Everyone In Town Thinks My Friend’s Dad Is A Monster. I Just Found Out The Real Monster Is His Mother, And Now She’s Coming For Me. How Do I Stop Her?

The Threat

During library time, I found a note in our book, but it wasn’t Brian’s handwriting.

“Stop digging or your friend pays the price. — K”

Catherine knew. She knew I was investigating her. My hands trembled as I pocketed the note. This was escalating beyond parent drama and school gossip.

After school, I convinced Dad to drive me past Brian’s old apartment. The car wasn’t in the parking lot. We checked three other lots before I spotted it behind a grocery store. Brian’s dad was slumped in the driver’s seat and Brian was curled up in the back.

“Dad, please,” I begged. “Look at them. Does that look like a dangerous man to you?”

Dad stared for a long moment.

“Get back in the car.”

But instead of driving home, he pulled into the grocery store. He bought two bags of groceries and a hot rotisserie chicken.

“Stay here,” he told me.

I watched him approach their car and knock gently on the window. Brian’s dad jerked awake, fear flashing across his face, but Dad just held up the bags. They talked for a few minutes, Brian’s dad shaking his head repeatedly. Finally, Dad left the groceries on their hood and walked back.

“He wouldn’t take them at first,” Dad said as we drove away. “Said he didn’t want charity. I told him it wasn’t charity, just one father helping another.”

That night Dad and Mom had another argument, but this time I heard Dad say,

“What if we’re wrong, Janet? What if we’re destroying an innocent family?”

Therapy and Threats

Thursday came too fast. The therapist’s office smelled like vanilla candles and had inspirational posters on every wall. Dr. Reeves looked exactly like I’d expected: wire-rimmed glasses, sympathetic smile, notebook ready.

“Your mother tells me you’ve been defending a classmate whose father has a concerning history,” she began.

I chose my words carefully.

“I’ve seen evidence that the story everyone believes might not be true.”

“Sometimes when we care about someone we want to believe the best about them,” she said gently. “But that can blind us to red flags.”

“What if the red flags are pointing at the wrong person?”

We went in circles for an hour. She’d suggest I was being manipulated; I’d counter with facts. She’d talk about trusting community judgment; I’d point out communities have been wrong before. By the end, she looked frustrated.

“I’d like to see you weekly,” she told Mom. “He’s showing signs of oppositional defiance.”

Great. Now I had a label.