I noticed Marissa’s thumb was covering the bottle’s label. Two days earlier, I had overheard Dad discussing a prescription refill under my name. When I questioned him, he dismissed it as an insurance mistake. I had never been prescribed medication, but now my sister was accusing me of possessing pills while Dad refused to examine the bottle.

I begged Marissa to tell him the truth. For a moment, she looked frightened, and I thought she might confess. Instead, she lowered her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Dad pointed toward the front door and ordered me out. I begged for my jacket, explaining that a freezing storm was outside. He shouted again. I grabbed my backpack, containing only homework and a granola bar, and stepped onto the porch. My jacket, phone, wallet, and keys were upstairs. Dad slammed the door and turned the deadbolt. I stood beneath the porch roof, waiting for him to change his mind.