd like to make you feel safe in person again. If you're interested."

"I'm very interested. What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner tonight? Somewhere we can talk without worrying about closing time or other people listening in. Somewhere we can just... be ourselves without any performance or pretense."

Delores felt her heart racing with anticipation and something that might have been the beginning of love. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

After they hung up, Delores lay in bed for a long time, processing the shift that had occurred overnight. Something had changed between them during those hours of conversation—they had moved from cautious friendship to something deeper, more intimate, more charged with romantic possibility.

She thought about the legal battle ahead, about the way Craig's team would scrutinize every relationship in her life, about the risk of involving someone else in her family's toxic drama. But she also thought about Serina's words: You don't have to choose between authenticity and connection.

Maybe it was time to stop protecting herself from love in order to protect herself from judgment. Maybe it was time to trust that the right person would choose to stand with her regardless of the complications, would see her truth and choose to honor it even when the cost was high.

Maybe it was time to let herself fall in love.

The friendship had become something more overnight—not through any dramatic declaration or physical intimacy, but through the simple act of choosing to be vulnerable with each other, to share their truths without reservation, to offer comfort and understanding in the dark hours when defenses were down.

Tonight, they would see where that vulnerability led them. Tonight, they would discover whether the connection they had built over the phone could translate to the physical world, whether the intimacy of shared stories could become the foundation for something deeper.

Delores smiled as she finally got out of bed and began preparing for the day. Whatever happened next, she was no longer facing her legal battle alone. She had found someone who understood her journey, who saw her truth, who was willing to stand with her regardless of what it might cost.

She had found someone who might just be worth fighting for.

The fervor was building—not just romantic fervor, but the passionate commitment to authentic living that came from finding someone who reflected back your own worth, who reminded you that you were deserving of love exactly as you were.

Tonight would change everything. Tonight, friendship would become something more, and Delores would have to decide whether she was brave enough to love openly despite the legal risks, whether she was ready to fight for her heart as well as her inheritance.

She was ready. For the first time in her life, she was completely ready.