My father froze.
I froze.
Because what she held in her hand would change not only my life, but the entire family’s.
Laura, my lawyer, didn’t waste a second. She approached him with the envelope. He tried to maintain his usual haughty demeanor, but I noticed a flicker of unease for the first time.
“Mr. Ramirez,” she said, “we received this last night, sent from your son’s phone.”
My father turned to look at me, bewildered. I nodded—I had sent it myself.
Inside the envelope were copies of everything I’d sent Laura: audio recordings, messages, and a psychological report I’d compiled after months of enduring constant humiliation. It wasn’t impulsive; I had been documenting it all.
“You have subjected your son to psychological abuse,” Laura continued, “not just him, but other family members as well. And now he is pursuing legal action. Last night’s incident in front of everyone was the final straw.”
My father’s confident mask faltered.
Clara tried to intervene immediately.
“This is a misunderstanding. He was just… being disciplined.”
Laura didn’t look at her.
“Discipline is not public humili:ation. It is not m0cking a minor in front of dozens of people. And it is certainly not manipulating their perception of reality.”
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
Finally, my father exhaled.
“Now what?” he asked.
Laura turned to me, giving me the floor.
For the first time, I spoke the words I had held back for years.
“I’m moving in with my aunt for a while. I don’t want contact until we both undergo family counseling. I don’t want to live here anymore.”
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