My Dad Is A Police Officer At Day And A Thief At Night

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My little brother, Clark, is definitely the baby of the family. My parents dote on him, especially my dad, and to be honest, I do too. A lot of people say their younger siblings are annoying, but I can’t imagine life without my brother.

A few months ago, Clark was diagnosed with a rare cancer. We were devastated. After talking with his doctors, it seemed like the only option was a surgery that health insurance would only partly cover. My family Is low-income. My dad is a police officer, but his salary barely stretches to care for a whole family—let alone for a sick kid.

I didn’t know what to do. My parents were sad and worried all the time. They put every cent of their savings into Clark’s medical care. I noticed we had less to eat, and my mom said no new clothes, not even from the thrift store—even though I was rapidly growing out of my old ones. I didn’t complain, even when my stomach was growling during school, or when the other kids made fun of my too-small jeans. I was too worried about my brother.

I pushed myself harder in school, even though I had no focus. I didn’t want to give my parents any more reason to worry. It was because I was staying up so late to study that I noticed my dad leaving the house at night, even when he didn’t have a night shift. That made me nervous—what if the stress was too much for him, and he was becoming an alcoholic or something? That didn’t seem like my dad, though. My dad would never spend money on booze when Clark needed him. Our dad was our hero.

One night, I followed him. I saw him go into the corner market. I watched through the window as he greeted some people—everyone in town knew him. A little while later, he came out again, but I hadn’t seen him buy anything.

The next day, our cabinets were stocked with beef jerky and some other snacks. I told myself my dad must have bought them at the market, and I just hadn’t seen him pay. But I had an uneasy feeling.

This became a pattern: My dad would leave at night, and in the morning, there would be cans of soup, or new bottles of Tylenol, or a new pair of jeans for me. And one morning, he was at the computer, so happy he was practically singing. When he got up to go to the kitchen, I looked at the screen and saw that he was listing some jewelry on eBay!

It appeared that my dad, my hero, had become a thief.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I confront him? He was doing it for a good reason—we needed every bit of his paycheck to pay for Clark’s surgery. But we also needed to eat. And my dad was a police officer—he wouldn’t break the law unless he absolutely had to. I decided not to say anything. Clark’s health was the most important thing.

One day, I came home to find my mom sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, terrified that something had happened to Clark.

“Your dad’s at the station,” she cried. “He was caught on camera stealing from the jewelry store.”

“He was arrested?” I could feel panic rising in my chest.

She shook her head. “No. The chief was the one who saw the security footage. He and your dad have been friends for a long time. He wanted to give your dad a chance to explain.”

“That’s good!” I said hopefully. “As soon as the chief hears the truth, he’ll let dad go.”

Mom wiped her eyes. “Your dad doesn’t want to tell him. He says he knows he broke the law, and he deserves the same punishment as any of the criminals he’s arrested over the years.”

I was shocked and furious. My dad’s moral code was going to leave the family with nothing. “So now he decides to play the martyr? Where was his conscience when he was stealing from every shop in town?”

My mom looked stunned. “You knew?”

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