Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

Once the weak break free from the shackles of fear and shift their perspective from victim to observer, they realize that the abuser isn’t as formidable
as they seem. Essentially, both are the same; the latter just uses force to mask their incompetence and cowardice. The worst outcome is death, but
he wouldn’t choose that. He merely capitalizes on people's fear of death to bolster his facade.
Calmly, I said, "I don't have any money for you, just my life. You can choose to kill me now. Of course, after you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life
behind bars."
My father realized his usual tactic of violence had been seen through and lost its effect, so he switched to emotional manipulation. A burly man, tears
brimming in his eyes, was playing the pitiful card—just shy of kneeling before me.
"Lana, Daddy didn’t mean it. I was just too angry at the moment. Can you help me out? It’s just the two of us in this world. Could you really bear to
watch me be driven to a dead end? Your mother wouldn’t have the heart to see that from above."
Self-centered, cowardly, full of deceit, and ungrateful—the list of negative traits could go on forever when describing him. I felt no sympathy. "Then
you should go join Mom. She must be lonely up there."
A gambler knows no bounds. When neither threats nor pleas worked on me, he resorted to being a nuisance. He repeatedly came to my school,
making it impossible for me to study. He accosted Aunt Marie at the grocery store, falsely accusing the Evans family of mistreating me. He even
loitered at the alley's entrance, spreading rumors to ruin business. But no matter his antics, no one would hand him two hundred thousand dollars.
Everyone knew gamblers had insatiable appetites. Once they got a taste of success, they'd become bloodthirsty vampires, caught in endless
entanglement.
Then my father, drunk and deranged once again, spewed vile words. He claimed that living with the Evans family brought me the curse of the "crazy
widow" and demanded two hundred thousand dollars for him disown me. He cursed the Evans family, calling them short-lived fools—Aunt Marie, her
husband, Jonah, and me included. He said it was better that short-lived fools give him their money since they wouldn’t live to spend it. He claimed
Aunt Marie’s husband’s early death was deserved, suggesting he was suffering in hell. Each word was like a salt-laden blade, repeatedly tearing
open wounds that hadn’t yet healed.
Aunt Marie fainted from the anger. Jonah, veins popping on his forehead, furiously pinned him down and beat him senseless. So when Officer Cooper
knocked on our door, I instinctively thought he was here to arrest someone. At eleven in the evening, Aunt Marie was already sleeping, and Jonah
was still working on his designs in the studio. I took advantage of the fact that the next day was Saturday and refused to go to bed, stubbornly staying
up to keep him company. He hadn’t eaten much dinner, so I decided to put my cooking skills to the test and make him a late-night snack.
Just then, a young man with a familiar baby face walked into the tattoo shop. It was Cooper, the new officer in town. He had handled a few of my
previous calls to the police. He asked, "Is Jonah home right now?"

My heart skipped a beat, suddenly tense, thinking he was here because Jonah had beaten my father.