Three months earlier, my grandmother had left me her lake cabin—the only place that had ever felt safe growing up. My mother expected it. Lily had plans to turn it into a rental. When I refused to give it up, they turned on me.
Apparently, Thanksgiving was their solution.
“What did you put in the food?” my father demanded.
Lily shrugged, her confidence slipping. “Relax. Just enough to knock them out.”
My mother added coldly, “By tonight, it won’t matter. We’ll say she overdosed—and gave some to the boy. People already think she’s unstable.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I lay there, listening to them plan my death.
Then a voice spoke from across the table—my teenage nephew, Evan.
“I called 911.”
Everything stopped.
Lily turned pale. “What?”
Evan stood, phone still in his hand. “I heard Grandma earlier. I thought I was wrong… but then I saw them collapse.”
My mother slammed her glass down. “You ungrateful—”
But sirens cut her off.
Distant at first. Then closer.
My father moved quickly, dumping the chicken into the sink. Lily lunged toward Evan, but he grabbed her arm.
“No,” he said.
My mother backed away, her voice low and threatening. “Think carefully. If you turn on us, you go down too.”