Save the Queen

"Why didn't you believe me?"

It comes out small, sad, and plaintive - a surprise to her, as her voice for the past forty-five minutes has been calm, cool, dispassionate. The fact that she's said it at all surprises her - she certainly didn't intend to say it, didn't intend to go anywhere near the topic at all. She hadn't written it down on her list, hadn't even thought of it. Even if she had considered it she probably wouldn't have written it down - too touchy a subject. Which is somewhat laughable, considering the touchiness of everything else on her list. But she chose to shy away from it.

A choice that was remade without her even thinking of it.

She recognizes the small, sad little voice - Little Amara peeking out from her fortress of pillows. That adorable, innocent face, that bowl-cut hair, somewhere between blonde and brown... those sad, hurt little green eyes. All she's ever wanted to know was why Mommy didn't believe her. She sees an opportunity to finally have her most important question answered, and seizes it in her chubby little hands.

"Why didn't you believe me?"

Her voice cracks somewhere around "believe", which is another surprise to her. Those five words cause her more pain to utter than she would have believed, had one told her about it previously. She's never asked it. Never brought it up, that great unspoken shame that has always lurked between them.

She listens to her mother's answer, hears the pain in her mother's voice, the relived fear. It's nothing surprising, nothing she hadn't assumed was the answer before. There was really only one answer that could have been. But somehow hearing it from her... doesn't quite ease the years-old pain, but it... somehow soothes Little Amara's sad, broken little heart... and starts to heal.

Apparently I'm talking to Mom tomorrow. FML. I'm oddly terrified. Because I know this is going to cause me some serious pain because I know it's not going to go well. Hell, that's way too positive. I know this is going to go very very badly.

VERY badly.

Yes, 'oddly terrified' seems pretty apt.

UGH. Not cool. Not even close to cool. My sister is lucky that I love her very much, because I don't think she realizes just how much she's asking of me here.

Best case scenario, which will occur only in dreamland: Mom admits responsibility to everything I have to say, apologizes sincerely for screwing me up, and is magically transformed into the perfect mother. (And since I'm dreaming here...) She then tells me that I'm the long-lost princess of some heretofore unknown district country whatever in Germany, and that Dave and I are heirs to a massive fortune. We then dance off into the sunset.

...

Worst case scenario: She... I... I don't even know. Everything I'm envisioning taking place tomorrow is a worst-case scenario. There's no way this goes well. No way at all. I mean, I'll probably die of a heart attack if any part of it at all goes even slightly less than awful. Mom's superemotional and will take all of what I have to say on an emotional level, she'll get hurt and pissy and angry, and - and -

This is such a bad idea. I should not be doing this. My emotional state is far better than it used to be, but even then I'm not sure I can deal with the probable outcome of tomorrow.

Crap!

I have no idea why 'waffling' means what it does, I just know that it does.

I know she loves me, and I know it affects her, me not talking to her. And I want to relent, to... what? I guess I don't even know. I just know that this all hurts.

But better the ache of guilt than the longing, keening pain of longing, wishing for something one can never have... apparently.

Not to sound like I'm ten years old or anything, but:

HE'S NOT MY DAD! JUST BECAUSE YOU MARRIED HIM DOESN'T MAKE HIM MY FATHER SO STOP FREAKING CALLING HIM THAT! DAMN! NOT LIKE I REALLY LIKED MY FATHER OR ANYTHING BUT AT LEAST HE ACTUALLY HAD A HAND IN CREATING ME, UNLIKE THIS DUDE YOU MARRIED THREE YEARS AGO - WHO I'VE NEVER MET - SO JUST. FREAKING. STOP. IT.

...

I have to call bullshit again.

A few weeks ago I got up the nerve to talk to my mother about the time when Dad was in prison. I'd been kind of afraid (afraid's not really the word, but it's the best I have) that I'd recanted and that was why he got out so early.

...

I'm not explaining this very well.

*goes to check if she's written about this already... nope*

Okay, let me try again.

So when I was eight or so, the truth about my father's molesting me came out, and he was sent to live with his mother for like a year or two while the case went to court. I only very vaguely remember this, by the way. All I really remember was that he was sent to jail, then got out really early (he did four years the first time, then for me he did a month and a half). Recently I went online to find the inmate records, and while there was a record for his time in Attica, there was no record of his having served any time for me. Upon further research I determined that there would be no record for jail time if the conviction resulting in jail time was overturned... and, in this case, that would be if I had recanted. Having been told that it was my fault he had been taken away and was in prison, this seems like it would be in character for a young, hypersensitive girl to do. Also, I had heard rumors that that was the story that went around the church as to why he'd gotten out so early. So I did the only thing I could: I asked my mom.

She said that she was fairly certain I hadn't recanted - I hadn't taken the stand at all during the case. So unless the DA entered a recantation for me, that wasn't what happened. Do I believe her? I guess so. I mean, I wouldn't necessarily put it past her to make this up so I'd feel better, but ultimately, perhaps it doesn't matter.

ANYWAY.

During this conversation, Mom said that when the case was in court, the judge asked her what she thought, and she asked him to let Dad come back into the home, because even with his flaws, kids needed a father in the home, and he was better than nothing.

I accepted this and went on about my way.

Until a few days ago.

I don't know what brought it back to mind, but something did. I was mulling this over, and -

Wait a minute. Wait just one damn minute.

Having a convicted child molester in the home is better than no male influence at all? With the fact that he clearly didn't learn his lesson the first time and a month and a half in jail isn't going to convince him any more than four years in two of the harshest prisons in America did, therefore there's a strong likelihood that he's going to do it again?

Oh hell no.

Therefore, my having to call bullshit. Her desire to have Dad back in the home had very little to do with me and Jess - if anything. It had far more to do with the fact that she didn't want to be alone and have to take care of herself.

...Who is this woman?