The air in the hospital lobby was cool and dry.

I walked out into the gray afternoon light.

The city was quiet, the sky heavy with dark snow clouds.

I got into my car, the cold leather seat sending a chill through my coat.

I started the engine and drove toward the suburbs, toward the house where I had spent my childhood holidays.

The house that had become a trap.

As I drove, the reality of what I was doing settled over me.

If I got those documents, I would hand them to the district attorney.

I would put my own aunt in prison.

I would ruin my cousin’s future before it even started.

And I would never speak to my brother again.

But the alternative was my own ruin.

The tires hummed against the wet asphalt.

I turned onto the quiet, tree-lined street of my aunt’s neighborhood.

The houses here were large, brick, and perfectly manicured.

A facade of wealth and stability.

I pulled up to the curb three houses away from my aunt’s driveway.

My uncle’s dark sedan was parked in the driveway.