“I hate you. I hope you die.”
My daughter screams as she slams her bedroom door.
At midnight the phone rings. Police. She is at the station.
I go down. She is asleep in a cell. Officer tells me she is very drunk. Didn’t want me called.
She wakes and sees me. Embarrassment floods over her.
“I thought you’d leave me here,” she says.
“Could do,” I say.
“Why don’t you?”
“You’re my daughter no matter what shit you put on me. I love you, I’m here for you.”