This is a story recommendation sent in from a friend on instagram:
The prompt I was given was: “Your dad is charged with murder and you are determined to prove him innocent…or guilty.”

It’s been 18 years since I saw my dad, he’s been locked up since I was 5, the memories I have of him are vague but I do remember traveling a lot. Mom always said it was because of dad’s work, he’d go from one state to the next, stopping for a few days a week at most then we’d move again.

As a kid I never thought it was strange how frequently we moved, or that we’d have a different car every few weeks, or that dad would disappear for the days at a time, only to pack us up again and move us. Mom always said it was just what he did, nothing more to it.

Despite our constant traveling I felt like I had a pretty ok childhood, mom home-schooled me, after our lessons she’d take me to a local park to play with other kids.

Thinking back now, I realize she’d never call me by my given name…whatever that might’ve been, she’d change my name every time we’d move, so I just got myself used to answering to the sound of her voice, not necessarily the name being called.

At 5 years old the traveling stopped, mom found herself a small home, and dad went away.

I grew up, 13 years went by and we stayed in our little home, just outside of the town 2 bedrooms but completely off the grid. Mom didn’t want to owe the government anything, we had solar panels and collected rain water. We had a small garden outside, with chickens and a couple of cows, she had a deal with a farmer not far from us and he’d trade us meat for eggs and vegetables.

She said she had given the government enough, she said dad worked for them, paid his debts and they still took him from us, she didn’t want to give them anything else. We weren’t allowed visits, we weren’t allowed to see him, as much as I wanted to, I begged her to let me see him the day I graduated. She shook her head like she always did and the conversation was over.

So one day, at 23 I had enough, I was done pretending he wasn’t a part of me, I was done pretending I could accept not ever seeing my dad again. Most people no matter what the crime, would be able to see their family members once a week, everyone had visitation rights, why not MY dad!?

I refused to live with my mom, at 18 I had moved out and had lived with boyfriends and friends and now I finally had my own studio apartment. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but it was my own. With electricity and water FROM THE CITY. I was done living off the grid, I wanted to go to the stores and buy things, instead of hand-made or hand-me-downs from neighbors.

I finished college and began working for the police station cleaning offices, 911 operator positions opened up and I jumped at the pay bump. I needed the money and the closer to the police I was the easier it would be, hypothetically, for me to get more information on my dad.

I finally got the courage to ask an officer who was infatuated with me, he’d come by my desk (this is a very small town the operators office is right inside the station), and chat with me and flirt. The other girls would point it out and I’d brush them off, I was too obsessed with my own motives I didn’t have time for relationships.

I gave in and asked him to search up a name for me, the first name I could remember my mom calling my dad. Jumping at the chance to assist me, even if I was vague on the reason why he opened up his laptop, sat in the seat beside my desk and began searching. He was so excited to help, and suddenly, his face dropped.

“Any reason you want to know about this loser?” he said more somberly now, scrolling through what I could only assume was information about my dad, a loser…I’d never thought of him as that.

“He’s a family friend…” I lied, poorly, which had he not been so enthralled in whatever he was reading he would’ve caught on immediately.

“Dude’s on death-row. With good reason…” he shook his head, “this guy is a Netflix Special if I’ve ever seen one.” He kept speaking vaguely until I got frustrated and snatched the computer from his lap.

I couldn’t believe the photos of evidence, 20 states, in the span of 6 years, he’d done atrocities, to what seemed like random strangers, all from other countries.

My blood went cold, my dad wasn’t a racist…there was no way he was a murderer, and my mom couldn’t have known he was doing all of this and is still waiting for his return. There needs to be more to this. I emailed myself the pdf of the closed case files, I needed time to digest this and there was so much more information I hadn’t even read yet.

He pretended he didn’t see what I had done, for the sake of having a few more moments with me, we spoke a bit, he didn’t try to ask for more information about my connection to the man he had seen, too busy trying to ask me out for dinner. I rolled my eyes and laughed him off as usual.

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I got home and began my research, there had to be more to this, there was no way my father had done this with seemingly no motive. I’d accept he did it, but there had to be a reason for it all.

Mom was so vague, she’d always say dad worked for the government she never mentioned exactly what he was doing, had they used him as a scape-goat, or did he go crazy and kill those individuals out of moments of anger? Or was there more to it…I needed to know more.