I had even seen it when my mother noticed the marks around my arm and tried asking whether someone had hurt me.
Before I could answer her, Dad interrupted with a practiced smile and explained that I had always been unusually clumsy.
Over time, those explanations became so familiar that I sometimes questioned my own memories before anyone else had a chance to challenge them.
Aaron learned something different from those years of denial, because every time Dad defended him, my brother became more confident that consequences were meant for other people.
Now, as he pulled me into the hallway, he seemed almost entertained by the sound of my pleading.
“Apologize.”
My cheek brushed the wall as I struggled to regain my footing, and I stared at him through tears of confusion.
“For what?”
Aaron gave another sharp pull instead of answering, forcing me toward the staircase before turning into the living room.
