Piper's Fear
Chapter 09 - Piper's Fear
Piper struggled considerably in the weeks following her father's arrest, her school attendance slipping, her usual close friendships growing strained under the weight of a scandal that had, within days, become the subject of considerable local news coverage.
"Kids at school know," she told Evelyn one evening, sitting at the kitchen table of the small off-base apartment they'd moved into once the investigation made continued base housing impossible. "Everyone knows. I don't know how to just, exist at school anymore, with everyone looking at me like I'm somehow part of what he did."
"You're not part of it," Evelyn said firmly. "You didn't do anything wrong. Neither did I. I need you to understand that clearly, even when it doesn't feel that way."
"But everyone's looking at us like we knew," Piper said, tears falling. "Like we should have known, and didn't say anything."
"We didn't know," Evelyn said. "I promise you that completely. I've spent every day since this happened replaying nine years of marriage, trying to understand what I missed, and I still don't have a complete answer. That doesn't mean either of us bears responsibility for what he chose to do in secret."
Dr. Naomi Reyes, a family therapist Marisol had recommended, began working with Piper twice weekly, helping her navigate the specific, complicated grief of losing her father to prison while simultaneously processing anger at him for the harm he'd caused.
"I hate him," Piper admitted, during one session Evelyn attended alongside her. "And I miss him. I don't know how to feel both of those things without it tearing me apart."
"You're allowed to feel both," Dr. Reyes said gently. "Grief and anger aren't opposites. They often live in the same space, especially when someone we love has caused genuine harm to other people."
Evelyn, listening to her daughter work through this impossible tangle of emotion, felt her own guilt resurface freshly, the specific, aching wish that she'd somehow protected Piper from ever having to learn this particular lesson about her own father.
"I keep thinking about Carla Reyes," Piper said, during one conversation with her mother that evening. "Her husband died for this country, and Dad stole from her using your name. I don't know how to hold that alongside still loving him, even a little."
"I don't fully know either," Evelyn admitted honestly. "I think that's simply what this specific grief looks like. Loving someone and being devastated by what they did aren't mutually exclusive, even when it feels like they should be."
Farrah visited often during those difficult weeks, bringing dinner, sitting with Piper while Evelyn attended meetings with investigators and victims' representatives, a steady, reliable presence that both mother and daughter came to depend on considerably more than either had expected to need.
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"You don't have to carry all of this alone," Farrah told Evelyn, one particularly exhausting evening. "I know you're used to being the one who holds everything together. I want you to let me actually help, not just show up occasionally when it's convenient."
Evelyn nodded, exhausted, grateful, understanding slowly, over the following weeks, exactly how much she'd need to lean on people around her if she and Piper were going to survive this particular chapter of their lives intact.
