The turning point.

Yvonne’s heart pounded in her chest as she quietly slipped through the hallway, the suffocating air of the house pressing down on her with each step. She needed to get out—now. The walls seemed to close in, a flood of old emotions threatening to drown her. But as she stepped into the living room, her blood ran cold.

Her parents were already seated, waiting for her.

Her father, Andrew Lawrence, leaned back in his chair, his steely gaze locked onto her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had known she would try to leave. Yvonne’s mother, Maria, sat beside him, her hands folded neatly on her lap, a tight smile stretching across her face as if she was forcing herself to act composed. But Yvonne could see the tension in her mother's stiff posture, the flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

A cold sweat broke across Yvonne’s back. Her throat tightened as panic surged within her. She had tried to escape the torrent of emotions that this house—the people in this house—brough