Dad, Please Come Get Me

Margaret Prescott gave her first television interview eleven days later.

Her attorney must have begged her not to.

Pride rarely listens.

The segment aired on a local Nashville station at six in the evening, framed as an “exclusive family response” to the growing questions around Andrew Prescott’s suspension from his company board, the Easter incident, and the emergency protective orders now attached to a household once known for charity brunches and hospital fundraisers.

Daniel watched from his kitchen table with Emma sitting across from him.

She had asked to watch.

He had told her she did not have to.

She said, “I know. That’s why I want to.”

So he made coffee, set the remote between them, and let her decide when to turn it off.

Margaret appeared in a pale blue suit with pearls at her throat and grief arranged carefully around her eyes. She sat in the Prescott sunroom, surrounded by white flowers, the same kind that had stood over Emma’s body on Easter Sunday.

The interviewer asked whether she believed her son had harmed his wife.

Margaret lowered her gaze.

“My son is not perfect,” she said, “but he is not the monster certain people want him to be.”

Emma’s hand tightened around her mug.

Daniel did not move.

Margaret continued.

“Emma has struggled for years. We tried to love her through it. We tried to give her structure, stability, a family name, a beautiful home. Unfortunately, some wounds from childhood follow people into marriage.”

Daniel felt the old soldier in him go quiet.

Not angry.

Targeted.

The interviewer asked, “Are you referring to her father?”

Margaret sighed, as if reluctant to be noble.

“Colonel Mercer is a man of force. That is not an insult. It is simply true. Some men only know how to solve problems by escalation.”

Emma stood.

Daniel reached for the remote.

She stopped him.

“No. Let her finish.”

On screen, Margaret’s voice softened.

“Andrew loved Emma. But love can become impossible when an outside influence convinces a wife that every marital disagreement is abuse.”

The interview cut to a photograph from Andrew and Emma’s wedding.

Emma in white.

Andrew smiling.

Daniel standing behind her, formal and stiff, one hand resting lightly on the back of her chair because Caroline had not lived to stand there beside him.

Margaret said, “We pray she gets the help she needs.”

Emma picked up the remote and turned the television off.

The kitchen fell silent.

Daniel waited for tears.

Instead, Emma laughed once.

Small.

Humorless.

“That’s the best she has?”

Daniel looked at her.

Emma pushed the mug away.

“She called me unstable, blamed my dead mother’s absence without saying it, blamed you, made Andrew sound patient, and surrounded herself with flowers like she was hosting a funeral for her reputation.”

“That is a fairly accurate analysis.”

“She taught me well,” Emma said.

Then her face changed.

The strength did not leave.

But a child stood behind it for a second.

“She said childhood wounds.”

Daniel’s throat tightened.

“I know.”

“She means you.”

“I know.”

“She’s wrong.”

He looked down.

A father can survive insults from strangers. He can survive threats. He can survive being treated as a rough old man by polished people who mistake money for breeding.

But his daughter defending him after he had failed to come sooner nearly broke him.

Emma reached across the table.

“Dad.”

He looked up.

“I was angry at you. I still am, sometimes. But Andrew did not hurt me because you were strict. Margaret did not control me because you loved me wrong. They chose what they did.”

Daniel nodded once.

It was all he could manage.

His phone rang.

The advocate.

He answered on speaker.

“Daniel,” she said, “tell Emma not to respond publicly. We already have something better.”

Emma leaned forward.

“What?”

“The housekeeper’s notebook just matched six hospital visits.”

Margaret’s interview had aired at six.

By seven, the careful mother in pearls had accidentally given the investigation motive, pattern, and a fresh statement to compare against the evidence she did not know existed.

Daniel looked at Emma.

For the first time that evening, she smiled.

Not happily.