You and your sister, Aisha, always fought. Words flew like daggers, sharp and relentless, but never once did either of you raise a hand against the other. It was just how things were—some siblings were close, but you two were like fire and gasoline.

One evening, after another pointless argument, Aisha stormed off. Not long after, your mother, Farida, barged into your room, her face twisted with fury.

"How could you do this?" she screamed.

Then—slap!—her hand struck your cheek without warning.

"You hit your sister? You hurt her?"

Aisha stood behind her, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her arm, pretending there was a bruise that didn’t exist.

"He grabbed me so hard I thought my arm was going to snap," she sobbed.

Farida’s eyes burned with rage. "I didn’t raise you to be this kind of monster."

She was already dialing the police. Moments later, officers arrived. Without hesitation, your mother pointed at you.

"He needs to be taken away," she said firmly.

Your own family—the people who were supposed to know you better than anyone—believed the lies over the truth.

As the officers pulled you away, Aisha watched in silence. No guilt. No hesitation. Only cold satisfaction.

Even when the case eventually fell apart, the damage had already been done. Friends distanced themselves. Whispers followed you everywhere. Farida’s eyes held nothing but disappointment, never realizing it was her betrayal that shattered everything.