My name is August Monroe, a 54-year-old ex-army man and a father. One thing about me? I’ll do anything to protect my children, no matter what it takes.

My daughter, Callie, married into wealth. Her husband, Landon, has always been a golden boy, with his mother and father owning multiple business and plenty of property. Well, they were the Keats, a respected family everyone feared because of some reason.

When I hadn’t heard from my daughter for more than three weeks, I got worried. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. Her texts, which were rare, were short and cold, and that didn’t resemble Callie. So, I decided to pay her a visit, but when her mother-in-law, Marjorie, saw me at their door, she was surprised.

“August. What a surprise. Callie didn’t mention you were coming,” she said, putting a fake smile on her face.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“In the garden shed,” she replied. “Working on her little ‘projects.’”

I crossed the manicured lawn and knocked on the shed door. “Callie?”

“Dad?” Callie answered with a shaky voice.

When she opened the door, my world collapsed. She was all covered in sweat, surrounded by some of her clothes, and a fan that could barely provide any relief.

There was 104°f at that garden shed where my daughter lived.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, shocked by the site.

“Dad, you can’t be here,” Callie said. “Marjorie doesn’t allow…”

At that point, I didn’t give a damn about Marjorie, all I cared for was Callie’s safety. “Callie, how long have you been living in here?”

She said she was living at that garden shed for three months. Apparently, her mother-in-law and father-in-law imposed this rule of not letting anyone who isn’t blood inside the house, not until their son was back home from the months-long business trip.

“Pack your things,” I said, “We’re leaving.”

Callie was afraid. She refused to come with me, not wanting to make her husband’s parents mad.

“Dad, I can’t. It’ll cause a scene. Landon’s future…”

But I didn’t care about Landon’s future. At that point, I only cared about Callie.

“Callie, are you aware you are living in a box? You know what I’ve always told you will happen if someone ever hurts you, right baby?”

With tears in her eyes, Callie said, “You make them regret it.”

Callie started packing her belongings and we left that shed, finally. At the door were Marjorie and her husband Charles.

“Where do you think you’re taking her?” Marjorie called, with an angry tone.

“Home,” I answered. “To a place where she isn’t treated like garbage.”

“You don’t understand,” Charles said. “Only Keats by blood live under this roof. Callie knows that. She agreed.”

“Agreed?” I snapped. “You locked my daughter in a sweatbox in hundred-degree heat. That isn’t tradition, it’s abuse. You’ve mistaken cruelty for class.”

Marjorie threatened Callie. “Don’t leave, or else… wait until Landon learns what’s you’ve done,” she said, trying to scare Callie.

But I insisted my daughter gets inside the car. Finally, we drove off from that property.

“You’ll regret this! Landon won’t forgive you!” Marjorie yelled at us as we were leaving, still in disbelief from Callie’s courage to choose me over them.

A week later, Landon appeared at my doorstep. He claimed he had no idea how his parents treated Callie when he was not home. Apparently, Callie was too afraid to tell him the truth about his parents, worried for his future in the family.

He begged my daughter for forgiveness, but she decided to choose herself and her piece. Landon’s family was a toxic one, and she didn’t belong there in the first place.

Callie stayed with me, and separated from her husband. At the end of the day, whether Landon would find the courage to stand against his family would be his battle — not hers.

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Bored Daddy

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