The night everything snapped, I stopped being the easy child. The air in the living room turned metallic, every breath scraping as my mother’s fingers tightened around the armrest and my father’s jaw began its familiar grind. Amber hovered at the edge of the couch, wide-eyed, already tilting the gravity of the room toward herself. “I mailed Aunt Linda the truth,” I repeated, my voice steady as a verdict. No yelling, no tears—just the soft, undeniable thud of a life finally documented. On my desk upstairs, the missing envelope glowed in my mind like a lit fuse, already sliding through postal systems, already slipping beyond our walls, already halfway to deto… Continues…
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