My family didn't notice the taser appearing over and over in the video. All they saw was me, the Seymours' eldest son, nuzzling against a stranger's leg like a dog.

Dad's face twisted with anger. In a low, furious voice, he snapped at Mom to turn off the video, calling it humiliating. "Turn it off!"

Once she did, she tapped open a voice memo from the dean of students.

That was the same voice that had tormented me endlessly at the residential treatment center. It always came right before punishments that left me shaking.

They'd lash me with a whip coated in pepper spray or shock me with the taser until my body spasmed uncontrollably.

The whole time, they'd howl with laughter, mocking me, a privileged family's son, for having less pride than their pet dogs.

"Mrs. Seymour, Zach's behavior is beyond disappointing. The fact that he's gone this far just to avoid punishment is despicable! I suggest we extend his 'study' period until he learns some obedience and manners."

Dad slammed the fruit platter onto the floor, his anger finally exploding. "He makes me sick! What did I do to deserve such a shameless son?"

After hearing the voice memo play from Mom's phone, my mind dragged me back to those dark days.

…

Every one of them controlled my fate. I was nothing but a dog on a leash—something to toy with or beat up whenever they felt like it. All because the Seymours never gave a damn about me.

It kept going until that day when I finally fought back. But in the end, they broke my arms and legs, crushed my spine, and sent me slamming into the wall with one last kick.

The last thing I saw was red flooding my vision. Maybe my skull had split open. The thought flickered weakly as my mind faded.

They bolted when they realized they'd gone too far.

Shaking, I managed to grab my phone and call Anne.

"I'll come get you right away," she said.

Her voice sounded empty, but I trusted her. I clung to that hope, waiting for her to rescue me. In the end, I bled out.

She lied to me—just like Mom and Dad had done on that snowy day years before.

…

After watching that humiliating video that shamed the whole family, Mom frantically called my phone, but no one answered.

Dad was so furious he almost smashed his phone. Then he snapped at Anne and Mom, telling them not to let me in when I got back.

"Starting today, he's no son of mine!" he roared. "If he's going to spit on our kindness, we'll send him back to the countryside! Let him rot there for all I care!"

Mom interrupted sharply, "Have someone throw out all his things later. I can't bear to look at them anymore."

I stood right before her, staring at them with nothing but pain in my eyes.

How could they possibly think sending me to that residential treatment center was for my own good? Had they even noticed the scars covering my body? Or how thin I'd become?

Was William really the only one who mattered to them?

Dad's phone rang abruptly. The second he saw the police calling, his expression shifted through a dozen emotions at once.

Annoyed, Mom grumbled, "It's got to be Zach causing problems again! Now he's dragging us into it. He never could act right like Will."

Dad let out a dismissive grunt before answering the call.

"Hello, are you Zach Seymour's family? This is the—"

Dad cut the caller off impatiently. "You've got the wrong person! I'm not his family, and I won't claim a son who's done nothing but embarrass us! If he landed himself in jail, he can sit there and think about what he's done.

"Don't call here again. He's not my son. And you make sure he understands that once he's out, he'd better stay clear of the Seymour residence.

"He can crawl back to whatever countryside he came from and waste his life for all I care. And tell him not to come begging for help. The Seymours have already given him more than he ever deserved!"

Dad was about to end the call when the voice on the other end spoke up urgently.

"This is the police. We recovered a young man's body from the mountains several days ago. We've confirmed his identity. It's Zach Seymour."