"Let him go. Let him cool off before he loses it again."
My steps faltered. A memory surfaced, unbidden. The day I first came home, nine years ago.
I had just turned eighteen. College entrance exams were right around the corner.
The Gilberts appeared out of nowhere, holding Melvin's hand, telling me he was my twin brother. They said they'd believed I died as an infant, that someone had taken me away.
But I overheard Melvin on his knees before my parents, his face twisted with guilt:
Maybe I should be the one to leave. Victor is your real son. If my birth parents hadn't switched us, Victor never would've ended up with a crippled left leg and a half-blind right eye.
I looked down at my crooked leg and shoved the door open with a cold laugh:
So you knew. You knew Melvin's parents did this to me, turned me into something barely human, and you still lied. You let me believe they were the kind strangers who took me in and raised me.
For as long as I could remember, I'd been beaten and humiliated. I never understood why my own parents could be so cruel.
Not until the Gilberts stood before me.
Then it almost made sense.