Through the Eyes of Greif

                                    

                                          

The courtroom buzzed with a tense energy as I took my place in the witness stand, my heart pounding in my chest. I steadied my breath, recalling the events that had led me here. The defense attorney Elaine leaned in, her voice penetrating the silence. "Miss Monroe, could you describe the dinner you had with your family after returning from college?"
I nodded, letting the memories flood back. "It was my first time bringing Jonathan home, and I knew there was a lot at stake. I hadn't seen my family in years, and there were unspoken tensions bubbling just beneath the surface."
Before that evening unfolded, I had called my mother. "Theresa," she had said, her voice low and laden with concern. "I know you're bringing Jonathan home, but I'm not sure this is the right time. We haven't seen you in so long, and it feels like he's trying to take you away from us."
"Mom, that's not it at all," I replied, feeling a tightness in my chest. "I love him, and I want you to get to know him."
"Just remember, your father can be a bit intimidating," she warned. "He's proud and doesn't take kindly to anyone he perceives as a threat."
I sighed, knowing she was right. My father's stern demeanor often masked a deeper protectiveness, and tonight was bound to be challenging.
As we stepped through the familiar doorway of my childhood home, a mix of nostalgia and anxiety washed over me. My mother greeted us with a warm but hesitant smile, embracing me tightly before glancing at Jonathan, her expression shifting. "It's so good to see you, Theresa. And you must be Jonathan," she said, her tone inviting but cautious.
Jonathan nodded, a hint of uncertainty flickering across his face. "Nice to meet you," he said, and I could see how much he wanted to make a good impression.
My father soon joined us, his presence commanding. He looked Jonathan up and down, his expression neutral but watchful. "So, you're the one," he said, his voice steady but lacking warmth.
"Dad, can we just—" I started, but he raised a hand to silence me.
"Let's save the pleasantries for later," he said, a slight smirk on his lips. "We'll see how this goes over dinner."
As we gathered around the dining table, the clinking of plates and silverware filled the air, but a palpable tension lingered, thick and unyielding. My father took his seat at the head of the table, a position that seemed to amplify his authority. He clasped his hands together, his stern expression fixed on Jonathan as if assessing a new adversary.
"So, Jonathan," my father began once everyone was seated. "What do you do for a living?"
"I own my family's oil business," Jonathan replied, maintaining eye contact. "I took over after my mother passed away when I was 20. I've been running it ever since."
My father nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "You're what, 22 now? So you've been doing this for two years?"
"I have," Jonathan replied, his confidence unwavering. "I believe in hard work and community involvement."
"Right. You've had everything handed to you," my father remarked, a hint of skepticism in his tone
"How do I know you're not just trying to impress my daughter? You barely know her, and you've been dating for what, a couple of years?"
"Almost four," I interjected, feeling the need to defend him. "We met in college and—"
"Let him speak for himself, Theresa," my father interrupted, his tone firm. He turned back to Jonathan. "So, what are your intentions with my daughter?"
Jonathan took a deep breath, and I could see the seriousness in his eyes. "I love Theresa. I want to build a life with her. That means understanding her family and being a part of it."