My name is Katie Jones, and I was ten years old when everything started to change. I didn't know it back then, but the last couple of years would reveal things about my family that I wasn't ready to see.
I have an older brother named Arron. He's eight years older than me. When he was eight, our dad died in a car accident. I think that's when Arron changed. Maybe that's when everything changed.
Arron picked me up from school like he did every day. While we were driving, he told me I was "too little to see the truth about our family," and he hoped I never did. I didn't understand what that meant, so I just listened.
I asked him if my eleventh birthday would be better than the last one. He promised he'd make it better, no matter what.
When we got home, my stepdad John was at the table drinking coffee and looking at his phone. Arron walked in first, then me.
"Wait one minute, little girl," John snapped.
"Yes?" I said quietly.
"What were you thinking when you hit that kid at school today?" he demanded.
I took a long breath and started explaining. A boy at school said my family was full of drug heads, that I'd never be anything in life, and that I'd probably sell drugs like "my family." I got mad… so I punched him.
John shook his head. "You can't be going around hitting people." Then he yelled, "Go to your room until your mother gets here to deal with your ass!"
Arron told him to calm down — that I was just standing up for myself. John walked out, leaving Arron and me alone. Like always.
Later, Arron checked on me and tried to cheer me up. He promised we'd talk about why people said things about our family… when I was older.
The next morning, everything went wrong.
While Arron was in the shower, John slammed his hand on the table and yelled that I should be punished. He grabbed my arm and hit me across the face. It stung so bad I ran to my room crying. It was the first time anyone had ever hit me. I looked in the mirror and saw my cheek burning red.
A few minutes later, I heard shouting. My mom screamed, "Stop it!"
I ran into the living room just in time to see Arron fighting John — Arron on top, punching him. When Arron saw me, he stopped. He picked me up and said, "We're leaving. We're going to have a fun day."
At school the next week, nobody asked about the bruise on my cheek. The teachers just looked at me with sad eyes… like they'd seen this before.
Had something like this happened to Arron, too?
I didn't know. But my birthday was coming, and I still hoped — maybe stupidly — that things would get better.