When I protested, Dad told me to stop creating unnecessary conflict and apologize for upsetting my brother.
That evening, sitting alone among the contents of my overturned drawers, I realized that their version of reality would always defeat mine unless something changed.
I bought a small security camera and concealed it within a smoke detector housing positioned above the bookshelf in my bedroom.
I tested its recording function privately, checked that the original smoke alarm still worked, and told absolutely nobody what I had done.
For three weeks, I lived with the uncomfortable knowledge that I was collecting evidence of behavior I desperately hoped would never happen again.
Now that evidence might be the only thing separating the truth from another carefully rehearsed lie.
I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and pressed the emergency number before Aaron understood what I was doing.
A woman’s voice answered, calm and professional despite the panic rushing through my body.
