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

Chapter 22: New Decision Darkness

The call from Rebecca came at 7:23 AM on a gray November morning, jolting Delores from restless sleep. She had been dreaming about the courthouse again—the same recurring nightmare where she stood before Judge Morrison, but this time the courtroom was filled with strangers holding photographs of her and Serina, their faces twisted with judgment and disgust.

"Delores, I need you to sit down," Rebecca's voice was carefully controlled, but Delores could hear the devastation underneath. "The Georgia Court of Appeals has issued their ruling."

Delores felt the world tilt sideways. Beside her, Serina stirred and reached for her hand, immediately sensing the gravity of the moment.

"They overturned Judge Morrison's decision," Rebecca continued, her words falling like hammer blows. "The appellate court ruled that the trial court exceeded its authority in declaring the will's moral clauses unenforceable. They've reinstated the original terms of the inheritance."

The phone slipped from Delores's fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. The sound seemed to echo through the apartment, through her chest, through the carefully constructed hope she had been nurturing since their victory months earlier.

"What does that mean?" Serina asked, though her face already showed she understood.

Delores picked up the phone with trembling hands. "Rebecca? What exactly does this mean?"

"It means Craig wins. It means you're back to the original inheritance—the pittance your parents left for what they considered moral failures. It means the appellate court has decided that discriminatory inheritance clauses are enforceable if they're dressed up in religious language."

The appellate court's written decision, which Rebecca emailed within the hour, was a masterpiece of legal doublespeak that managed to uphold discrimination while claiming to respect individual rights. Delores read it three times before the full implications sank in.

"While this court recognizes the evolving nature of societal attitudes toward gender identity and sexual orientation, we cannot substitute our judgment for that of the deceased regarding the distribution of their private property. The moral requirements outlined in the Morrison will, while perhaps outdated by contemporary standards, represent the sincere religious convictions of the testators and fall within their legal right to condition inheritance upon behavior they deemed morally acceptable."

The decision went on to praise Craig's legal team for their "thorough documentation of the beneficiary's lifestyle choices" and noted that the photographs and testimony they had gathered provided "clear evidence" that Delores had violated the will's requirements.

"They're calling our love a lifestyle choice," Serina said, reading over Delores's shoulder. "They're treating our relationship like it's a hobby we picked up, not a fundamental part of who we are."

"It gets worse," Delores said, scrolling to the section that made her stomach turn. "Listen to this: 'The trial court's reliance on testimony from Beauregard Morrison, while emotionally compelling, represents theological opinion rather than legal precedent. Religious authorities may disagree about the interpretation of moral requirements, but courts must defer to the clear intent of the deceased as expressed in legally executed documents.'"

They had dismissed Beau's testimony—the powerful, transformative words that had changed everything in the lower court—as mere opinion, irrelevant to the legal question at hand.

The media response was swift and brutal. Within hours, news outlets across the state were running stories about the "Transgender Inheritance Defeat" and the "Victory for Traditional Family Values." The comment sections that Delores had learned to avoid were filled with celebration from people who saw her loss as validation of their own prejudices.

"Finally, a court with common sense. Timothy Morrison is still a man, no matter what he calls himself."

"This is what happens when you try to force your lifestyle on normal families. The parents had every right to protect their values."

"Maybe now these people will learn that actions have consequences. You can't just declare yourself a woman and expect the world to play along."

But it was the interview Craig gave to the local news that cut deepest. Standing on the courthouse steps in his expensive suit, he spoke with the measured tone of someone who had always known he would prevail.

"This was never about money," he said, looking directly into the camera. "This was about honoring our parents' deeply held religious convictions, about respecting their right to distribute their estate according to their moral principles. The appellate court recognized that individual property rights cannot be overridden simply because society's attitudes have changed."

When the reporter asked about his relationship with his sibling, Craig's response was devastating in its calculated cruelty: "I hope Timothy can find peace with this decision and perhaps use it as an opportunity to reflect on the choices that led to this outcome. Our parents loved him, but they also had standards, and those standards deserved to be respected."

The financial implications were staggering. Instead of the substantial inheritance that would have provided security and independence, Delores was left with roughly $50,000—enough to pay her legal bills and little else. The house where she had grown up, the investments her parents had built over decades, the family business that had been in their name for generations—all of it now belonged to Craig.

But the financial loss paled in comparison to the emotional devastation. The appellate court had essentially ruled that her parents' prejudices were more important than her humanity, that discrimination was acceptable as long as it was wrapped in religious language, that her love for Serina was evidence of moral failure rather than evidence of her capacity for authentic connection.

"I feel like I've been erased," she told Dr. Martinez during an emergency therapy session. "Not just from the inheritance, but from the family itself. The court basically said that Timothy was real and I'm just a delusion, a lifestyle choice, a moral failing."

"How are you processing this legally sanctioned invalidation of your identity?"

"I'm not sure I am processing it. I keep waiting for someone to tell me this is a mistake, that there's been some error in the legal system that will be corrected." Delores felt tears starting to form. "But it's not a mistake, is it? This is just how the world works. This is what happens when you're different, when you challenge other people's comfort zones."

The impact on her relationship with Serina was immediate and devastating. The woman who had stood by her through months of legal battles, who had endured subpoenas and investigators and public scrutiny, now seemed to be pulling away, retreating into herself as the reality of their defeat sank in.

"I keep thinking about all the things we gave up," Serina said as they sat in their apartment, the appellate court decision spread across the coffee table like evidence of a crime. "All the privacy we sacrificed, all the harassment we endured, all the ways we let them turn our love into evidence against you."

"It wasn't for nothing," Delores said, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. "We fought for what was right. We stood up to discrimination. We showed the world that love is worth fighting for."

"Did we? Because right now it feels like we just provided entertainment for people who wanted to watch us fail. It feels like we gave them ammunition to use against other people who might want to fight similar battles."

Serina's words hit like physical blows because they contained a grain of truth that Delores didn't want to acknowledge. Their very public battle had indeed provided a roadmap for other families who wanted to use inheritance law to punish LGBTQ+ relatives. Their defeat would be cited in other cases, would be used to justify other forms of legal discrimination.

"So what are you saying?" Delores asked, though she was afraid of the answer.

"I'm saying I don't know if I can do this anymore. I don't know if I can keep fighting battles that we're destined to lose, keep sacrificing our privacy and peace for principles that the legal system doesn't recognize."

The conversation that followed was the most painful of their relationship. They talked about the toll the legal battle had taken, about the way their love had been weaponized against them, about the future that now seemed so much more uncertain and difficult.

"I feel like I've failed you," Delores said, her voice breaking. "I promised you that we could build something beautiful together, that our love was worth fighting for. But all I've done is drag you into a legal nightmare that ended in public humiliation."

"You didn't fail me. The system failed us. The law failed us. A society that thinks love can be evidence of moral failure failed us." Serina's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "But that doesn't make it easier to live with."

"What do you need from me? What would make this bearable?"

Serina was quiet for a long time, and when she spoke, her voice was small, defeated in a way that Delores had never heard before.

"I need to not be the poster child for a losing cause. I need to not have my love life dissected by appellate court judges. I need to not wake up every morning wondering what new way they'll find to use our relationship against us."

"Are you saying you want to break up?"

"I'm saying I don't know how to keep doing this. I don't know how to keep loving you publicly when that love is being used as evidence that you're morally deficient."

The silence that followed stretched between them like a chasm. All the words they had spoken about standing together through any challenge, about love being stronger than hate, about building something beautiful despite the obstacles—all of it seemed to crumble in the face of this devastating defeat.

"Maybe you're right," Delores said finally, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "Maybe I've been selfish, asking you to sacrifice so much for a battle we were never going to win."

"Don't say that. Don't make this about selfishness. This is about survival, about protecting what's left of our sanity and our privacy."

"But if we give up now, if we let this defeat break us apart, then Craig really has won everything. He's not just taken my inheritance—he's destroyed my relationship, my happiness, my faith that love can survive in a hostile world."

Serina looked at her with eyes full of tears and something that might have been regret. "Maybe that's the price of fighting battles we can't win. Maybe that's what it costs to challenge systems that are designed to crush people like us."

That night, Serina packed a bag and went to stay with a friend, saying she needed time to think, to process the defeat and what it meant for their future. Delores sat alone in the apartment they had shared, surrounded by the detritus of their legal battle—boxes of documents, newspaper clippings, photographs that had been used as evidence against them.

She picked up one of the photos Craig's team had taken at the art festival, the image that had once seemed like proof of their happiness but had been transformed into evidence of her moral failing. In it, she and Serina looked radiant, connected, like two people who had found something precious and were determined to protect it.

Now, that same photograph felt like a monument to naivety, to the foolish belief that love could triumph over law, that authenticity could overcome prejudice, that fighting for what was right would somehow guarantee victory.

The phone rang—Beau, calling from his new parish in Virginia where he was serving as a transitional deacon.

"I heard about the ruling," he said, his voice heavy with grief and anger. "I'm so sorry, Delores. I'm sorry the appellate court couldn't see what was so clear to everyone in that courtroom."

"Your testimony was beautiful," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It changed everything for me, even if it didn't change the final outcome."

"It should have changed the outcome. The truth should have mattered more than legal technicalities."

"But it didn't. And now I have to figure out how to live with that, how to rebuild from this defeat."

"You're not defeated," Beau said fiercely. "You're disappointed, you're hurt, you're facing financial challenges, but you're not defeated. You fought for what was right, you lived authentically, you loved openly. Those are victories that no court can take away from you."

"It doesn't feel like victory. It feels like I've lost everything—the inheritance, my relationship with Serina, my faith that the system can be fair."

"Then we build something new. We create the change we want to see instead of waiting for institutions to grant it to us."

After the call ended, Delores sat in the silence of her apartment, feeling the weight of absolute defeat settling on her shoulders. She had lost the legal battle, lost the inheritance, and was on the verge of losing the relationship that had given her the courage to fight in the first place.

The appellate court had ruled that her parents' prejudices were more important than her humanity, that discrimination was acceptable as long as it was dressed up in religious language, that her love was evidence of moral failure rather than evidence of her capacity for authentic connection.

Craig had won everything—the money, the legal precedent, the public validation of his position. He had successfully argued that Timothy was real and Delores was just a performance, that authentic love was evidence of moral deficiency, that families had the right to legally erase their children for being themselves.

But as she sat in the darkness, Delores realized something important: losing the legal battle didn't erase the truth of who she was. The appellate court could rule that she was morally deficient, but that didn't make it true. Craig could claim that Timothy was more real than Delores, but that didn't make it true. Society could treat her love as evidence of failure, but that didn't make it true.

She was still Delores. She was still worthy of love. She was still deserving of respect and dignity and the right to exist authentically in the world.

The system had failed her, but she had not failed herself. She had fought for what was right, had lived authentically, had loved openly despite the cost. Those were victories that no court could take away, truths that no legal ruling could diminish.

All was lost, but she was still standing. And as long as she was standing, there was still hope for tomorrow.

The defeat was devastating, but it was not final. The battle was lost, but the war for dignity and equality and the right to love authentically would continue.

And Delores would be part of that continuing fight, whether the legal system supported her or not, whether her family accepted her or not, whether society validated her worth or not.

She was real. Her love was real. Her truth was real.

And that was enough to build on, even in the ashes of this defeat.