“You reported your own parents,” he said.

“I reported evidence,” I said.

“There’s a difference.

You taught me that one yourself, every time you told me the fire was an accident.

Evidence doesn’t care whose parents it belongs to.” My mother had begun to cry.

“After everything we gave you,” she said.

I looked down at the scars along my arm, the scars she had spent twelve years making me hide.

“You gave me silence,” I said.