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.”

For the first time since entering our lives, Edric had nothing to say.

Three weeks later, Chloe and I walked into the county courthouse together. Reporters crowded outside the entrance, but the only face I cared about seeing belonged to Uncle Alan. The moment he spotted us, he wrapped both of us in a long embrace and quietly apologized for not returning sooner.

“I’m sorry.”

“You came when we needed you most,” I answered.

“I won’t leave again.”

Inside the courtroom, Edric arrived wearing an expensive navy suit and the same arrogant expression he had carried for years. His attorney confidently argued that two emotionally unstable teenagers had secretly manipulated private family conversations and therefore couldn’t be trusted.

“Your Honor, two emotionally unstable teenagers secretly recorded private family conversations over several months. This behavior alone raises serious concerns regarding their credibility.”

The attorney turned toward me.

“Miss Morgan. Would you agree that secretly recording your own family is highly unusual?”