Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

Nobody ever told me there was another way. Everyone just said to grin and bear it. Even when I called the cops, it was like going through the
motions. He wasn’t even detained, just got a verbal warning.
But then there was Officer Cooper. The new guy wouldn’t give up. He came back, over and over, never tiring of trying to help.
I found myself staring at the oil in the pan, watching it bubble, my grip tightening around the spice jar. By the time I snapped back to reality, half a bag
of dried chili peppers had landed in the pan. The heat brought out the peppers' aroma until it was so strong, it made my eyes water.
They burst into the kitchen, thinking the place was on fire. The three of us nearly choked from the spicy fumes.
Officer Cooper shouted, “Whoa, girl, you sure didn’t hold back! Feels like my eyes are burning out of my head!”
Jonah handed me a wet towel for my eyes while giving him a playful shove. “Open a window, man! This is all your fault for wanting it spicy!”
After that day, Officer Cooper often dropped by in the evenings to chat with Jonah. Most of the time, it was Cooper doing the talking and Jonah
listening. Still, you could tell they were pretty tight.
My dad’s words had really hurt Aunt Marie. Every day, she’d sit there, lost in thought, staring out at the oak tree. I knew she couldn’t take any more
stress. Jonah already had his hands full supporting me. His tattoo shop was the family’s bread and butter, and he couldn’t afford constant disruptions.
And yet, my dad had become a leech on the Evans family. Giving him money wouldn’t fix anything; it would just keep this endless cycle going. I was
soaking up the happiness they gave me, but I also brought them trouble. That just wasn’t fair.
The tale of the farmer and the snake could happen to anyone, but I refused to let it be my story.
[In our country, there’s no specific law against domestic violence yet, especially concerning minors. But according to Article 234 of the Criminal Law, if
domestic violence causes minor injuries, it’s considered intentional harm, punishable by up to three years in prison.]
That’s what I read in the school computer lab. It seemed like the only path left for me. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from them; I just stubbornly
believed this was my own Gandhi moment—a fourteen-year-old’s nonviolent protest against the patriarchal hold I’d been under my whole life.
So, I deliberately pushed Aiden’s buttons, putting myself in harm’s way. When Jonah and Officer Cooper found me, I was sprawled on the floor,
covered in blood, barely conscious.
I woke up in the hospital, the pain so intense I couldn’t even speak. Bandages covered my body, my wrist in a cast. I thought I had finally done it.
But life rarely goes as planned. Disappointment is more common than wishes coming true.

The injury report read: “The patient has multiple soft tissue contusions, a fractured right wrist, multiple scalp abrasions, and a forehead laceration
needing five stitches.” It was considered minor, not enough for the more severe classification.
Officer Cooper told me my dad was arrested, but since it was a minor injury, he’d only be detained for ten days, and fined five hundred bucks. If he
promised not to do it again, and cover some medical expenses, things would be okay.