Chapter 6 - THE GHOSTS IN THE REARVIEW
The drive back to my parents' house was long and quiet.
My father didn't ask me to talk.
He knew that silence was the only thing I could afford right now.
I watched the trees blur past the window,
the green of the countryside replacing the gray of the suburbs.
I thought about the night Mark first hit me.
It had been a small thing,
a forgotten errand,
a cold dinner.
He had apologized afterward,
crying,
promising it would never happen again.
And like so many others,
I had believed him.
I had believed that Diane was right when she said I was too sensitive.
I had believed that I was lucky to have a man who "cared" so much.
Now,
looking at the landscape through my father's window,
I realized that Mark hadn't cared at all.
He had only wanted to own me.
He had wanted to own my money,
my life,
and my silence.
"Dad?"
I said,
my voice sounding small in the car.
"Yeah,
Em?"
"How did you know?"
"How did you know about the money?"
My father kept his eyes on the road,
his hands steady on the wheel.
"I started looking when your mother mentioned the jewelry Diane was wearing in the Christmas photos."
"That necklace she had...
it was identical to one your grandmother owned."
"The one that was supposed to be in your safety deposit box."
"I went to the bank the next day."
"The box was empty."
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
They had been stripping my life away piece by piece for years.
They had stolen my inheritance before they ever stole my peace.
"I spent six months hiring private investigators and forensic accountants,"
he continued.
"I wanted to have the whole story before I came to your house."
"I didn't want to give Mark any room to wiggle out of it."
"But when I walked in and saw your face..."
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
"The law was the second thing on my mind."
I reached over and put my hand on his arm.
"Thank you,
Dad."
"You don't have to thank me for doing my job,
Emily."
"A father's first job is to protect his child."
"I'm just sorry it took me so long to see through the smoke."
We pulled into my parents' driveway just as the sun was setting.
The house looked exactly the same as it did when I left for college.
The porch swing was still there.
The flower beds were full of marigolds.
My mother was standing on the porch,
her arms open,
her face full of a mother's fierce,
shattering love.
I got out of the car and ran to her.
I didn't care about being thirty-two.
I didn't care about being a grown woman.
I just wanted to be her daughter.
I cried into her shoulder,
the sound of my own grief finally breaking free.
"I've got you,
Em,"
she whispered,
stroking my hair.
"You're home now."
"The nightmare is over."
I looked back at my father,
who was carrying my suitcase up the stairs.
He looked tired,
but he looked triumphant.
May you like
He had won the biggest case of his life.
He had brought his daughter back from the dark.
