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.”

A few minutes later, the examination-room door opened. Two uniformed police officers entered first, followed by Detective Elena Martin and Dr. Marcus Cooper. The detective immediately ordered everyone separated while one officer positioned himself between us and Edric. Another escorted our mother into the hallway despite her protests.

“I want my lawyer,” Edric demanded.

“You’ll have that opportunity,” Detective Martin replied calmly. “But first, these girls are going to speak.”

Edric laughed as though the outcome had already been decided.

“They’re emotional teenagers. She invents stories,” he said, pointing at Chloe. “And that one follows her.”

No one answered him.

The officers escorted him out of the room, and for the first time in years, the door closed with Edric on the outside instead of us. The silence that followed felt unfamiliar, almost peaceful.

Detective Martin pulled a chair beside my hospital bed and opened her notebook.

“My name is Elena. I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight.”