“I thought I could handle it.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Anna.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“Of what?”
“My marriage.”
He looked at me.
“Sweetheart.”
“I chose him.”
“Yes.”
“I defended him.”
“Yes.”
“I kept telling everyone he was stressed.”
“Yes.”
“I kept thinking if I were easier—”
“No.”
It was not loud.
But it stopped me.
Dad held my hand.
“Whatever happens with your marriage, we will deal with facts. Not shame.”
I cried again.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Can you make sure he loses his license?”
Dad released my hand.
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“No.”
“But he—”
“I know what you say happened.”
“You heard him.”
“Yes.”
“He threatened me.”
“Yes.”
“He stopped me calling 911.”
“Yes.”
“He broke my phone.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me you can’t do anything?”
His expression softened.
“I am telling you something more important.”
