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Growing up, I was terrified of my dad. In our house, his word was law.
When he was younger, his temper was even worse. I remember countless nights being jolted awake by the sound of shouting.
If he came home drunk and my mom dared to say anything–or even if she simply took too long to open the door–he’d grab her by the hair and slam her onto the couch, hitting her over and over.
I didn’t know if other dads were like this. All I knew was that the way he looked at me was always filled with disdain, almost like he hated me. But when it came to my brother, it was a completely different story.
He’d smile, laugh, and proudly introduce him to others as “my son.” Even when my brother was a kid causing trouble left and right, my dad treated him like he could do no wrong.
And me? No matter how well I did in school–no matter how many awards I brought home -I was nothing more than a servant in my own house, expected to obey without question.
I rarely spoke to my dad, let alone made eye contact. I never dared to defy him. The only time I ever stood up to him was when I threw myself in front of my mom to protect her during one of his drunken rages.
So tonight, when he slapped me and told me to “stop causing trouble,” my usual reaction would’ve been to back down, to let it go.
But something inside me snapped.
I looked around the room at Amanda’s smug face, my nephew’s self–righteous glare, my father’s heaving chest, and my mother silently crying in the corner. A wave of disgust washed over me.
I closed my eyes, forcing down the lump of anger and pain in my throat, and said as calmly as I could:
“Amanda took my iPad first.”
“Amanda took my iPad first.”
Amanda immediately exploded.
“Oh, here we go again!” she screeched, her voice shrill and grating. “Still playing the victim, huh? Did I steal your name too? Did I write it on the iPad? If it doesn’t have your name on it, how dare you claim it’s yours?”
She jabbed a finger in my direction, her tone dripping with mockery. “God, you’re such a liar. Just admit you’re broke and desperate!”
I let out a cold laugh. “You know exactly who’s lying here. Are you really going to keep pretending this is yours? Didn’t you just say you bought it today?”
“Of course, I did!” she snapped, but her eyes darted nervously to the upside–down tablet
on the bed.
“Great,” I said, smiling faintly. “If I can prove this iPad is mine, what are you going to do?”
Amanda hesitated, her confidence wavering for a moment before she sneered, “And what if you can’t?”
“If I can prove it’s mine,” I said, my voice steady, “you‘ kneel and apologize. Then, you’re going to buy me a brand–new iPad and replace my broken phone.”
Amanda’s face turned red with rage. “Why the hell should I do that?!”
My dad, his authority clearly feeling challenged, stepped in. “I said enough! Drop this
already!”
Hearing his raised voice made me flinch out of habit, but this time, I stood my ground.
“What’s the matter, Amanda?” I said, ignoring him. “If you’re so sure you bought it, what’s
there to be afraid of? Or are you worried because you know you’re lying?”
“Lying?” Amanda spat, her voice rising again. “Who’s lying? You’re the one making baseless accusations!” She turned to my dad, playing the victim. “Look how she’s talking to me! No respect, no manners–doesn’t this prove what a brat she is?”
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me! No respect, no manners–doesn’t this prove what a brat she is?”
For a moment, I thought my dad would side with her as always. But when she called me “ungrateful” and “uncivilized,” I saw his expression darken. He wasn’t happy with her tone, though Amanda was too caught up in her tirade to notice.
I cut her off mid–rant.
“Let’s make this simple,” I said, crossing my arms. “If I can’t prove the iPad is mine, I’ll pay you back ten times what it’s worth.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ten times?”
“That’s right. This model retails for just under $800. Ten times that is $8,000. So, Amanda, are you willing to bet on it?”
The room went silent.
I could tell Amanda was tempted. Her gaze flickered to the iPad again, and I knew what she was thinking. She’d already ripped up the packaging and erased any obvious trace of where it came from. She probably figured there was no way I could prove ownership.
But there was still a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
