Little word from the author : Because fuck off. English isn't my mothertongue.

Francis stared at his cellphone, standing still in the middle of the kitchen. Arthur was beside him, also mesmerized by the tiny touchscreen. They were married for five years, as soon as they had set a foot on the - at the time - foreigner soil. Their dream was to live their love in broad daylight and to be united by law.

And their dream had come true, changing into a fairy tale in this country qualified as the free world's leader. Alfred, their sunshine, was added to their family the year following their wedding. Then Matthew had arrived six months ago thanks to a cousin of Francis that couldn't take careof him and who would rather give the baby to the couple, claiming "no doubt he would have a better future with them than with her". Everything was fine.

Until now.

Francis took off his eyes from the letters of their new president's name to look at his husband's watery eyes. Seeing that he was about to cry, Francis took his love in his arms. He searched for words of comfort to say but his mind was so blank that he found none.

A baby's wail came from their children's bedroom and Arthur escaped his husband's embrace to rush towards the noise. He came back a few minutes later with their son crying in his arms before giving him to Francis. He was the only one who could calm down Matthew when the little one was like that.

Alfred left his superheroes' cartoon to join them, wondering why his whole family was gathered in the kitchen when it wasn't dinner time yet. Although he was only four years old, he knew that something odd was happening, and he knew it was something wrong when he saw his daddy's face. Wanting to make the tears in his father's eyes disappear, the little boy opened his tiny arms wide and wrapped them around his daddy's legs. Arthur tried to smile but failed, so instead he took his son in his arms. Even feeling Alfred's face nestle in his neck couldn't melt away the fear and sadness inside him.

He looked at his baby boy in Francis' arms, then at his son whose little fingers were digging in his pullover, tightly gripping the fabric. And in his mind still in shock, the same question was spinning on and on.

What future awaited his children ?