The House That Didnt Protect Us

Written for the prompt: Write a story in which something is obviously wrong, yet everyone acts like it isn’t.

I arrived on the scene at 5 in the morning, a wooded stretch along the Merrimack River. Lately, we've been called out here far too often for bodies that have been dumped. The river runs for miles, with hardly any houses nearby, making it the perfect place for someone to leave what they don’t want found. The water is dark and murky, you can barely see the surface. Even the kayakers avoid it. Nobody wants to go in that water.

Dead or alive.

I tip back the last sip of my coffee and brace myself for what’s waiting for me beyond the trees. It’s always the anticipation that’s worse than the sight itself. The waiting. The not knowing what I'm about to walk into. This job is unpredictable in a way nothing else is. Every scene is different, every outcome uncertain. There are days I catch myself wishing I’d wake up unemployed. Not because I failed, but because there was no crime left in the world. But I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

I give the investigators a nod, and they bring me up to speed. The victim is fifteen-year-old Addison Barry. Findings indicate she was brutally assaulted. Blunt force trauma consistent with a beating, followed by approximately ten to fifteen stab wounds. Observations suggest the injuries were inflicted at close range. Detectives are canvassing the area for witnesses while we wait for forensics to determine the time of death and run fingerprints.

She looks so small and vulnerable lying there, in a situation no young girl should ever face. She’s still in her pajamas, a quiet reminder that this isn’t where she ever imagined she’d be. She should be waking up in her own bed, getting ready for school. Not lying here cold and alone . My heart sinks as I reach down to brush the blonde hair from her face. Then I feel it.

She still has a pulse.

“We need to get her to a hospital now!” I shout. “Stop messing around down there—she’s alive!”

Fifteen days later, I finally get to speak with Addison. The memory of finding her still plays in my mind, the weight of having been the one to save her life pressing on me. She had lost a significant amount of blood and spent all this time in a coma, but today she woke up, and I'm finally ready to meet her.

Addison:

I come to with a sharp, unbearable pain all over. The room is a blur, and my head is throbbing with every heartbeat. I have no sense of where I am or how I ended up here. But one thing feels familiar. My mother, sleeping in the chair beside me. I manage a dry, raspy croak.

“Mom?”

Her voice cuts through my haze. She screams, half crying, half laughing. “Oh my God, I have to call your father!” She shouts, panic and relief tangled together.

“I knew you’d wake up, baby,” she cries, leaning in closer.

Nurses quickly surround me, checking my vitals. Soon after, I see the rest of my family. My twin brother Andy, my father, and my little sister Aurora. I remember everything that came before. Every face, every moment, every feeling. I can feel the weight of how much I've missed it all. But the one thing that matters most, the reason I woke up in this hospital bed, is nothing but a blank.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice shaky. Everyone in the room exchanges uneasy glances, unsure how to explain. Finally, my father speaks.

“Let’s wait on that. You just woke up, honey. You need to rest.”

But I can’t. The pain is overwhelming, like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I need answers.

“I need to know why I’m here… why I’m in pain… what happened to me.”

My mother finally speaks, her voice firm but gentle. She looks at my siblings.

“Can you guys step out into the hall for a minute?” she asks.

Just as my siblings head for the door, an officer walks in.

“Perfect timing,” my dad mutters under his breath.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Officer Davis. Can I have a few minutes of your time?” he asks.

“Of course,” my mom replies. “We were actually just about to explain to Addy what happened.”

He pulls up a chair and sits down. “First and foremost, Addison, I want you to know how glad I am that you’re okay. I was there the morning you were found, and nothing brings me more joy than seeing you here, living and breathing today.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

“What I’m about to tell you may be difficult to hear. On the morning of February 25th, you were severely beaten and stabbed.” His voice softens but remains steady. “Now that you’re awake, we’re going to do everything we can to find out who did this to you.”

I immediately pull the blanket back and look down at myself, and the reality of it hits me. Officer Davis isn’t describing a nightmare.

He’s telling the truth.

“Who would want to do this to me?” I ask, holding back tears.

“I was actually hoping you might be able to answer that for us, Miss Barry,” he says gently.

“I’m sorry… I don’t remember anything,” I whisper. “The last thing I remember is changing into my pajamas and getting into bed. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know what day it is.”

It all comes down on me, heavy and unforgiving.

Before I can stop, the tears start falling.

Officer Davis attempts to ask a few more questions, but it doesn’t take long for him to see I’m too overwhelmed to give him anything useful. He sets his card on the table beside me and quietly excuses himself. Once he’s gone, I turn to my mom.

“I’m so tired,” I whisper.

Before she can respond, the exhaustion pulls me under, and I drift back into the same darkness that’s held me for the past fifteen days.

It took nearly three weeks of hard work before I was strong enough to be discharged. I pushed myself every day to get this far. I’m still not able to fully walk on my own, but today I’m finally going home.

It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen my bedroom. All I want to do is lie down in my own bed and pretend that none of this ever happened.

There are still no leads on who attacked me. Mom and Dad have been keeping in contact with Officer Davis, hoping for updates, but my memory hasn’t given anyone the answers they’re looking for. Every time I try to think about that night, my head starts to ache, like my mind is refusing to relive it.

Baths and showers have tremendously helped me manage my pain, so that’s the very first thing I plan to do when I get home. The hospital showers felt cold and impersonal, nothing like my own bathtub.

“Do you want me to help you, sweetie?” my mom asks.

“No, Mom,” I tell her. “I think I’ve got this one. If I need anything, I’ll call for you.”

Honestly, I probably should’ve asked her for help. Trying to do everything myself only made the pain worse. Once I finally got into the shower, I sank down and let the warm water wash over me, trying to process everything. I realized just how different my showers were now, compared to before the attack.

Then a cold breeze brushes against my back. I glance behind me and notice the shower curtain has been pulled back slightly. I straighten it, sure it wasn’t like that before. I gain the energy to shampoo and condition my hair. Then, I feel the breeze again. This time, the curtain is pulled back even further.

“I said I’d call if I needed help!” I snap, popping my head out of the shower.

All I see is the door slowly closing. This enrages me. I don’t want my mom constantly hovering over me. I know she was terrified of losing me, but I’m also still a teenager, and I would like the space to at least try to feel normal again.

I quickly finish rinsing off and wrap a towel around myself, grabbing my crutches as I make my way downstairs. In the kitchen, I find my mom.

“Mom, that was completely uncalled for!” I yell. “I was just trying to enjoy a shower, not be watched!”

She looked utterly confused, like she couldn’t even process what I was saying.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “I’ve been sitting here the whole time, trying to figure out these medical bills.” She reassures me.

“Someone was in the bathroom while I was showering!” I scream.

“Are you sure?” she asks, still clearly puzzled.

“Of course I’m sure! Somebody was spying on me!” I insist.

She comes closer, wrapping me in a hug.

“Baby, I know all of this is overwhelming. You’re on a lot of pain medication right now and dealing with so much stress. Don’t overthink it. I really think you just need some rest,” she says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I’m left speechless, wondering if maybe I did just imagine it. I have been on edge lately, especially with my attacker still out there. My body feels drained, and my head is pounding. I decide it’s probably best to just lie down.

After tossing and turning for hours, unable to find a comfortable position, I decide to try the bathroom. Maybe it’s just my bladder keeping me awake. As I walk down the hall, I notice the light in my parents' bedroom is still on. Raised voices slip through the door. They’re trying not to be too loud and wake the rest of the house, but I can still catch snippets.

“She’s convinced she saw someone in the bathroom with her, Andy,” my mom whispers.

“I know… I’m really worried about her,” Andy replies.

“It’s not her I’m worried about.” A heavy pause follows. “This obsession you have with your sister has to stop. Haven’t you learned your lesson by now?” she says sharply.

“It was an accident, Mom. I told you it would never happen again.” His voice breaks.

“Your sister almost died, Andrew!” she yells.

I flinch at the sharp sound of a slap coming from inside the room.

I quickly slip into the bathroom, hoping the door closes before anyone notices me.

What did I just hear?

The question pounds in my head louder than my own heartbeat. My hands shake as dread sinks in my chest.

This obsession you have with your sister has to stop.

The words replay over and over, each time sharper than the last. Obsession? What obsession? And what does Andy have to do with any of this?

Nothing makes sense. Every possibility feels worse than the one before it. I sit on the edge of the tub, trying to force the pieces together, but they won’t fit. The silence in the house feels staged, like everyone knows something I don’t.

I try to crawl back into bed, but sleep won’t come. The questions are too loud.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m standing in Aurora’s doorway. A second later, I’m shaking her awake.

“Addy?” she mumbles, squinting up at me. “What time is it?”

“I need to talk to you,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “I just heard Mom and Andy arguing. She slapped him.”

The sleep drains from her face instantly. Fear replaces it.

“Did you hear what they were saying?” she asks, her voice small and nervous.

This is when I realize I have to pretend like I already know.

I need to draw the truth out of her.

“Yes,” I lie.

She hesitates before slowly pushing herself upright, blankets pooling in her lap. She looks pale. Haunted.

“I’m so sorry, Addy,” she whispers. “They made me promise not to say anything. I thought it would be better to leave it in the past. You’re better now. I didn’t want to drag it all back up.”

I keep my face still, careful not to let my confusion show.

“It was Andy,” she sobs. “One night I heard something downstairs. Strange noises. I got scared and ran to get Mom and Dad. When we came down, you were lying in the living room.” She chokes on the next part. “There was blood everywhere.”

I can’t move. Words alone have never frozen me like this before.

“Mom and Dad know?” I manage to get out.

Her eyes widen. The little color she has left drains from her face.

“They were the ones who brought you to the river,” she whispers.

For a second, everything goes completely silent.

Then something inside me snaps.

“What?” I scream. “What do you mean they brought me to the river?”

Aurora flinches. “Addy, please”

The bedroom door flies open. Mom rushes in first, Dad right behind her.

Andy lingers in the doorway like a shadow.

“What’s going on?” Mom demands.

“You brought me to the river?” I shout. “Why would you do that?”

No one answers. Dad’s jaw tightens. Mom’s eyes flick to Aurora, then to Andy.

Andy won’t look at me.

“Addy, you need to calm down,” Mom says carefully, like I’m something fragile, or dangerous.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I yell. “I heard you! I heard you talking about Andy and some obsession, and now she’s telling me you’re the ones who dumped me by the river!”

Andy finally looks up, his face pale.

“It was an accident,” he says, his voice unsteady.

“An accident?” I laugh bitterly. “What kind of accident ends with me bleeding in the living room and being dragged to the river?”

Mom steps forward. “That’s enough.”

“No,” I say, backing away. “No more secrets. I want the truth. Now.”

At three in the morning, the five of us sit around the kitchen table like this is a normal family discussion.

“We all make mistakes, Addison,” Mom says softly. “Nobody’s perfect. What your brother did was a very stupid choice.”

Dad leans in. “You know Andy thinks differently than we do. This is a difficult time for him. He needs our support, not shame.”

“I was the one in a coma,” I say, my voice trembling. “He almost killed me. And you didn’t even call 911. You just took care of it yourselves.”

No one denies it.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t rejected me,” Andy whispers.

“Rejected you?” I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re my brother. My twin brother!”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he snaps. “We have more chemistry than normal siblings. You feel it.”

“What are you talking about?” I shout. “Never in my life have I ever wanted anything romantic with you. Are you sick?”

“Yes,” my mother cuts in.. “He is. And he’s getting help now. Therapy. We’re handling it.”

Dad’s voice turns hard. “Think very carefully about what you do with this information.”

“If you go to the police,” Mom adds, “your brother will spend his life in prison. Your father and I will go to jail for knowing. Your sister will be taken into foster care.”

“And you,” Dad says, leaning forward, “you’ll be sent to your grandparents in New Hampshire. Working on that farm. I promise you—that’s not the life you want.”

The message is clear.

Stay quiet.

We continued living like that for years. We attended family events. We had dinner together every night. The therapy Andy attended seemed to help. Over time, he even had a few girlfriends.

After that day, I realized how desperately I wanted things to feel normal again. The months after the attack were isolating. I didn’t want to be the one who tore our family apart. So I carried on as if none of it had happened.

Eventually, I convinced myself it hadn’t.

My relationship with Andy grew stronger. In high school, I even turned to him for help with math. To my parents, it all became a big wake-up call, and they insisted Andy get professional help.

Since then, there haven't been any issues.

Aurora stayed in the same school, still saw her friends, and never had to go into foster care. Everything she knew, everything that felt safe, stayed the same. In the middle of all the chaos, she still had her world.

Familiar and unbroken.

Mom and Dad never mentioned it again. In fact, they began treating me like the golden child. Anything I wanted, I got. I haven’t heard the word no in years.

I haven’t told a single soul what happened on February 25th.

I gave everything I had to physical therapy. I had to learn how to walk again, and now I'm one of the fastest runners in my senior class. I graduate in a month, my grades are strong, and for the first time, I'm actually excited about my future.

Some days I still wonder how we managed to go on. How life could feel almost normal during everything.

And I think I’ve finally figured it out.

When you grow up in chaos, normal is just what hurts the least.

It’s not perfect. It’s not fair.

It's just the version of pain you've learned how to live with.