It all started when I was 12. At that moment my brother, Toby, was 16. I remember how scared I always was when Dad and Toby had a fight.
One day my brother came earlier home from school, and Dad asked; “why are you coming home now?” My brother did not answer and Dad started yelling. He knew that Toby was cutting classes. But Toby did not care, he always just went upstairs to his room, and we did not see him for the rest of the day.
A week or something after that, the police came and knocked on the door. I opened it and I
almost started crying. Toby was with them, and two other guys from Toby’s class. Dad came and told me to stay inside the house, while he was going outside, to talk with the police and the boys. When Dad and Toby came inside again I was hiding in the closet to hear what they were talking about. Dad yelled something like; “so now you’re stealing too! These boys are not a good company for you! How many times do I have to say that to you?” And again, Toby didn’t answer our dad.
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