I had to play the part of the “egotistical” daughter while the PI coordinated with the authorities. I even let my mother pick out the new paint for my master bedroom. The tension in the house was a living thing, coiling tighter every day.
I secretly installed cameras to capture their “coaching” sessions with the children. The footage was harrowing; my mother would pinch Sophie’s arm to make her cry before hitting “record.” It was the final piece of evidence the police needed.
On a Tuesday morning, I slipped out the back door while the family argued over furniture. I sat in my car at the end of the block and waited for the silent sirens. The “black sheep” was finally about to bite back.
The raid happened at 10:00 AM sharp with three black SUVs pinning Brian’s car into the driveway. My parents’ faces went from indignant to ghostly pale as officers stepped over my threshold. I watched from across the street with hollow relief.
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