A matter of trust lost--and found (300-Word Flash Fiction).
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Lyon; it really wasn't Carrie's fault. My dad will call you later about the insurance. I'm really sorry, Carrie. See you at school, I guess. Bye."
Angie, Carrie's best friend, had just admitted to sneaking Carrie's keys out of her purse when Carrie had taken a number of items into a store's dressing room. All she'd wanted was to drive Carrie's graduation present just once around the parking lot, something Carrie had adamantly refused to allow. Why? Because she'd promised her dad that no one else would drive the car without his permission.
When she had pulled back into the slot, the front fender had grazed a concrete post, scratching the fender and embedding flecks of bright yellow paint. Hugh had noticed the paint and questioned Carrie. He hadn't believed her protestations of innocence, and had said so. Through her tears, Carrie had repeatedly begged him to call Angie to verify her story, and he had--eventually.
The sharp disappointment he'd felt at her apparent untruthfulness had been like a hot iron… a momentary sizzling with lingering pain. He cringed as he turned from closing the door and caught the look on her face that clearly said, "How could you even think that I lied to you, when I never have before?" Now he could feel her disappointment, feel the pain caused by his lack of trust.
He said the only thing he could, inadequate though it seemed: "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I never should have doubted you."
Slowly, a smile started at the corners of her mouth, then spread until it reached her eyes. She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him until he thought his heart would burst with the relief he felt.
"It's okay, Daddy," she said. "I forgive you."