Black Iris

Only human.

Rose

"Dear Heavenly Father,

"We pray for this upcoming court trial.

"We pray that you can bring justice to Ophelia.

"That your will can be done unto the vile man and woman who let sin corrupt their hearts.

"We pray that you can bring wisdom unto the judge and jury.

"And move the witnesses to share truth and grace in their testimonies.

"Lord, only you know how this trial will end.

"So we ask not for the power to change that outcome,

"But peace with what that might be.

"Finally, lord, we pray in thanks.

"Thanks that Ophelia has returned to us.

"And thanks that through your word, we know that no matter the outcome of this trial,

"Justice will be delivered in death, through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ our lord.

"As is written in Ecclesiastes, God will bring into judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time to judge every deed.

"Thank you lord for your grace, through which our deeds can be judged and forgiven.

"And thank you for the food you have provided unto us.

"We pray this all in the name of our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ.

"Amen."

A murmur of amen came from across the small table from my mother. For once, I echoed it as well.

My mother was the first to begin eating, saying nothing, her lips pursed and her eyes tired. My father glanced across at me and gave a weak smile, looking equally tired.

"Is Clara meeting us at the court?" He asked.

I nodded. "Yes, on the front steps. She said there would probably be press when you drop me off, though."

He nodded as my mother scowled. We both looked at her, surprised. She blinked and looked up.

"Of course there is going to be press. Just like there has been outside your therapist, my gym, Claras office, our bloody house half the time. The whole country has been obsessing over this story like it's a bloody true crime podcast. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if there was one of those about the case too."

"There is," I muttered solemnly.

'Ivy v Ophelia' had published two episodes so far, including a deep dive into the 'foundations' of the case, and how Gwen supposedly knew me, then an episode on the scene of when I went missing, switching between my story and Blake's.

I knew because they had been one of the many many people reaching out to try interview me.

Thankfully, the podcast was yet to pick up much traction.

"Yes," my mother hummed, "My point is that it is unnecessary to clarify that there will be press there, Ophelia."

I sighed. "Whatever. I was just warning him."

"Yes, well use your goddamn brains, Ophelia. For christs sake, this is your freedom at stake."

I scoffed. "You don't think I fucking know that, mum? I was telling him about there being press outside when we go in, not how I was going to sell my soul to my kidnapper."

"Girls!" My father shouted, at the same time my mother abruptly stood, scowling.

"Yes, I get it, Mitch. Don't use the lords name in vain. But now she's got me all riled up, I'm going to go sit in the car and knit to cool off."

Then she huffed, grabbed her knitting needles and yarn from by the door and left. I let out a frustrated sigh and looked across at my father.

"What did I do? How am I the one in the wrong here?"

He let out a sigh. "You and your mother are so alike sometimes."

This time it was my turn to scoff. "Are you kidding me? We're like polar opposites."

He shook his head. "You're both so strong willed, won't take no for an answer. Won't back down from an argument, or admit that you're wrong. Or, that what you're fighting about isn't what you're fighting about."

"She just got angry at me for warning you about the press!" I exclaimed and he raised an eyebrow.

"And do you really think that is what she was angry about?"

"Yes!" I cried out. He gave me a pointed look and I frowned. "Maybe?"

"No, Ophelia. She wasn't angry at you for telling me about the press. She is angry at the fact the press will be there. She is frustrated by this situation we are in. But most of all, she is scared. She is worried about this trial, about the state of the justice system on this country, and whether it is enough to save her baby girl. She is terrified that she might lose you, Ophelia."

"Well this is the first I've heard about it," I mumble and he nods.

"Yes, because you and your mother are like carbon copies. You bottle up all your emotions and push them down, or shove them out in the form of anger and retaliation, rather than constructive outputs. I think often I can be the same way, and it's part of the reason we were always so harsh with you."

"Dad, this isn't-" I started, worried I knew where this was going, but he cut me off.

"No, listen to me, because I should have said this a long time ago. Ophelia, I am sorry for hurting you, and for causing so much fear and anxiety in your life. I have been far from the perfect father, and I'm sorry for that. I think, far too often, your mother and I have used the excuse of love when disciplining you, claiming that it was in the name of god and in the name of our love for you, in that we wanted what was best for you. But I think that really, more often than not, it was fear, not love, that drove us. We were scared you wouldn't be like us, so scared that you would be different, that we lashed out and hurt you. But you... you are different to us, Ophelia. So different. And while I might never understand you, I hope that I can  come to accept you. That we can come to accept you. Because I would much rather do that than lose you."

"You aren't going to lose me," I said, quietly, thinking of the trial.

But dad just gave me a sad smile. "We might. Regardless of how this trial goes down. Really, Ophelia, you're seventeen now. In fall, you will be a high school senior. Applying to colleges. Figuring out your next step. Soon enough, you will have the freedom to go where you choose, to be what you want to be. And yes, we might lose you. It might be what's best for you. But, I hope that even if that happens, you'll know that though we messed up, we were only human, it was not your fault, and we both love you so much."

"Dad," I started, a lump in my throat. But when I tried to speak, I couldn't find the words. He just reached across and gently rubbed my hand.

We were quiet for a few seconds, then he let out a long, shaky breath.

"Okay, Ophelia. Enough of this heart to heart. Let's go put some criminals in jail, hey?"

Then, with a small smile, and a pat to my hand, he got up and collected my empty plate along with my mother's barely-touched one, to carry across to the sink and wash up. I let out a shaky breath and tried to gather my thoughts.

I pushed the heart-felt confession to the side, and focused on the task upcoming.

It was trial time.