His hands were secured behind his back with metal cuffs.

He was wearing a thin gray sweater, now darkening with rain, and his face was pale and slick with sweat.

“I didn’t do anything!” Brandon screamed, his voice cracking as he slipped on the wet grass of the lawn. “Dad! Tell them! This is a mistake!”

My father stood on the porch, his phone pressed to his ear, his face completely devoid of color.

My mother ran out behind them, clutching a cream-colored cashmere shawl around her shoulders.

“Brandon!” she shrieked, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain. “Officers, please, he lives here, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

The officer on Brandon’s left opened the back door of the patrol car and guided his head inside.

“Ava!” Brandon yelled, spotting me as I stepped onto the driveway. “Tell them! Tell them it wasn’t me!”

The door slammed shut, cutting off his voice.

My mother turned at the sound of his shout, her eyes locking onto me.

She ran down the porch steps, ignoring the puddles, her expensive leather flats splashing through the water.