PART 10 – The More My Father Remembered About That Evening, the Harder It Became for Him to Defend What He Had Done

Dad had always expected me to listen when he spoke.

He was my father.

He believed that gave him the final word in most disagreements.

That evening, he had used that authority to send me outside.

He hadn't asked whether I had somewhere to stay.

He hadn't checked whether I had money.

He hadn't even allowed me to collect my coat.

Now the consequences were no longer something he could dismiss.

The officer had called.

The driver had found me.

And I had been discovered in a condition that made the situation far more serious than an ordinary family argument.

I wasn't there to hear what Dad said after the call.

But I could imagine the questions he had to face.

Why had I been outside?

Why hadn't I been dressed for the weather?

Why had I been walking without a phone?

And why had nobody known where I was?

The answers all led back to the same living room.

Karen had been there from the beginning.

She had entered carrying the orange prescription bottle.

She had claimed she found it among my things.

She had covered part of the label.

When I denied knowing anything about it, she hadn't defended her claim.

She hadn't explained where the bottle had come from.

She had only whispered that she was sorry.

I remembered that whisper.

It had sounded almost like an apology.

But it hadn't helped me.

I had looked at her because I believed she might tell Dad the truth.

She had looked away instead.

Now the consequences of that moment were impossible to ignore.

I wondered whether she was remembering it too.

I wondered whether she was finally asking herself why she had allowed Dad to throw me outside.

But I couldn't know.

I was still unconscious.

I wasn't part of the conversation happening at home.

The medication question had never been settled.

Two days before the storm, I had overheard Dad discussing a prescription under my name.

When I questioned him, he had mentioned an insurance mistake.

I had accepted his explanation.

I hadn't been prescribed medication.

I hadn't asked for any.

And I hadn't understood why my name was connected to a prescription.

Then Karen appeared with the bottle.

I couldn't help wondering whether Dad had remembered our earlier conversation.

Had he thought about the fact that I had questioned him before?

Had he wondered why I was so certain I had never seen the medication?

Or was he still concentrating on the fact that I had been found outside?

I didn't know.

But the two events were connected in my mind.

The conversation.

The bottle.

The accusation.

And the decision to send me away.

I couldn't make sense of them.

Not yet.

There was something else I couldn't forget.

Dad had never examined the bottle.

He hadn't checked the label.

He hadn't asked why Karen was covering part of it.

He had simply believed her.

I had been standing right there.

I had been telling him I knew nothing about it.

But he had trusted the accusation more than my answer.

That hurt in a way I couldn't explain.

Even before the storm, I had wanted him to believe me.

I had wanted him to ask questions.

I had wanted him to look at me and see his daughter instead of someone he needed to punish.

Instead, I had walked out into the rain.

And now a stranger had found me four miles away.

Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Had No Chance to Explain What Happened on the Road, While the People at Home Finally Had to Face Their Own Questions