Chapter 1: The Boy Outside My Door
“Delete that video,” Tyler whispered outside my locked bedroom door.
For the first time all night, my sixteen-year-old stepbrother sounded scared.
I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone clutched in both hands, watching the recording that could destroy the perfect image he'd spent years building for our family. Then I heard him whisper something that made the blood drain from my face.
“You don't understand what you recorded.””
Hours earlier, Tyler had smashed our television, blamed me for it, and watched my father punish me without giving me a chance to explain.
I was seventeen. Tyler was sixteen.
And somehow, in our house, his word mattered more than mine.
It had always been that way since Dad married Linda three years ago.
Tyler was the golden boy. He played soccer, earned decent grades when he felt like trying, and knew exactly how to smile at adults until they forgot whatever he'd done wrong.
I was the difficult one.
At least, that was what Linda called me whenever I disagreed with her.
The trouble started on Friday evening.
Rain tapped against the kitchen windows while I sat at the dining table finishing a history assignment. Dad was working late, Linda was preparing dinner, and Tyler was supposed to be upstairs cleaning his room.
Instead, he was in the living room bouncing his soccer ball off the wall.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I glanced up from my laptop.
“Tyler, could you stop that? I'm trying to concentrate.””
He caught the ball under his foot.
“It's my house too, you know.””
“I didn't say it wasn't.””
“Then stop acting like you own everything.””
Linda appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“What's going on?””
“Nothing,” Tyler said immediately.
“She's complaining again.””
I stared at him.
“I asked you to stop kicking the ball against the wall.””
“See?”” Tyler spread his arms.
“She always has to make everything a problem.””
Linda gave me the look I knew too well.
“Emily, your brother is trying to relax. You've been on that laptop for hours. Maybe you should take a break.””
“I'm doing homework.””
“And you can do it without speaking to him like he's a criminal.””
Tyler lowered his head, pretending to hide a smile.
I closed my laptop.
There was no point arguing. In this house, the first person to tell Linda a story usually won, especially if that person was Tyler.
I went upstairs to get my phone charger. When I came back, Tyler had moved to the far end of the living room.
The television was mounted above the entertainment unit. It was a huge flat-screen Dad had bought the previous Christmas, and he was ridiculously proud of it.
Tyler stood several feet away, rolling his soccer ball between his palms.
His eyes flicked toward the hallway.
Then toward the kitchen.
Then toward me.
“What are you looking at?”” I asked.
“Nothing.””
He smiled.
Something about that smile made me pause, but I couldn't explain why.
I plugged my phone into the charger beside the couch. The battery was nearly dead, and I had been listening to a history podcast earlier, so I opened the voice recorder to check whether I'd accidentally left it running.
The screen showed an old recording.
I deleted it, then set the phone on the couch beside my schoolbag while I went to the kitchen for water.
I didn't know that small, forgettable decision would change everything.
When I returned, Tyler was standing beside the television.
The ball was on the floor.
His expression had changed.
For one strange second, we stared at each other.
Then he kicked the ball.
Hard.
The ball slammed into the television with a violent crack.
The screen flashed white, split into jagged black lines, and went dark.
I froze.
Tyler took two quick steps backward.
“Oh my God!”” he shouted.
Linda rushed in from the kitchen.
“What happened?””
Tyler pointed at me.
“She threw something at it!””
I blinked.
“What?””
“I saw her!”” he insisted.
“She was angry because I wouldn't turn it off!””
“That is a lie,” I said.
Linda looked from the ruined television to my face.
“Emily, tell me you didn't do this.””
“I didn't touch it!””
Tyler pressed both hands against his head.
“Why would you do that? Dad's going to kill us!””
“Stop saying I did it!””
Linda grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from the television.
“Don't you dare shout at me.””
“I'm not shouting at you! Tyler kicked the ball!””
Tyler's eyes filled with tears so quickly that I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing.
“Why are you blaming me?”” he asked, his voice breaking.
“I didn't do anything.””
I stared at him in disbelief.
He had destroyed the television in front of me, and now he was performing like a frightened child in a school play.
Linda pulled out her phone.
“I'm calling your father.””
“Please, just wait until Dad gets home,” I begged.
“You weren't even in the room when it happened.””
“I know what I saw,” she snapped.
“No, you don't!””
She pointed toward the stairs.
“Go to your bedroom. Right now.””
Tyler followed me with his eyes.
As I climbed the stairs, he wiped his face with his sleeve.
Then he mouthed three words.
Good luck, Emily.
I nearly turned around and screamed at him.
Instead, I went into my bedroom and shut the door.
Twenty minutes later, Dad came home.
I heard the front door close, followed by Linda's hurried explanation. Her voice was low at first, then louder. Tyler added his version, carefully inserting little pauses that made him sound reluctant to accuse me.
I sat on my bed, listening.
Then Dad called my name.
“Emily! Downstairs!””
I found him standing in front of the broken television, still wearing his work jacket. His jaw was tight, and his keys were clenched in his fist.
Linda stood beside him with her arms folded.
Tyler sat on the couch, staring at the carpet.
Dad pointed at the television.
“Do you have any idea how much that cost?””
“I didn't break it.””
“Your stepmother says you threw something at it.””
“She wasn't there!””
“Watch your tone.””
“Dad, please. Tyler kicked his soccer ball into the screen.””
Tyler finally looked up.
“Emily, I told them I didn't want you to get in trouble.””
The words were so carefully chosen that I felt sick.
Dad turned toward him.
“What does that mean?””
Tyler swallowed.
“She said she was going to blame me. I didn't want to make things worse between us.””
Linda put a hand on Tyler's shoulder.
“That's enough, sweetheart. You don't need to defend yourself.””
I laughed once, a short, disbelieving sound.
Dad's face hardened.
“You think this is funny?””
“No. I think it's unbelievable that you're listening to him when I was standing right there!””
“Two weeks,” Dad said.
I stopped talking.
“What?””
“Two weeks grounded. No phone, no going out, no friends over. You'll pay for the television out of your savings.””
“Dad, I swear—”
“Your phone. Now.””
My hands began to shake.
“You're not even going to ask me what happened?””
“I just did.””
“No, you asked if I knew how much the television cost!””
Dad held out his hand.
“Phone. Now, Emily.””
I looked at Linda. She was already reaching for the television remote, as if the problem had been solved.
Tyler kept his head down.
I handed Dad my phone.
He turned toward the stairs.
“And if I hear one more word about this tonight, the punishment gets longer.””
I walked upstairs without speaking.
My bedroom door clicked shut behind me.
I sat on the floor with my back against it, staring at the empty space where my phone should have been.
Then I remembered.
The voice recorder.
I had opened it downstairs. I had left my phone on the couch.
Had I stopped the recording before Dad arrived?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to reconstruct the evening.
I remembered the screen glowing.
I remembered the little red recording symbol.
And I remembered being too distracted by Tyler's behavior to look at it again.
My phone was downstairs, but Dad had left it on the kitchen counter while he went to inspect the television.
I could see the faint glow beneath my bedroom door as someone walked past in the hallway.
Then footsteps stopped outside.
A soft knock followed.
“Emily?”” Tyler whispered.
I didn't answer.
“Emily, open the door.””
“Go away.””
“Please. I need to talk to you.””
I heard the doorknob turn.
Locked.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Tyler pressed his mouth close to the door.
“Delete that video.””
My heart began pounding.
“What video?””
“Don't play stupid.””
I stood slowly, moving closer to the door.
“You mean the video that proves you broke the television?””
Silence.
Then Tyler whispered the words that changed everything.
“You think the TV is the worst thing that happened tonight?””
Before I could ask what he meant, he hurried away.
My phone buzzed downstairs.
I heard Linda say, “Who is that?””
Dad answered, “Unknown number.””
A moment later, footsteps approached my room again.
But this time, the voice outside my door wasn't Tyler's.
It was my father's.
“Emily,” he said quietly.
“We need to talk about something else.””
May you like
And when he spoke again, I realized he sounded more frightened than angry.
“Where did you get the document with your name on it?””
