The bottle of Scotch hung in the air between them, a heavy, amber accusation. Isha watched from the hallway, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs, as her stepfather, Rohan, scrolled through her mother’s phone. The screen cast a blue glow on his devastated face. A string of explicit messages, photos that weren’t for him… all of it from the time he thought she was at yoga.

She saw the exact moment his world shattered. His shoulders, usually so broad and capable, slumped. A low, guttural sound escaped him, something between a sob and a roar. He threw the phone against the wall, the screen shattering like a glass.