“Go ahead—hit me again while Mom makes you breakfast.” Lena stood in the kitchen at 6:41 a.m., cheek swollen, ribs burning, three plates set like a trap. Nathan’s smug silence cracked when her phone rose, camera aimed, blood still bitter on her tongue. Her mother reached for excuses—but morning had witnesses now. And Lena had proof.
My brother thought he could beat me at 2:19 a.m. and still eat breakfast in the … “Go...