In italics is the sentence starter. What follows is what I came up with about 10 minutes thereafter.
My mother had warned me. It took me 17 years to realize that she was right. I had been in absolute denial all this time.
“Okay.” I finally said. He looked up at me and smiled, acting as if he was dropping pounds of stress after hearing my response.
“I’m glad you’re so understanding. You know, you’re mom said you wouldn’t get it, but I knew you were more mature than that.” He grinned and patted me on my back, believing my lie. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream in his face. I wanted to cry on his shoulder so he could see and feel my pain. I wanted to do something, anything, to cause him the same kind of intense, heart trembling, fist clenching pain that I felt. Just something to equate a mere quarter of the pain he had caused me all these years I danced in naivety. I was sick of him saying he had to go. Sick of Mom always telling me he was a ‘piece of shit’, and sick of me, for lying to me, fooling me into thinking that he was so much more than that. I thought back to countless arguments between my mom and myself where I fought for this idea of his character. It was as if I had finally been woken from this spell, and finally saw it all for what it really was. An idea. I wanted, with every bit of my mind, body and soul, to do evil things that, as a good little girl, I had never even fathomed, let alone done before. Worst yet, I wanted to do them to the man that was supposed to be my protector, my role model, my first male example of love, my own father. And all I could say was, “Okay”.
Naturally Mia 
I don’t know if this is fiction or not, but there is something about the relationship between father and daughter–we will always fight for the idea of the protector and first man to love us well. Our daughter (adopted) is willing to admit that she’s angry at how her biological mother treated her, but always puts an imaginary halo on her bio dad…even though he was aware and did nothing to stop the abuse, he didn’t “do” the abuse, so she keeps him on that pedestal. It takes all my might not to argue…
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Hi Casey. Thank you so much for commenting and sharing your story! I can only imagine how tough that must be to have to sit there and hear her speak positively of a man who condoned her abuse. Maybe she just needs to find some good in ONE of her parents. Poor thing. And yes, this is a total fiction piece.
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