Chapter 12 - Henry’s anger
Henry directed most of his anger at Megan.
Some at Robert.
Almost none at himself.
That changed.
We met at his house.
He said:
“She stole from me.”
“Yes.”
“She put Lucas in danger.”
“Yes.”
“I told Robert she might be using again.”
“When?”
Henry hesitated.
“Two months ago.”
I stared.
“You told him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lock up the medication after pills went missing?”
“Yes.”
“How did Megan get it?”
“She knew where I kept the spare key.”
I closed my eyes.
“You changed the lock?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She’s my daughter.”
There.
The phrase people use when relationship title replaces risk assessment.
Henry’s shoulders dropped.
“I thought if I changed the lock, she’d know I didn’t trust her.”
“You didn’t trust her.”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
Patricia sat beside him.
She said:
“I wanted him to change it.”
Henry became defensive.
“You didn’t do it either.”
“No.”
Good.
Specific.
They had both participated.
Not by giving medication to Lucas.
By refusing to respond adequately to signs of relapse and theft.
I said:
“Everyone was protecting Megan from feeling accused.”
Henry whispered:
“And Lucas paid for it.”
I hated the sentence.
Because it was true enough.
May you like
Not as moral causation.
As consequence.
