My name is Madison Kensington, and at twenty-six years old, I had spent almost my entire life being told that my brother’s cruelty was somehow my responsibility.
Aaron was thirty-one, physically stronger than me, and accustomed to getting whatever he wanted from our father.
Douglas Kensington stood in my doorway wearing gray pajamas, his arms folded loosely across his chest as though he were watching an amusing family argument.
For one desperate second, I believed he might finally intervene when he saw Aaron dragging me across the floor.
Instead, my father laughed.”Look at Madison, always acting like the victim.”
Something inside me went cold because I recognized that familiar expression of satisfaction on his face.
I had seen it when Aaron shoved me down the back steps at ten years old and Dad accused me of exaggerating.
I had seen it when Aaron locked me outside during a winter evening at fourteen and Dad said I must have provoked him.
