For years, my stepfather kept my twin sister and me living in constant fear, as though our suffering was the only thing that satisfied him. One night, after beating us until we both lost consciousness, he carried us into the emergency room while my mother quietly told the doctors, “They just fell down the stairs.”

She clicked the first recording.

“You’re nothing but parasites living in my house.”

Without saying a word, she skipped to another file.

“Not on their faces this week. School pictures are tomorrow.”

Dr. Cooper quietly removed his glasses as my mother’s voice filled the room. Neither of them interrupted the recordings. They simply listened while months of fear unfolded through the speakers.

Every file revealed another piece of our lives.

Threats.

Insults.

Doors slamming shut.

Objects breaking.

Our mother begging Edric to stop, not because he was hurting us, but because she was terrified the neighbors might hear.

Then Detective Martin opened Recording Thirty-Two.

“Mom… please help us…”

Several seconds passed before Edric’s laughter echoed through the hospital room. Even after living through those nights myself, hearing that laugh again made my stomach twist. Dr. Cooper quietly turned away while Detective Martin skipped ahead to the final recording.