Page 157 of The Prodigal Son

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispers.

He just holds me. His hand runs up and down my back in a comforting motion until I fall asleep.

About a month after my dad’s death, Jensen and I are hanging out on the couch when he gets a text from his dad to turn on the local news. I have my guitar resting on my lap, strumming the chords of a new song, when he changes the channel and I see the headline on the screen.

Local Pastor Arrested for Tax Fraud and Misconduct

“What the…”

I don’t recognize the mugshot on the screen or the man being hauled off in cuffs, but Jensen looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Who is that?” I ask, although I have a suspicion.

“That’s Derek,” he says softly as he grabs the remote and turns up the volume to hear the report.

“A local pastor was recently arrested on charges of tax fraud and misconduct after incriminating files and emails were sent to authorities from the late Reverend Truett Goode, who passed just last month. It is believed that Pastor Derek Reedus, chief administrator of the Eternal Harmony program, was not only laundering funds costing his organization their tax-exempt status but the email also detailed allegations of sexual abuse of minors in the Eternal Harmony program. Reedus is due to face trial without bond.”

“Holy shit,” I mutter quietly as I stare at the screen. The news anchor changes gears to another story, but Jensen and I are still mutely gazing in disbelief.

“Did that just say…” he starts.

“Mydadsent emails to the police?”

Jensen turns to stare at me. “Why would he do that?”

“I have no clue,” I reply numbly.

When the news gets around, I get calls from my brothers, who are also trying to figure it out, but it’s too late to get answers, and until this asshole goes to trial, I guess we won’t know. None of us plan to actually go to that trial, anyway.

But it’s not until I crawl into bed that night and cuddle up to Jensen’s side that I figure it out. And the realization is heart-shattering.

Maybe I’m wrong. Or maybe this is just wishful thinking, but as I cozy up to the man I love, I realize that maybe my father changed. Maybe he did that for me after all.

He took a look in the mirror and recognized the monster looking back. And given the opportunity to make it right, he took it. I don’t know if those emails were falsified or if somehow he was able to frame the man who hurt my boyfriend, but I’m not sure it matters at this point.

A bad man does bad things for himself, but a good man does bad things for others. And I think my father just used his power for good. It only took a few emails, but he helped bring down the monster that hurt someone in his family. With his dying breath, he did something truly benevolent.

It was the only thing he could do for me at that point. Our relationship was tarnished, as were all of his family relationships. He broke them all.

I choose to believe that after everything, we might have changed him a little. I choose to believe that love has the ability to warm a cold soul, open a closed mind, and heal a broken heart.

But in the end, it was never about him. It was about us—his sons. My brothers. About the men we became, about how after all the mistakes and all the heartbreaks and all the rebellions, what truly remains are good men.

Jensen’s Epilogue

Two years later

Henry waddles down the aisle with the tiny white pillow in his hands. His red hair is combed to the side, and he’s wearing a cheesy grin as the photographer snaps photos of him.

Behind him, Faith bashfully rushes down the aisle toward her mom, who’s squatting in the front row with her arms outstretched. Rather than dropping a few petals as she goes, she dumps the whole basket before jumping into Sage’s arms.

It’s about as traditional as weddings get, honestly, but that’s what I wanted. And it really didn’t matter to Isaac either way. He said that as long as we leave here married, he doesn’t care how modern or traditional it is, and I agree.

I walk down the aisle first with my dad by my side, and Adam is at the altar, ready to officiate with a teary-eyed smile. When I reach him, I turn and hug my dad. He slaps me hard on the back as he chokes back his tears. “I’m so proud of you.”

I can’t respond, or I’ll start crying, so I just nod.

My mom chose not to be here today. I invited her although we hardly speak anymore. She just said that no one would want her there anyway, and my therapist didn’t even have to remind me that it was just her way of playing the victim in a situation she created.

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