Chapter 1: The Lie That Made My Father Hit Me
The sound of my father's fist connecting with my face was something I would remember for the rest of my life.
But the sound that came afterward was even worse.
My stepmother laughing.
I was eighteen years old, standing in the middle of our Atlanta living room with blood running down my chin, while the woman who had spent three years making my life miserable pretended to be terrified of me.
And my father believed every word she said.
My name is Ethan Williams. My mother, Danielle, died when I was fifteen. Three months after her funeral, my father, Marcus Williams, married Vanessa Carter, a woman he'd known for less than a year.
At first, I tried to accept her.
I even called her Vanessa instead of anything less respectful, hoping we could eventually become a family.
But she never wanted to be part of mine.
She wanted to replace my mother, erase everything that reminded Dad of her, and eventually take control of everything my mother had left behind.
That afternoon, I discovered just how far she was willing to go.
I was sitting at the dining room table working on my college application when Vanessa entered wearing an expensive cream-colored dress.
She dropped a stack of shopping bags onto the table.
"Move your things, Ethan.""
I looked up.
"I'm almost finished.""
"I didn't ask how close you were to finishing.""
I gathered my papers.
She picked up my mother's photograph from the sideboard. It was an old picture of Mom standing beside me at the beach when I was ten.
Vanessa examined it with exaggerated disgust.
"Honestly, I don't understand why you keep displaying this.""
"Because it's my mother's picture.""
"She's dead, Ethan. It's time you accepted that.""
I stood up.
"Put it back.""
Vanessa smiled.
"Excuse me?""
"Please put my mother's picture back.""
She deliberately turned the frame around, examining the photograph again.
"Your father has a new wife. This house needs to reflect the present, not some dead woman's memory.""
"That woman was my mother.""
Her smile disappeared.
"Watch your tone.""
I reached for the frame.
Vanessa pulled it away, and the glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered against the hardwood floor.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
I stared at the broken photograph.
"You did that on purpose.""
She folded her arms.
"Careful. Accusing me of things could get you into trouble.""
I bent down to retrieve the picture.
That's when she spoke again.
"Your father and I have discussed your living arrangements.""
My stomach tightened.
"What arrangements?""
"You're eighteen now. You need to leave.""
I slowly straightened.
"Dad said I could stay until I graduated.""
"Your father says many things.""
"He promised.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"And your father believes whatever I tell him.""
I looked at her.
"Why do you hate me so much?""
She laughed quietly.
"Because you're the last reminder that this house belonged to someone before me.""
Then she leaned toward my ear.
"And because your mother left something behind that you know absolutely nothing about.""
I frowned.
"What are you talking about?""
Her expression changed immediately.
"Nothing. Forget I said that.""
Before I could question her, the front door opened and closed somewhere behind us.
My father wasn't supposed to be home until six.
Vanessa glanced toward the hallway.
Then she looked directly at me.
A strange smile slowly appeared on her face.
"Let's see who your daddy believes.""
I watched her grab the neckline of her dress with both hands.
"Vanessa, what are you doing?""
She ripped the fabric.
The sound was sharp and unmistakable.
Then she dragged her fingernails across her own forearm, leaving several red marks.
I stepped backward.
"Are you crazy?""
She immediately screamed.
"HELP! ETHAN! GET AWAY FROM ME!""
I froze.
She threw herself against the couch, grabbed a cushion, and began sobbing.
"PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!""
My father appeared in the doorway.
"Vanessa?""
She rushed toward him.
"Marcus! Your son attacked me!""
Dad's face hardened.
"What?""
"Look at my dress! Look at my arm!""
He turned toward me.
I raised both hands.
"Dad, I didn't touch her. She ripped her own dress!""
Vanessa buried her face against his chest.
"He grabbed me because I told him he had to leave!""
"That's a lie!"" I shouted.
Dad took one step toward me.
"Ethan, what have you done?""
"Nothing! Please, just listen—"
His fist struck my face.
I stumbled backward, hit the coffee table, and fell onto the rug.
My lip split against my teeth.
For several seconds, the room spun.
Then I heard Dad shouting.
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!""
Vanessa stood behind him, one hand covering her mouth.
But I could see her eyes.
She was smiling.
I slowly pushed myself upright.
I wiped the blood from my mouth and looked toward the staircase.
A small black security camera was mounted above the landing.
Vanessa had forgotten it existed.
I pointed.
"Dad. Before you throw me out, look at that camera.""
His expression barely changed.
"What camera?""
"The one above the stairs. It records the living room.""
Vanessa suddenly stopped crying.
"Marcus, don't listen to him. That camera hasn't worked in months.""
I pulled out my phone.
"Then explain why I just received a motion-detection notification.""
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Her face went white.
And for the first time since she entered our house three years earlier, Vanessa looked genuinely afraid.
