Chapter 3 - The Weight of Silence
The interview room was smaller, windowless, and smelled faintly of copper and old sweat.
My father sat at the center table, his hands cuffed in front of him. Without his coat, he looked smaller, frail, his shoulders permanently hunched as if carrying the weight of every cowardice he had ever committed. When I pushed the heavy metal door open, he didn't look up immediately.
"Daniel," I said.
He flinched at the use of his name instead of 'Dad.' Finally, he raised his red-rimmed eyes to mine.
"Elina," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please... you have to drop the charges against Brooke. Her husband... her life will be destroyed. And Lenora—she didn't mean to tell her to break your arm, she was just angry—"
"Stop," I said, my voice cutting through his excuses like a bayonet. I pulled out the chair and sat down across from him, keeping my spine ramrod straight despite the stabbing pain in my ribs. "For twenty years, you told me to keep the peace. You told me to let it go when Brooke stole my clothes, when Lenora threw away my high school track medals, when you stood by and watched them treat me like an unwanted stray in my own home."
"I was protecting you in my own way," he choked out, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. "You don't know what Lenora is like when—"
"I know exactly what she is like," I interrupted, leaning forward. "Because you taught me that the only way to survive was to bow your head and take it. But I left. I joined the Marines. I learned that you don't survive by cowering in the corner. You survive by holding the line."
He stared at me, truly seeing me for the first time—not as the quiet, abused girl he had allowed his wife to torment, but as a United States Marine.
"They're going to throw the book at us, aren't they?" he whispered, the realization finally breaking through his lifelong denial.
"Federal court, Dad," I said quietly. "Military jurisdiction doesn't care about family politics. And you traded your loyalty to your own flesh and blood for a quiet house with a woman who despises you both."
I stood up, pushing my chair back with a sharp screech against the linoleum.
"Elina—wait!" he cried out, reaching across the table with cuffed hands. "I'm your father!"
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"You stopped being that a long time ago," I said, turning my back on him and walking toward the door.
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