Chapter 12
College scared me more than court.
Court had rules.
College had stairs.
Crowds.
New people.
Dorm bathrooms.
Ice on winter sidewalks.
I chose a university close enough to home but far enough to prove something to myself.
Dad wanted to rent an apartment nearby.
I said no.
He looked wounded.
Then remembered therapy.
“Okay,” he said. “What support do you want?”
That question made me love him more.
“I want you to answer when I call. Not hover before I do.”
He nodded.
“Deal.”
Ethan helped move me into the dorm.
He checked the elevator twice.
He threatened a wobbly desk.
He cried in the parking lot.
“I’m your older brother,” he said. “I’m supposed to be dramatic.”
My roommate, Jess, was a nursing student.
She saw my cane and asked, “Do you want the bed closer to the door or window?”
Not what happened.
Not why.
What do you want?
I knew we would be friends.
College was hard.
My leg flared in cold weather.
I fell once outside the library and cried behind a statue.
Then I called Dad.
He answered on the first ring.
“I fell,” I said.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to come?”
I breathed.
“No. I just wanted someone to know.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
That was enough.
I studied social work and health advocacy.
Every class felt like opening a locked room.
Systems.
Neglect.
Medical rights.
Child protection.
Documentation.
I learned words for what happened to me.
Then I learned how to use them for others.
During sophomore year, I testified before a state committee about medical neglect in blended families and guardianship disputes.
My voice did not shake.
Karen’s name was not necessary.
May you like
The harm was bigger than her.
So was the work.
