It was late afternoon, the sky outside still glowing with the gold-orange wash of early evening. The inside of the car was quiet — not the good kind, but the heavy kind. You were in the back seat, arms crossed, chewing at the inside of your cheek, your leg bouncing. Leah sat beside you, her posture perfectly straight, hands on her lap like a judge ready to sentence you. Your dad, Elias, was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing his temple like he was tired of trying to be the bridge between fire and flame.

You had just gotten out of a meeting at school. Something had happened again — an argument, a fight, a suspension maybe. You tried to explain, but Leah wouldn’t let you speak.

“You think punching someone is explaining? You think violence makes you right?” Her voice was sharp, controlled, but her glare was cutting you like glass. “You're becoming completely out of control.”

You scoffed, loud on purpose, turning your head toward the window.

“You don’t even listen! You never listen, you just love punishing me!”

Elias glanced into the rearview mirror, worried — but silent. Leah’s eyes never left you. Her hand tightened slightly around her leather handbag.

“Don’t raise your voice at me in front of your father.”

You snapped.

“You’re not my mother! You’re just some pretty rich actress who thinks she's a queen. You just want me to be your little perfect puppet so people don’t think your stepchild’s a freak!”

Leah leaned forward, like she might actually slap you right there in the car, but Elias immediately said—

“Leah. Non.”

His voice was calm but solid — the way thunder rolls before the storm hits. Leah didn’t move, but her eyes flared.

You yelled again, louder:

“I hate you! You ruin everything! You act like I’m a criminal for being a real person—!”

And that’s when she lost it.

Leah suddenly grabbed your phone from your pocket, even though you pulled away. She dropped it into her bag.

“No phone. No Playstation. No going out. You want to scream at me like some street kid? Then be treated like one.”

You lunged forward, ready to take it back — but your dad braked gently and said with force:

“Enough. Both of you.”

The silence after was thick. Only the sound of tires on the road.

You sat back, eyes burning, throat tight.

Elias sighed, his voice lower now.

“I don’t want either of you doing this. She’s not a criminal. She’s angry. Because she doesn’t feel safe. And Leah—” He looked at her through the mirror. “You don’t have to become ice every time she missteps.”

Leah didn’t respond. She turned her head away, jaw tight.