It was the wrong thing do. I know that now, but at the time it seemed like the most sensible thing to do.

We were at home, sitting around my tiny coffee table. Someone had brought alcohol, and we had spent the entire day drinking.

I don’t know how but we started talking about my stepfather and the things he did to me and my mother. How my mother always covered for him when the police arrived. And how he always turned a blind eye when he did what he did to me.

I don’t remember when we came up with the idea. All I can remember is that it was dark when we arrived at my mother’s house.

The lights were on the inside. He was in there. I knew that my friends knew that.

Someone handed me a gun. I don’t know how or why he had brought it, but I guess that this was always the way the plan would end.

I left my friends in the car and unlocked the front door with my keys.

”Hello,” My mother said from the kitchen as I entered. ”It’s been so long since we last saw you” She was trying to sound happy. Like everything was alright, but I could see the fresh black eye on her face.

I walked past her and into the living room where he was most likely sitting. I was right. He was there watching a football game with a smirk on his face.

I pulled my gun and aimed at him. My mother screamed and tried to tackle me, but she was too late.

I put a hole through my stepfathers head and left the house with him sitting back in that chair. His smirk wiped from his face forever.

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