He chewed on his bottom lip. “My trial is coming up soon. And with the denied bail, ignored hearings, list of impending charges… I’m set to go to prison for at least twenty years.” He paused. “And I need you to testify on my behalf.”
Twenty years.The thought sent something like hope darting through me…and then his last words landed and everything else swept in to replace it. My father’s calculated eyes bore into mine, daring me to question him.
“You want me to what?” I finally managed, my voice trembling.
My father huffed. “Your abuela isn’t willing to drop the case against me, and since you’re the so-called victim in this situation, your words would carry more weight in court.”
“You want me... to testify against myself? Against everything you’ve put me through?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with this crap again.”
“You could take a plea deal,” I reasoned.
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Did he… still truly believed that?
“Papa... You... you abused me—”
He cut me off. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped.
But now I had the confidence to push back against him, there was no stopping me. “You’ve hit me... you’ve thrown me around... slapped me, choked me, kicked me—”
His grip on the phone tightened. That crazed animal look was edging back in again. “I said don’t you fucking dare. That wasn’t abuse, that was discipline.”
“Thatwasabuse!“ I cried. “It was! Now, you wanted me here to answer your question. Why don’t you answer one of mine? What did I do that was so bad to be treated like that?”
Papa’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have to explain why I raised you the way I did. You are my daughter, period—end of discussion. If I want to slap some sense into you, I will. If I have to discipline you so you will follow directions, I will. You should be thanking me for making sure you didn’t end up like your whore of a sister. After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed for you, you owe me this.”
He can’t control you anymore.
He can’t control you anymore.
He can’t control you anymore.
“I...” My eyebrows furrowed as I stared into him. “I don’t owe you anything.”
Papa tensed—as if, for the first time, I had slapped him back. “You want to say that again?”
“I said I don’t owe you anything,” I repeated. “You didn’t discipline me.Fearisn’t discipline.Abuseisn’t correction.Being afraidisn’t being compliant.”
My father’s face twisted in anger, his lips pulling back in a sneer. “Afraid? You’re still sitting here, aren’t you? Talking to me like you’ve got the upper hand. That doesn’t seem like fear to me. It seems like arrogance.”
Tears streaming down my face, I quickly pulled off my cardigan as my father furrowed his eyebrows at me. Pushing my arm out to him, I sobbed as I pointed to a faded but still visible bruise. “Arrogance? Is this arrogance?” He looked away, but I pushed harder: “Who do you think is more arrogant, the person wearing the bruises or the abuser giving them out?”
“Don’t you fucking call me that!“ he raged.
“You’re not an abuser? This was when you grabbed me for forgetting to turn in an assignment and threw me to the ground. This—” I pointed to my fragile wrist “—is from you dragging me so hard my wrist was dislocated. I’ll never forget the twenty-four hours I lost because of my concussion. I’ll never forget getting wheeled into the hospital room after your kicks to my stomach after my quinceañera gave me internal bleeding. I’ll never forget the way you broke me down into this hollow, shattered shell of a person who the world only sees as a helpless, broken girl—”
“INGRID!“ he bellowed. “STOP!”
“I will never stop!“ I screamed back. “I will never stop until you are out of my life for good! When you hurt me, I did my daughterly dutyof protecting you... From Abuelita, from the police, from people who could separate our family, because I loved my father despite all he did to me. I gave you my entire life to show that you cared for me, that you wanted to love me, that you would change... But it’s clear to me now that you never will. I was the one who sacrificed myself for you. And now... I want you to return the favor by rotting in jail.” My chest heaved, my lungs on fire as he said nothing. “…Because after everythingIhave done foryou? All the bruises I hid, all the lies I’ve told, all the secrets I’ve kept to keep you out of trouble, you... you owemethis.”
Slamming the phone on the receiver, I stood up and grabbed my things. I left the room without giving him a single glance over my shoulder. Tristian, phone quieted and back in his pocket, met me at the door. His comforting hand fell upon the small of my back, and he stepped out from the visitation room at my side.
The door clicked behind us—and finally, I could breathe again.
“I’m so proud of you, doll,” he muttered, pulling me around and into a hug.
