Those rules did not bother me much.
Then Sarah became a teenager.
Kevin’s rules changed.
Her skirts were too short.
Her shirts were too tight.
Her friends were “bad influences.”
Her makeup was “attention seeking.”
Her laughter was “embarrassing.”
Her phone was checked constantly.
Her bedroom door had to remain open.
At sixteen, she asked me,
“Why does Dad hate me?”
I almost laughed because the question seemed ridiculous.
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“Then why does everything I do make him angry?”
I had no answer.
I said the thing mothers say when they want a problem to be smaller.
“He worries about you.”
Sarah looked at me.
“That isn’t what this feels like.”
I remembered that sentence later.
Many times.
When Sarah turned eighteen, the arguments became worse.
Kevin kept saying,
“She’s an adult now.”
But he did not mean she deserved more independence.
He meant he expected more obedience.
“She’s eighteen, not eight.”
“Stop treating her like royalty.”
He said it whenever I defended her.
If Sarah came home fifteen minutes late, he demanded an explanation.
If she spent money from her part-time job, he criticized what she bought.
If she talked about community college, he asked why she expected us to pay.
I had already been setting aside money for her education.
Kevin controlled most household finances.
