The police arrived. Right on schedule. I’d called
them earlier. I pointed to my teachers, my
classmates.
“Officer, they hit me. They abuse me. Everyone
<
saw.”
Months of preparation. The kids rallied around
- me. Young, idealistic, outraged.
“We saw it! She has bruises! They hit her right
in front of us!”
“They abuse her at home! They want to lock
her up! Who knows what they’d do to her!”
“The physical scars are one thing, but the
emotional damage…look.”
The principal produced my “diary.” A detailed
account of three years of hell. How my birth
was their “mistake.” How I was the unwanted
intruder in their perfect family. How they wished
I was dead. How I was their unpaid maid,
sleeping in a storage room, called “trash” by my
own sister. Mom’s curses, Dad’s insults,
Sarah’s cruelty. Page after page. The last entry,
ominous:
Is death the only escape?
The ink was smudged, like teardrops. The
principal was heartbroken. My classmates were
sympathetic. My parents, enraged, argued with
the officers.
<
“Lies! All lies! We treat her like a princess! She
stole our money! She won’t give it back!”
“She’s an adult! Arrest her!”
The officers, unimpressed, examined my bruised
arm.
“Assault is a crime. Even if you are her
parents.”
“We can do what we want! She’s our
daughter!” Dad slapped me again. This time, an
officer tackled him. They were taken away.
My first victory. The first time I fought back.
And won.
- 19.
“Dry your eyes. Good performance.”
I stared at Valerie, my heart pounding. She
smirked.
“I read lips. I saw everything.”
The breeze ruffled her hair. A hint of mischief in
her eyes.
“Are you going to tell?”
“If I was, I would have done it already. You were
protecting yourself. You didn’t hurt anyone. It’s
fine.”
<
“If it were me, I’d probably kill them.”
The coldness in her eyes sent a shiver down my
spine. Kill them? I’d thought about it.
I wiped my sweaty palms.
“One month until graduation. Think I can make it?”
She put on her headphones, started listening to a French podcast. The setting sun highlighted
her determined face.
“You’ll make it.”
“People like us…we win.”
But we also get hurt. My parents were released.
They came looking for me. I dodged them,
thanks to warnings from my friends. One night,
they cornered me in an alley.
“Think you can hide? Give me my money! And
the deed! Or I’ll beat you to death!”
Dad slapped me. I hit the wall, blood trickling
down my face. Sirens. My classmates, wary,
had called the police.
This time, no slap on the wrist.
“I’m pressing charges. You’re going to jail.”
The officers laid down the law. My parents,
finally afraid, started to whine.
“We’re your parents! We have a right to
discipline you!”
“It’s not that big a deal! We won’t hit you again!”
“We’re stressed! We work hard! Your sister’s
sick! Your grades are terrible! What are we
supposed to do?”
They cried, complained, as if their miserable
lives justified their cruelty. I waited. When they
were done, I handed them a paper.
“I want to sever all ties. But legally, I can’t.
Even though you don’t deserve to be called
parents.”
“I’ll give up my share of Grandma’s house. But
you’ll sign a promissory note for forty thousand
dollars. When you try to force me to support
you, I’ll collect. Consider it…..a parting gift.”
“I just want us to be… free of each other.”
They hesitated. I turned to leave. Bumped into
Sarah. Her eyes burned with hatred. I smiled.
“Not severing ties isn’t so bad. Grandma’s
house is still worth something. A few hundred
<
grand…”
