40. Ingrid
Chapter forty
Ingrid
The detention center lobby felt eerie when we stepped inside. I clutched my cardigan sleeves and watched Tristian cross to the receptionist to speak for me, his broad shoulders a physical shield against the clinical coldness of the room.
My throat felt as though it would close on me the closer I got to my father. Speaking to him so soon wasn’t on my agenda and probably never would be. I wanted to get as far away from him as I could, but here I was, waiting to see him face to face.
The weight of a hand settled on the small of my back, and I flinched, my nerves frayed to the point of snapping. I looked over to Tristian.
“You don’t have to do this,” Tristian said. “Not if you aren’t ready.”
I shook my head despite my growing panic. “He wants to speak to me. I need to know what he wants.”
“You don’t need anything from that man, Ingrid,” he tried reassuring me once again.
I knew that. He didn’t deserve anything from me. I didn’t need to say anything to him… though part of me still felt obligated to see him: to see the man who demeaned me my entire life, the man who abused me, berated me, insulted me.
I didn’t understand it and I hated that he still had this power over me. But no matter how much I wanted to run away, he was still my father.
“I’ll be okay,” I whispered to Tristian, and he let out a small sigh.
A guard waved us over. We joined him by the door to the visitation room, and he guided us through.
When I stepped over the threshold, I stopped as I took in the room. I wouldn’t be speaking to my father face to face, but through a glass window via a telephone. The barrier felt like I’d been given a little mercy finally.
Tristian stood by the door, allowing me room to think. I knew it was to give himself space too so he wouldn’t lash out at my father, but I was grateful he was here.
A heavy metal groan echoed through the partition, followed by the mocking clink of chains. I looked over to see my father walking over in a standard jumpsuit with his hands cuffed in front of him. His face was harder, older than I remembered.
As he walked over to the seat, I did my best to calm my racing heart as the officer who was escorting him over watched him take a seat before going back to stand by the exit.
With shaky hands, I picked up the phone.
On the other side, he picked up his own, and sat back in his chair silently, his gaze piercing.
Even in jail, he seemed to have that same aura that absolutely terrified me.
Finally, he sighed, “Nice to see that at least one of my daughters remembers I’m here. Even if she’s the reason I’m here.”
My heart clenched again.
My father glanced over my shoulder. His gaze landed on Tristian before he scoffed.
“Come to keep you safe, has he? Seems redundant. There’s not much I can do on this side of the glass, now is there?
What more protection could you need besides the hundreds of guards and officers in the building, huh? ”
“Papa... please,” I pleaded.
He shrugged. “I’m only being honest.”
I took a breath. “Why did you want me to come?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you think? I would’ve thought after everything I did for you, you would at least have some fucking compassion.”
“What do you mean—”
His fist slammed the table, cutting me off.
“You know what the hell I mean. I did everything for you,“ he seethed. I could barely look him in the eyes as his finger pressed against the glass, his accusations never letting up. “I gave you everything you ever needed. Disciplined you, spoiled you... And what do I get in return? I get another useless daughter who only wants to rebel and ruin everything I’ve worked for.”
Lowering my head, my lip wobbled.
“You fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I couldn’t, I was almost sure of it. But I found the strength—in my safety on the other side of this glass, from the guard standing by, and from Tristian at my back. I lifted my head, meeting my father’s glare. It took every fiber in me to do it, but I did.
Hate radiated from him. He looked at me like he wanted to come through the glass.
Maybe he would have tried if the guards weren’t here.
Footsteps sounded behind me. Tristian approached. His hand fell upon my shoulder, and the strength that I’d summoned to stare down my father, now threatening to fail me, came back.
My father’s glare turned to Tristian, the fury in it rising. Then, to me: “I’d like to speak to my daughter alone. Do you think your new boyfriend will give me that opportunity?”
Lowering the phone, I looked over my shoulder to Tristian.
He gazed down at me. “We can leave, doll.”
I could only sigh.
I had choices now.
I knew that. The man on the other side of the glass had cuffs on his wrists and a guard at his back and no way to reach me. I knew that too. It just didn’t feel like it yet.
“It’s okay. He’s put me through… much worse,” I whispered.
Tristian’s eyes hardened. The sting of every bruise my father had ever given me seemed to throb beneath my skin at the memory.
Tristian’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he brought it out, furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s my mother’s nurse.”
“Take it. It could be important.”
Tristian leaned down and kissed my hair briefly before lowering his lips to my ear. “Remember, he’s in there, and you’re out here. He can’t control you anymore.”
Taking in his words, I silently watched him walk toward the door, anxiously holding the phone to his ear. He stood there and went no farther, murmuring quietly with a furrowed brow as he kept his eyes on me.
He can’t control you anymore.
I turned back, raising the phone again. I had to take a steadying breath to meet my father’s eyes again.
He shook his head bitterly. “After everything I’ve done... You still look at me like that. Like I didn’t try to raise you to be better than your whore of a sister. Like I didn’t do everything for you.”
He can’t control you anymore.
“Papa...” I began. “Why did you want me to come?”
He chewed on his bottom lip. “My trial is coming up soon. And with the denied bail, ignored hearings, list of impending charges… I’m set to go to prison for at least twenty years.” He paused. “And I need you to testify on my behalf.”
Twenty years. The thought sent something like hope darting through me…and then his last words landed and everything else swept in to replace it. My father’s calculated eyes bore into mine, daring me to question him.
“You want me to what?” I finally managed, my voice trembling.
My father huffed. “Your abuela isn’t willing to drop the case against me, and since you’re the so-called victim in this situation, your words would carry more weight in court.”
“You want me... to testify against myself? Against everything you’ve put me through?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with this crap again.”
“You could take a plea deal,” I reasoned.
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Did he… still truly believed that?
“Papa... You... you abused me—”
He cut me off. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped.
But now I had the confidence to push back against him, there was no stopping me. “You’ve hit me... you’ve thrown me around... slapped me, choked me, kicked me—”
His grip on the phone tightened. That crazed animal look was edging back in again. “I said don’t you fucking dare. That wasn’t abuse, that was discipline.”
“That was abuse!“ I cried. “It was! Now, you wanted me here to answer your question. Why don’t you answer one of mine? What did I do that was so bad to be treated like that?”
Papa’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have to explain why I raised you the way I did.
You are my daughter, period—end of discussion.
If I want to slap some sense into you, I will.
If I have to discipline you so you will follow directions, I will.
You should be thanking me for making sure you didn’t end up like your whore of a sister.
After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed for you, you owe me this. ”
He can’t control you anymore.
He can’t control you anymore.
He can’t control you anymore.
“I...” My eyebrows furrowed as I stared into him. “I don’t owe you anything.”
Papa tensed—as if, for the first time, I had slapped him back. “You want to say that again?”
“I said I don’t owe you anything,” I repeated. “You didn’t discipline me. Fear isn’t discipline. Abuse isn’t correction. Being afraid isn’t being compliant.”
My father’s face twisted in anger, his lips pulling back in a sneer. “Afraid? You’re still sitting here, aren’t you? Talking to me like you’ve got the upper hand. That doesn’t seem like fear to me. It seems like arrogance.”
Tears streaming down my face, I quickly pulled off my cardigan as my father furrowed his eyebrows at me.
Pushing my arm out to him, I sobbed as I pointed to a faded but still visible bruise.
“Arrogance? Is this arrogance?” He looked away, but I pushed harder: “Who do you think is more arrogant, the person wearing the bruises or the abuser giving them out?”
“Don’t you fucking call me that!“ he raged.
“You’re not an abuser? This was when you grabbed me for forgetting to turn in an assignment and threw me to the ground.
This—” I pointed to my fragile wrist “—is from you dragging me so hard my wrist was dislocated. I’ll never forget the twenty-four hours I lost because of my concussion.
I’ll never forget getting wheeled into the hospital room after your kicks to my stomach after my quinceanera gave me internal bleeding.
I’ll never forget the way you broke me down into this hollow, shattered shell of a person who the world only sees as a helpless, broken girl—”
“INGRID!“ he bellowed. “STOP!”
“I will never stop!“ I screamed back. “I will never stop until you are out of my life for good! When you hurt me, I did my daughterly duty of protecting you... From Abuelita, from the police, from people who could separate our family, because I loved my father despite all he did to me. I gave you my entire life to show that you cared for me, that you wanted to love me, that you would change... But it’s clear to me now that you never will. I was the one who sacrificed myself for you. And now... I want you to return the favor by rotting in jail.” My chest heaved, my lungs on fire as he said nothing. “…Because after everything I have done for you? All the bruises I hid, all the lies I’ve told, all the secrets I’ve kept to keep you out of trouble, you. .. you owe me this.”
Slamming the phone on the receiver, I stood up and grabbed my things.
I left the room without giving him a single glance over my shoulder.
Tristian, phone quieted and back in his pocket, met me at the door.
His comforting hand fell upon the small of my back, and he stepped out from the visitation room at my side.
The door clicked behind us—and finally, I could breathe again.
“I’m so proud of you, doll,” he muttered, pulling me around and into a hug.
I tightened my arms around him. “I never want to see him again...”
Tristian shook his head. “You never have to. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
I sighed in contentment as he placed a small kiss on my shoulder.
When he spoke again, his voice was on the verge of shaking.
“I have to go to the hospital.”
I nodded. “I’ll go with you... Only if you want me to, of course.”
He leaned his head against mine. “Always.”