Raising a daughter–a child–is the most difficult thing that Leroy Berry has ever done.

She's outspoken, intelligent, talented–and sometimes too much of everything. To everyone else, Rachel is grating, high-pitched, and nosy. To her parents, she's perfect.

She looks like her mother, but they know it'll be a long time before she knows that, before she even wants to know that, and, personality-wise, is a carbon copy of her father. It's not the only reason Leroy adores her, but he looks at her and sees James.

James, who grew up in this town and, despite having spent years being tormented at the hands of his peers, neighbours, and father, wants to raise their daughter here. Leroy doesn't mind–their closest neighbours are generally accepting. Others choose to ignore them. It's rare that they get harassed, and when they do it's easy enough to shelter Rachel from it.

James will scoop her up and cart her off, far enough away that she can't overhear Leroy defending their honour and their right to raise their daughter freely.

There's so much wrong in this world, so much heartbreak that their daughter was going to face whether or not she was raised with same-sex parents, that it's all they can do to shelter her from the small things. They try to spend as much of their time together as they can–it's much easier to parent when you don't have to fumble it alone.

But occasionally, one of them is stuck in a position where they have to decide what to do.

Leroy isn't one to take things lying down, but his five-year-old Rachel is clutching his hand, already humming the songs from Tarzan, the movie they've just walked out of, and James is in the bathroom.

It's why he's ignoring the men making rude comments towards them, whispering together and keeping their distance like he's got some contagious disease. Rachel tugs on his hand, smiling prettily, and then catches one of them saying "fag." The smile falls from her face–Leroy isn't surprised, she's heard the word before–and she steps closer, wrapping thin arms around his leg.

"Daddy, why are those men making fun of you?"

The men explode with laughter, and Leroy's decision solidifies–Rachel shouldn't have to see this, but she shouldn't think it's okay for this to happen, so he pushes her behind him and looks towards the men.

He's too late to say anything. A strange man has barrelled over and punched the tallest, burliest abuser in the face; he goes down like a sack of potatoes, and Leroy's jaw drops.

"It's none of your business who this fellow loves. Leave him and his daughter alone, jackass." The people milling around clear off immediately, giving the bleeding man on the ground a wide berth.

His rescuer barely spares a glance for him and Rachel, who is peeking around his legs in admiration, before joining hands with a woman a few paces away.

Leroy thinks he should call out a thank-you, get the man's name, simply ask why, and then he sees the little boy, fast asleep and draped over his mother's shoulders; he's unmistakably male, the thin mouth and fiercely strong jaw standing out, but he's wearing a bright pink headband.

Suddenly, Leroy understands the man's motivation, understands that it's not the last time he'll see this man and his son. The joy that fills him when he realizes that when this boy is older–whether he's gay or just feminine–he's going to have a dad that supports him like this is almost incomprehensible.

"Daddy," Rachel has his hand now, tugging his arm down with the strange strength kids seem to have sometimes, "You okay?"

He kneels down, drawing her forward and pressing a kiss to her hairline, "Yeah, sweetie. I'm perfect."

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