The basement had been sealed since Isabella’s death. She had once dreamed of turning it into a home theater. After the accident, Alexander couldn’t bear to step inside.
Now he descended the stone steps.
A thin light glowed beneath a door.
And voices.
Rebecca’s voice — sharp, cold.
Ethan’s — crying.
Alexander peered through a crack.
Ethan was on the concrete floor, his wheelchair pushed aside. He was struggling to pull himself forward.
“Get up,” Rebecca snapped. “Or are you too useless for that?”
“I can’t…” Ethan sobbed.
“You’re a burden. Your father wastes fortunes on you.”
Alexander’s vision went red.
Hands shaking, he pulled out his phone and recorded everything.
Every word.
Every threat.
Then he grabbed an old flashlight from the wall and switched it on.
The beam sliced through the darkness.
He pushed the door open.
The light hit Ethan first — shock, then hope flooding his face.
Then Rebecca.
Her perfect composure shattered instantly.
“Alexander— I was disciplining him—”
“Disciplining?” His voice thundered against the concrete walls. “He’s twelve. He lost his mother. He’s in a wheelchair. And you lock him down here?”
She saw the phone in his hand.
“Delete that,” she whispered.
“Or what?”