Chương 3
But anger had replaced it.
“You people come in here and act like you know my family.”
Angela stood.
“I know enough to ask more questions.”
“You know one side.”
Dad pointed toward me.
“She’s sixteen.”
His voice cracked slightly.
Not from sadness.
From frustration.
“She doesn’t understand consequences.”
I watched him say it.
A strange feeling moved through me.
Because I realized something I had never allowed myself to think.
My father was not protecting me from the situation.
He was protecting the situation from me.
“Mark,” Mom whispered.
He turned toward her.
“What?”
She looked frightened.
Not of the investigators.
Of him.
That was the first time I saw it clearly.
My mother had always looked like someone standing near a fire pretending she wasn’t cold.
“I think we need to answer their questions,” she said.
The room froze.
Dad stared at her.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then Brittany laughed.
It was quiet.
Almost disbelieving.
“Seriously?”
Everyone looked at her.
She shook her head.
“This is what we’re doing now?”
Angela looked at her.
“Brittany, I need you to sit down.”
Brittany’s face tightened.
“I didn’t hurt her.”
My eyes moved to the floor.
That sentence.
That was the sentence she always used.
Not I’m sorry.
Not Are you okay?
Just denial.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” she added.
Detective Nolan watched her carefully.
“That’s different from saying you didn’t.”
Brittany looked away.
For the first time, she seemed younger than nineteen.
Not innocent.
Just scared.
The hospital room became too small.
People were suddenly forced to stand next to the truth they had spent years walking around.
A social worker came in later to speak with my parents separately.
Dr. Grant returned with paperwork.
She explained that my wrist was sprained, two ribs were bruised, and the marks on my shoulder would likely heal.
I hated the word likely.
It made my injuries sound temporary.
Like the problem would disappear because my skin eventually changed color.
Before I left the room for another scan, I saw Brittany sitting alone in the hallway.
She was staring at her phone.
Not texting.
Not calling anyone.
Just holding it.
I almost walked past her.
Then she said my name.
“Emily.”
I stopped.
She looked up.
Her eyes were red.
“I didn’t think it would get this far.”
I stood there.
A part of me wanted to say something cruel.
Something sharp enough to make her feel what I felt.
But I was tired.
“Telling the truth isn’t what made it get this far.”
Her face tightened.
“You think I’m a monster.”
I looked at her.
I wanted to answer quickly.
I couldn’t.
Because the honest answer was more complicated.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I think you hurt me.”
The words landed differently.
Not because they were louder.
Because they were true.
Brittany looked down.
“My therapist said I have anger issues.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Because it sounded like another excuse.
Then she added,
“I stopped going.”
That caught me off guard.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“I didn’t like hearing things I couldn’t blame on someone else.”
I stared at her.
That was the closest thing to honesty I had ever heard from her.
It did not erase anything.
It did not make me forgive her.
But it was real.
And real things were harder to fight than lies.
The next morning, my father called the hospital before I was discharged.
He wanted to speak with me.
Angela asked if I wanted to.
I said yes.
I did not know why.
Maybe because some part of me was still waiting for him to choose me.
He came into the room alone.
No keys in his hand.
No angry expression.
Just exhaustion.
He sat in the chair beside the bed.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he rubbed his face.
“I should have noticed.”
I looked at him.
The apology I had imagined for years did not feel the way I thought it would.
Because apologies did not travel backward.
They could not erase every locked door.
Every night I stayed quiet.
Every time I wondered if I was making things worse by speaking.
“I thought if I kept things calm, it would get better,” he said.
I looked out the window.
Cars moved through the hospital parking lot.
People carried coffee.
People walked dogs near the sidewalk.
The world kept moving.
“I was trying to protect everyone.”
I turned back.
“You were protecting yourself.”
He looked hurt.
Maybe because it was true.
Maybe because he had never considered that possibility.
And for once, he did not argue.
And for once, he did not argue.
The silence between us felt unfamiliar.
My father had always filled silence with explanations, with reasons, with reminders about everything he had done for our family.
This time, he just sat there with his hands folded together.
“I should have listened,” he said.
I looked at him carefully.
The words sounded simple, but they carried something I had never heard from him before.
Regret.
Not the kind that came from being caught.
The kind that came from finally seeing the damage.
“I told myself Brittany was struggling,” he continued.
“I told myself she would grow out of it.”
His voice became quieter.
“And I told myself you were strong enough to handle it.”
I looked down at the blanket.
That sentence hurt because it sounded like a compliment.
But it wasn’t.
Being forced to survive something did not mean I should have had to.
“I was a kid,” I said.
My father closed his eyes for a moment.
“I know.”
“No, Dad.”
My voice shook.
“I don’t think you do.”
He looked at me.
“I spent years trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
His face changed.
“I thought maybe I was annoying.”
I swallowed.
“Maybe I talked too much.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.
May you like
“Maybe if I was nicer to her, she wouldn’t get angry.”
My father looked away.
