My adult brother hit our youngest sister whenever our parents worked late, then brought her ice packs before they came home.

Detective Martinez didn't waste time with platitudes. She was methodical, sharp, and possessed the cold efficiency of someone who had seen the worst of human nature hiding behind white picket fences.

For nearly two hours, we sat in that windowless hospital room while Martinez recorded Lily’s testimony. She photographed the diary herself, signed off on Dr. Thorne’s medical reports, and took statements from Mom, Dad, and me.

"Julian went to Evelyn Vance’s residence, correct?" Martinez asked, snapping her pen shut.

"Yes," Dad said. "His aunt."

"I know Mark Vance," Martinez said, her eyebrows raising slightly. "He called our dispatch thirty minutes ago trying to lodge an assault complaint against Daniel. He claimed Julian was beaten bloody in your front yard."

"Julian hit himself," I said bluntly. "He's trying to muddy the waters."

"I've already dispatched two patrol units to the Vance residence," Martinez said, standing up and sliding her binder into her briefcase. "Julian won't be lodging any complaints tonight. We’re bringing him in for questioning based on the physical evidence and Lily’s emergency protective order."

"Will he go to jail tonight?" Mom asked, her voice raw.

"If he's there, he will be detained," Martinez said. "Go home. Get your daughter some sleep. Keep your doors locked. I will call you the moment he is in custody."

We left the hospital as the first pale, sickly streaks of dawn were bleeding into the eastern sky. The air outside was freezing, biting through our clothes.

When we pulled back into our gravel driveway, the house looked different. The home I had grown up in, the house that had always felt crowded, warm, and chaotic, now looked like a crime scene waiting for yellow tape.

Dad walked through the front door first. He didn't take off his coat. He walked straight to the kitchen, opened the heavy toolbox from under the sink, and pulled out a cordless drill and a set of heavy steel deadbolts he had bought months ago and never installed.

Without saying a word, he went down the hallway to the bathroom.

*Whirrr. Whirrr.*

The sound of the drill bit biting into the doorframe echoed violently through the quiet house. Dad unscrewed the outside latch—the cold brass hook that had kept Lily trapped while Julian stood outside holding his plastic ice pack. He ripped it from the wood, threw it onto the floor, and stomped on it with his heavy work boot until the metal bent double.

Then, he went to Lily’s bedroom door and installed a brand-new, heavy-duty interior lock, handing her the only key.

"Nobody locks you in ever again," Dad told her, his voice breaking into pieces. "And nobody comes in unless you want them to."

Lily wrapped her arms around his waist. For the first time in years, she buried her face in our father’s chest and let him hold her without looking over her shoulder for Julian.

By 6:00 AM, Lily was asleep in her bed, completely exhausted, with Mom sitting in an armchair beside her, watching her breathe.

I sat at the kitchen table with a mug of black coffee, staring out the front window at the empty road. Dad sat opposite me, oil from the drill still smudged across his knuckles.

"How didn't I see it, Daniel?" Dad whispered, his head resting in his hands. "I lived in this house. I raised him. I taught him how to throw a baseball. How did he turn into a monster under my own roof?"

"He didn't turn into one, Dad," I said, my voice hollow. "He was always like this. We just let his grades and his manners blind us."

Before Dad could answer, a text message arrived on my phone.

It wasn't from Evelyn.

It was from an unknown burner number.

*"You think a doctor’s note changes anything, little brother? You think Mom and Dad can protect her when they have to go back to work? You made this public. Now everyone at your school, everyone at the plant, and everyone in this town is going to know what a disgusting, broken family we are. Tell Lily to enjoy her locked door. Locks can be broken."*

My heart stopped.

I jumped out of my chair so fast it clattered backward onto the floor. "Dad! He’s not at Evelyn’s!"

"What?" Dad shouted, scrambling to his feet.

"The police didn't catch him!" I yelled, pulling out my phone and dialing Detective Martinez.

Before the phone could even ring, the sound of glass shattering exploded from the back of the house.