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“This is a dictatorship, not a democracy.”
That signature phrase crushed Cassidy Hanson. She stared at her feet, her tongue thick in a chalky mouth. The dictator’s breath hissed in an uneven rhythm through clenched teeth, sending prickles along her spine and making her knees buckle. She trembled under the weight of his ice-blue stare. Well she knew how his brows knit, how his shoulders stiffened and squared, and his fists balled up when he was outraged.
Her mind went blank, spiraling into a shut-down phase. He would kill her this time.
“Explain yourself.”
He wouldn’t let her finish if she tried. He never did. Cassidy swallowed hard, tasting dust and scrambling for words. “It wasn’t that loud; I only had…”
“It was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think!”
She trembled. “I set the volume to number two, like you…”
“Don’t lie to me!”
A spray of spittle hit Cassidy’s cheek, and she flinched.
“When your garbage music drowns out everything else, you’re playing it far too loud! Do you want to wreck your hearing?”
Would that mean I couldn’t hear you yell at me anymore?
“Don’t set your volume that high again.” Her accuser raised his voice. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes!” The word squeaked out an octave higher than usual. Cassidy wiped her cheek with her sleeve, then clasped her hands in front of her to still their shaking.
“That’s ‘Yes, Dad,’ and don’t use that tone with me, young lady!” Dad’s words dropped to an ominous low. “Go to your room.”
“Yes, Dad.” Cassidy slunk past his towering form, dreading that he would strike her. She dodged the squeaky floorboard at the top of the hallway, inching around it lest its insolent creak aggravate him further. Stepping gingerly over the sleeping dog, she crept to her bedroom, shoulders hunched, taking up as little space as possible, wishing the wall would reach out and swallow her. She ached to slam the door, but she didn’t dare.
Just before she grasped the doorknob to silently conceal herself from his fury, a gust of breeze through the open window banged the door into the frame, renewing her terror.
“Cassidy!” Dad’s roar almost drove Cass to hide under her quilt as his footsteps thundered toward her room, but evasion was useless. She could not escape him.
Dad flung the door open, and it bounced off the doorstop with a thud. “I will not tolerate displays of rebellion! How dare you!”
“The wind blew it.” Cassidy hung her head and curled into herself. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“Give me your radio.”
“What?”
Dad’s face was deep scarlet, almost purple. “Give me your radio! Right now! I’ll teach you not to slam doors in my house!”
“But I need it for the alarm…” she began.
“Then I’ll take your computer instead.”
“No!” Cassidy lunged for the clock radio on the nightstand, ripped the plug out of the wall, and handed him the appliance like a sacrificial offering to a vengeful god.
The cord swung, striking his leg. “Once you show proper respect for me and my house, you can have it back. Don’t you ever slam my doors! While you live under my roof, you’ll obey my rules. Next time, I will take your computer. Consider yourself warned.”
His lip curled in a disgusted grimace, as though she were an earwig on the carpet. “I never wanted you, you know. I wanted only one child. Biggest fight your mother and I ever had was over whether to have you. She won.”
Dad departed with the radio, pulling the door behind him. The wind shoved it shut with a bang. Cassidy waited, hoping he’d realize that since the breeze had slammed the door on him, she might have been telling the truth, but he stomped away.
“Doug.” Her mother’s voice, gentle as always, carried to Cassidy’s ears from the living room. “Cass needs the clock to wake up for church. You’ll return it before Sunday, won’t you?”
“You can wake her for a few weeks, Janie.”
“Weeks? Wouldn’t a couple of days be enough punishment? She said it was an accident.”
“She’s lying.” Dad’s clipped words and stern tone spilled his frustration onto Janie. “If she hasn’t got the radio, she can’t deafen me with that trash music of hers, and maybe she’ll think twice about slamming the door. She’s rebellious, and she has to learn. I will not have my daughters out of submission. If the congregation finds out, I’ll lose my job!”
Cassidy’s radio clunked on the coffee table, and she flinched. Dad’s armchair creaked. “She should quit listening to that garbage she calls music, anyway. Filth and noise, that modern stuff.”
Mom said nothing.
Cassidy lingered at the door, but her parents’ conversation was dead. She leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingers over her eyes under her glasses.
“I never wanted you…”
How many times had Dad lashed her with those words? Thousands? Hundreds, at least. He wasn’t always angry when he told her. Often, he offered the reminder as a tidbit of crucial information, like he told her not to open the front door to strangers. Cassidy couldn’t remember not knowing she was unwanted.
She brushed her hands over her cheeks, despising the salty dampness under her fingers. What would it have cost him to keep that bit of family history a secret? Unwanted was an ugly word that overshadowed every daily interaction with Dad. Cass could read the atmosphere of a room by the sound of her father’s breathing and the slightest flicker of his eyelid. Her stomach tied in intricate knots when his tone shifted or he set his glass down with a sterner bump than usual.
She was an intruder and a nuisance in her own home—a guest who had outstayed her welcome, yet refused to leave.
I wish he loved me.
That signature phrase crushed Cassidy Hanson. She stared at her feet, her tongue thick in a chalky mouth. The dictator’s breath hissed in an uneven rhythm through clenched teeth, sending prickles along her spine and making her knees buckle. She trembled under the weight of his ice-blue stare. Well she knew how his brows knit, how his shoulders stiffened and squared, and his fists balled up when he was outraged.
Her mind went blank, spiraling into a shut-down phase. He would kill her this time.
“Explain yourself.”
He wouldn’t let her finish if she tried. He never did. Cassidy swallowed hard, tasting dust and scrambling for words. “It wasn’t that loud; I only had…”
“It was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think!”
She trembled. “I set the volume to number two, like you…”
“Don’t lie to me!”
A spray of spittle hit Cassidy’s cheek, and she flinched.
“When your garbage music drowns out everything else, you’re playing it far too loud! Do you want to wreck your hearing?”
Would that mean I couldn’t hear you yell at me anymore?
“Don’t set your volume that high again.” Her accuser raised his voice. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes!” The word squeaked out an octave higher than usual. Cassidy wiped her cheek with her sleeve, then clasped her hands in front of her to still their shaking.
“That’s ‘Yes, Dad,’ and don’t use that tone with me, young lady!” Dad’s words dropped to an ominous low. “Go to your room.”
“Yes, Dad.” Cassidy slunk past his towering form, dreading that he would strike her. She dodged the squeaky floorboard at the top of the hallway, inching around it lest its insolent creak aggravate him further. Stepping gingerly over the sleeping dog, she crept to her bedroom, shoulders hunched, taking up as little space as possible, wishing the wall would reach out and swallow her. She ached to slam the door, but she didn’t dare.
Just before she grasped the doorknob to silently conceal herself from his fury, a gust of breeze through the open window banged the door into the frame, renewing her terror.
“Cassidy!” Dad’s roar almost drove Cass to hide under her quilt as his footsteps thundered toward her room, but evasion was useless. She could not escape him.
Dad flung the door open, and it bounced off the doorstop with a thud. “I will not tolerate displays of rebellion! How dare you!”
“The wind blew it.” Cassidy hung her head and curled into herself. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“Give me your radio.”
“What?”
Dad’s face was deep scarlet, almost purple. “Give me your radio! Right now! I’ll teach you not to slam doors in my house!”
“But I need it for the alarm…” she began.
“Then I’ll take your computer instead.”
“No!” Cassidy lunged for the clock radio on the nightstand, ripped the plug out of the wall, and handed him the appliance like a sacrificial offering to a vengeful god.
The cord swung, striking his leg. “Once you show proper respect for me and my house, you can have it back. Don’t you ever slam my doors! While you live under my roof, you’ll obey my rules. Next time, I will take your computer. Consider yourself warned.”
His lip curled in a disgusted grimace, as though she were an earwig on the carpet. “I never wanted you, you know. I wanted only one child. Biggest fight your mother and I ever had was over whether to have you. She won.”
Dad departed with the radio, pulling the door behind him. The wind shoved it shut with a bang. Cassidy waited, hoping he’d realize that since the breeze had slammed the door on him, she might have been telling the truth, but he stomped away.
“Doug.” Her mother’s voice, gentle as always, carried to Cassidy’s ears from the living room. “Cass needs the clock to wake up for church. You’ll return it before Sunday, won’t you?”
“You can wake her for a few weeks, Janie.”
“Weeks? Wouldn’t a couple of days be enough punishment? She said it was an accident.”
“She’s lying.” Dad’s clipped words and stern tone spilled his frustration onto Janie. “If she hasn’t got the radio, she can’t deafen me with that trash music of hers, and maybe she’ll think twice about slamming the door. She’s rebellious, and she has to learn. I will not have my daughters out of submission. If the congregation finds out, I’ll lose my job!”
Cassidy’s radio clunked on the coffee table, and she flinched. Dad’s armchair creaked. “She should quit listening to that garbage she calls music, anyway. Filth and noise, that modern stuff.”
Mom said nothing.
Cassidy lingered at the door, but her parents’ conversation was dead. She leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingers over her eyes under her glasses.
“I never wanted you…”
How many times had Dad lashed her with those words? Thousands? Hundreds, at least. He wasn’t always angry when he told her. Often, he offered the reminder as a tidbit of crucial information, like he told her not to open the front door to strangers. Cassidy couldn’t remember not knowing she was unwanted.
She brushed her hands over her cheeks, despising the salty dampness under her fingers. What would it have cost him to keep that bit of family history a secret? Unwanted was an ugly word that overshadowed every daily interaction with Dad. Cass could read the atmosphere of a room by the sound of her father’s breathing and the slightest flicker of his eyelid. Her stomach tied in intricate knots when his tone shifted or he set his glass down with a sterner bump than usual.
She was an intruder and a nuisance in her own home—a guest who had outstayed her welcome, yet refused to leave.
I wish he loved me.
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(c) 2026 Christine Stobbe
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Coming Soon!
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