Katie's POV:
The familiar warmth of her home embraced me as soon as I entered. Beverly was in the living room, lounging on the couch with a book in hand. She looked up as I walked in, her face lighting up with a smile.
"Hey, Katie! I'm so glad you came by. How are you holding up?"
I sat down beside her, letting out a deep sigh. "Honestly, I don't know anymore.
I had the same nightmares throughout this week, and then, out of nowhere, I received a message from Jangie. Can you imagine that man, the one I call my father, sending me a box with the word "HATE" written inside it?
"Was that the only thing he said?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied, "nothing else."
"Don't you think it would be better if you saw him and talked things through?"
"How can I, Beverly? He didn't put any address on the box, and he didn't give any information to Barnsley."
"Where is the box?" she asked.
"I left it at my office," I replied.
"Thank God you didn't throw it away."
"Why?" I asked.
"So that we can search for a clue," she said. "Because I know you would not search it thoroughly."
"That reminds me," I said. "I saw a new Mercedes-Benz in your garage. How did you get it?"
Beverly smiled. "Remember the man I told you about?"
"Yes, I remember," I replied.
"He gave it to me," she said.
"Wow," I responded. "But don't trust men. He may want to give you something now, but it could be to collect something from you later."
I watched Beverly's face carefully as she took in my words. Her smile faded slightly, and she looked down, as if processing what I'd said.
"You really think so?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with doubt.
"Yes," I replied, my voice firm. "Men don't just give things away for nothing. There's always a catch, Beverly."
She seemed lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the lingering uncertainty. I knew she didn't want to believe that someone who had given her such a lavish gift could have ulterior motives. But the truth was, it wasn't about the car; it was about the power dynamics at play.
"You've known him longer than I have," I continued. "But please, be careful.
Beverly sighed, standing up to walk over to the window. The late afternoon sunlight bathed the room in a soft glow as she stared outside, lost in thought.
"I just... I don't know," she said finally. "He's always been kind to me. But now, I'm starting to wonder if I've been blinded by his generosity."
I ate the pasta she made for me and retired to bed, I eventually dozed off after scanning my email.
...................
He slapped her twice across the face, and I felt a cold wave of shock wash over me. "Dad, please stop!" I cried, my voice shaking with fear and desperation.
"Get out of this house, you rascal!" he shouted, his anger boiling over.
I was just five years old, too young to fully understand the pain in my mother's eyes, but old enough to recognize that something was terribly wrong. I was on my way out of the house, trying to escape the sound of their fighting, but I couldn't block out the noise of my mother pleading, her cries filling the silence.
What did she do to deserve this constant pain? What had she done to make him so angry? I wondered, my tiny heart aching with confusion.
As I stood at the door, I hesitated. I wanted to run away, to get as far from the violence as possible, but something stopped me. I turned around slowly, and there he was—his face in my view. Anger, frustration, and bitterness were written all over his features. He looked at me as though I was just another burden to him.
But in that moment, something inside me shifted.All i could utter was "I hate you".