I answered, and Derek sounded annoyed more than worried. He said my daughter was “being dramatic again” and refused to leave after causing problems at his parents’ house. Then he told me she was waiting at the train station because nobody wanted “that attitude” around Thanksgiving guests.
I found her curled on a metal bench wearing a thin sweatshirt with blood dried near her lip. One side of her face was already swelling. She kept coughing into her sleeve trying not to scare me. When I asked who hit her, she whispered, “His brother first. Then Derek shoved me outside.” After that she finally said the part that made my stomach turn.
His ex-girlfriend was already inside the house eating Thanksgiving dinner with his family.
At the ER, the nurse quietly pulled me aside after seeing the bruises along my daughter’s ribs. She asked whether my daughter wanted police contacted immediately. My daughter just stared at the TV mounted in the corner and shook her head no. Then she admitted this wasn’t the first time Derek’s family got physical during arguments. Apparently his mother once slapped her for “embarrassing” Derek in front of guests. Derek apologized afterward and convinced her not to tell me.
I left the hospital around eight that morning and drove home to open the old storage safe in my garage. My state badge was still inside under tax papers and old training manuals from when I worked corrections years ago. I didn’t call some dramatic raid team like people online fantasize about. I called two former coworkers and one county deputy I trusted because my daughter was terrified to go back there alone for her things.
When we arrived at the house, the smell of turkey and cinnamon hit us before the door even opened.
Derek’s mother actually smiled at first until she saw my daughter standing behind me wrapped in a hospital blanket. Then Derek came into the hallway and immediately started saying she was lying. My daughter interrupted him for once. She pointed at the woman setting silverware in the dining room and asked, “Then why was she sleeping in our bed?”
Nobody had an answer fast enough.
By sunset, my daughter’s bags were loaded into my truck along with her medications, laptop, and winter coat. Last Friday, she signed a lease for a small apartment twenty minutes from me. Derek has called nineteen times since Thanksgiving. My daughter blocked every number except one because the county investigator told her to keep records now.