Chapter 7: No More Denials

While my aunt was fuming, my little cousin just stared at the floor in silence.

For once, Mikey had nothing to say. He fiddled with his napkin, avoiding everyone’s gaze. The guilt was written all over him, but his parents were too busy circling the wagons to notice.

Uncle stepped in with a smile. "Bro, Linda, don’t get upset. They’re checking the cameras, right? It can’t be our kid. I’ve already told him not to do it again, and he didn’t bring any firecrackers when we went out today."

He made a big show of patting Mikey’s jacket pockets, turning them inside out. They were empty, of course—thanks to my earlier cleanup job. It was all for show, but the performance fell flat.

Uncle made a show of patting my cousin’s pockets—of course, they were empty.

He looked around for approval, but nobody was buying it. The room was tense, silent except for Mikey’s uneven breathing.

My dad wiped his face and said, "Of course, Mikey is a good boy. He’d never cause such a big problem. Linda just got anxious and asked—please don’t take it to heart."

Dad tried to pour oil on troubled waters, offering up a weak olive branch to keep the peace. I could see he was tired—tired of all the excuses, tired of walking on eggshells.

Aunt glared at my mom and shouted, "You hear that? Hurry up and apologize to Mikey!"

She jabbed a finger at my mom, voice rising again. You’d think Mom had accused Mikey of grand larceny, not just asked a question.

I walked over, grabbed the trash bag, and dumped the firecrackers out onto the floor.

I walked over to the balcony, grabbed the insulated bag, and felt every eye in the room on me as I carried it back. The firecrackers hit the floor with a hollow rattle.

"Looking for the firecrackers that were in my cousin’s pocket? I think these are what you’re after. I saw him run in just now and throw all the firecrackers from his pockets into the trash."

I made sure everyone heard me, staring straight at my uncle and aunt, daring them to deny it this time.

I stared straight at my uncle and aunt as I spoke.

For a moment, no one moved. The truth was laid bare—obvious, undeniable.

The smile froze on my uncle’s face; my aunt went pale.

Uncle’s bravado vanished, and Aunt’s mouth dropped open. I almost felt sorry for them—almost.

My little cousin suddenly shrieked, "Those aren’t mine! You’re lying! You just want to get me in trouble! I’ll get you back!"

He erupted, scrambling from his chair and launching himself at me, fists flying and legs kicking. The old script: when in doubt, lash out.

He lunged at me, kicking my leg hard.

His shoe caught my shin, and I stumbled back, biting my tongue to keep from yelling. My mom’s protective instincts kicked in before I could react.

Seeing me get hit, my mom—usually so gentle—snapped. She stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor, grabbing Mikey’s arm and pulling him away from me.

She moved like a storm—grabbing Mikey by the wrist and giving him a sharp, controlled shove. He tumbled onto the carpet, shocked and wailing.

"Try hitting my son again!" she shouted.

Her voice echoed through the apartment, fierce and unwavering. For once, there was no room for argument.

My little cousin burst into tears, wailing that he was hurt.

He howled, cradling his arm, milking the drama for all it was worth. But for the first time, nobody rushed to coddle him—except Aunt.

Aunt’s eyes were bloodshot as she rushed over to shield him. "How dare you touch my Mikey! I’ll sue you for child abuse!"

Aunt clutched him to her chest, glaring daggers at my mom. Her threats rang hollow, but the anger in her voice was real.

The atmosphere at home was instantly electric.

Everyone stood frozen, breaths shallow, the air crackling with anger and accusation. It felt like we were all teetering on the edge of something irreversible.

The property manager stepped in just in time: "Everyone, calm down. The surveillance footage is ready."

The whole family held its breath. Whatever was on that screen, there’d be no going back.