The scream did not come from pain.
It came from fear—manufactured, sharpened, and released at exactly the right moment.
Monica froze in the hallway when she heard it, one hand still resting on the polished banister of the house she had ruled for over two decades. The scream tore through the walls like glass shattering under pressure.
"Mom!"
Naomi's voice.
Monica did not rush. She did not gasp. She closed her eyes instead—just for a second—and exhaled.
Now, she thought.
By the time she entered Naomi's room, the scene had already been arranged. Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, shaking, her face pale and wet with tears. Ella stood beside her, arms wrapped tightly around her sister, eyes wide with something that looked like shock—but was not.
And in the corner of the room, frozen as if the air itself had turned to stone, stood Cedric.
"Get out," Monica said quietly.
Her voice did not tremble. It never did.
Cedric looked at her, confused. "Aunt Monica, I—"
"Get. Out."
The word cracked like a whip.
He stepped back instinctively, palms raised. "I didn't do anything. I swear. I don't even know why she's—"
Naomi sobbed louder.
That was all it took.
Monica crossed the room and pulled Naomi into her arms, pressing the girl's face into her shoulder. She shot Cedric a look so cold it could strip skin.
"Leave this room," she said. "Before I scream."
Cedric's heart began to pound. This wasn't how arguments went in this house. This wasn't how misunderstandings sounded.
From the doorway, Ella avoided his eyes.
He turned and walked out.
The moment his footsteps faded down the hall, Monica straightened. She held Naomi at arm's length now, her fingers digging just slightly into her daughter's arms.
"Say it," Monica whispered.
Naomi shook her head, tears streaming. "Mom, I can't—"
"You will," Monica said. Calm. Controlled. Terrifying. "If you don't, everything I warned you about will happen. Your future. Your sisters. Everything."
Naomi's lips trembled. She glanced at Ella.
Ella nodded. Once.
Naomi broke.
"He—he forced himself on me," she said, the words tumbling out between sobs. "Cedric did."
The lie fell into the room and settled.
Monica closed her eyes again—this time not in relief, but in victory.
Downstairs, Duncan was halfway through a phone call when Monica's scream finally came.
It was raw. Convincing. Perfect.
"Duncan!" she cried. "Come quickly!"
He ran.
By the time he reached the stairs, Monica was already descending, Naomi clinging to her, her body shaking violently. Ella followed behind, eyes red, face pale.
"What happened?" Duncan demanded.
Monica looked at him as if the world had ended.
"She says Cedric attacked her."
The words struck like a bullet.
Duncan staggered back. "What?"
"I didn't want to believe it," Monica continued, tears now spilling freely. "But she's broken, Duncan. Look at her."
Duncan looked.
Naomi couldn't meet his eyes.
"Where is he?" Duncan asked hoarsely.
The front door opened at that exact moment.
Cedric walked back in, having gone outside to breathe, unaware that his life had just been rewritten.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Duncan turned slowly.
"Tell me this isn't true," he said.
Cedric's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked at Naomi, then at Ella—searching, begging.
"I didn't touch her," Cedric said finally. "I swear on my life."
Monica stepped forward.
"You will not swear on anything in this house," she said. "Not after what you did."
Duncan's hands began to shake.
"I want the police," Monica said. "Now."
"No!" Cedric shouted. "Dad, please—"
Duncan raised a hand.
That single gesture shattered something invisible between them.
"Step back," Duncan said, his voice breaking. "Just… step back."
Cedric did.
That was the moment the house split in two.
From the staircase above, the third daughter watched silently.
She had heard the scream.
She had seen the timing.
And she knew—deep in her bones—that something was wrong.
But in that house, truth did not scream.
Lies did.
And by the time the sirens arrived, the lie had already won.