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My father had been denied bail after the prosecutor argued he was a danger to me and had shown willingness to violate court orders by trespassing on my property. He’d remained in county jail until trial. My mother was furious that I’d actually followed through with charges. Madison was beside herself because Chad was questioning their relationship after seeing her on camera kicking me.
Tyler was terrified about potentially losing his job at the bank if he got convicted of a crime. My father characteristically was doubling down. According to Uncle Frank, who’d visited him in jail once out of a sense of family obligation, Dad was telling anyone who’d listened that I’d provoked them, that I’d bought an expensive house just to embarrass them, that I was a spoiled brat who’ turned their back on their family.
The extended family wasn’t buying it. Most of them had experienced my parents and siblings behavior firsthand over the years. They’d watched me be excluded, dismissed, and belittled at family gatherings. The video I’d shared with my lawyer and which had somehow made its way to several family members was just confirmation of what they’d always suspected.
Christmas came and went. I spent it with Aunt Diane, Uncle Frank, and a handful of cousins. We had a quiet celebration at their house, and nobody mentioned my parents or siblings. It was peaceful in a way holidays had never been for me before. The court date was set for early September, 9 months away. My lawyer was negotiating with the prosecutor about a plea deal for Madison and Tyler, but my father was refusing to accept any terms that included admitting guilt.
Madison and Tyler were willing to plead to lesser charges, but the prosecutor wanted them to cooperate against my father, and they were torn between family loyalty and self-preservation. They’d both been released on bail with strict conditions, ankle monitors, no contact with me, and weekly check-ins with pre-trial services.
I told my lawyer I wanted to go to trial if necessary. I wanted everything on the record. I wanted a jury to see the video of my father’s hand around my throat, of Madison’s foot connecting with my ribs. I wanted the world to know what they’d done. In January, I got a message from an unknown number.
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