Chapter 4

My father, David, came home two days later. He was my last hope.

He was always so kind, so understanding. He' d protect me. He had to.

He was handsome, respected in our suburban town. He owned a local chain of hardware stores, was on the town council. Everyone liked David.

He hugged me when he came in, his usual warm embrace. "Hey, kiddo. Missed me?"

"Dad," I whispered, clinging to him. "You have to help me. Mom... she' s getting worse."

He frowned, his brow furrowing with concern. "What happened, Sarah? Tell me."

I told him everything. The fight, Mark, the police. I told him about the video, how it changed Grandma and Grandpa, how it changed Mark.

"She shows everyone this video, Dad, and they... they turn on me. They say I have to go." My voice broke. "Please, Dad, don't let her show it to you. Promise me you won't watch it."

He held me tight. "Of course, sweetie. I promise. I' ll talk to your mother. We' ll sort this out."

Relief washed over me, so potent it made me weak. He believed me. He would fix it.

That evening, I heard them talking in the kitchen, their voices low. I couldn't make out the words, but Mom's tone was insistent, and Dad's was soothing, placating.

Later, he came to my room. He looked tired.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said, stroking my hair. "Mom is just under a lot of stress. We'll work through it."

I wanted to believe him.

The next few days were quiet. Mom was still cold, but she didn't lash out. Dad was around, and his presence seemed to keep a fragile peace.

Then, one afternoon, I came home from school and found them in the living room. Mom was holding her phone. Dad was watching it, his face unreadable.

My stomach dropped. "Dad? You promised."

He didn't look at me. He just kept staring at the phone.

When the video finished, he slowly looked up, first at Mom, then at me.

His expression was... different. The warmth was gone from his eyes. Replaced by something cold, appraising.

"Sarah," he said, his voice even, devoid of its usual affection. "Your mother showed me what' s been going on."

My breath hitched. "Dad, no, it's not-"

"Frankly, Sarah," he continued, his voice taking on a harsh edge I' d never heard from him before, "after seeing that, I can understand why your mother is so... firm with you."

Firm? She was abusive.

"You seem to bring a lot of this on yourself," he said, his gaze chilling. "You need to start listening to your mother. Show some respect."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. My last hope, my protector, was gone. He was on her side now too.

The video. It was always the video.

What could possibly be on it that could turn my loving father into this cold stranger?

Over the next few weeks, things got worse. Dad didn't just condone Mom's abuse; he started to participate. Not physically, not yet, but with words.

"Your mother's right, Sarah."

"You need to learn your lesson."

"Stop being so dramatic."

The house was no longer a minefield. It was a prison, and both my parents were the wardens.

I had to get out. I had to know what was on that video.