My aunt has a wild and unhinged look in her eyes, and a rushing, vibrating energy is radiating off her, like she’s had too much of some dark caffeine alternative. My mother’s eyes are resigned, defeated, like she knew this moment was coming— even though I know she’s got to be every bit as shocked as I am that it’s Aunt Lisa behind it rather than some prison thug.

“You should have left,” my mom says in a small voice.

“Yes,” Lisa says, nodding. “You didn’t have to be involved in this, Karli. I know you were only saying what she made you say.” She glowers at my mother on the word “she”, like mom is a comic book villain rather than a tiny middle-aged woman. “Sit down,” Lisa orders the both of us.

I grab for my mom’s hand and we walk to the couch, where we sit beside one another, hands clasped, staring at the gun and the woman on the other end of it. I think about her website, the Facebook page full of people who support my father. I’d always written her off before as a sort of sad, pathetic type of woman— one who would rather believe a lie about her brother than face the truth. Lisa is anything but pathetic right now though, gun in her hand, rage in her eyes. I can tell by the way her eyes dart around the room that she doesn’t have a clear plan, but that only makes her more frightening.

“Lisa, why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk?” my mom says, and I’m shocked to hear how calm her voice is given that her literal worst nightmare is happening.

“Oh, we’re going to talk,” Lisa spits at us, brandishing the gun. “We’re going to talk alright. We’re going to talk about how after all the work my brother has done, after everything Chad has been through, you two just had to have the last word. You went and told a mountain of lies and turned a good man into a monster. You locked him up for another seven years!”

“We just told our story,” I try, and my voice is as wild as Lisa’s— though with fear rather than rage, of course.

“You told lies!” Lisa shouts, and I flinch and draw back, pulling my mom closer to me, like I might be able to protect her from the bullet that at this point feels inevitable. “I waited years for that day, and it was just over. Like what you two have to say is just so much more important than what he has to say, what I had to say, what his nieces and nephews had to say. Why are you two so special? He should be out! He should be with his family— the family that loves him, not the family that stole his life from him!”

I close my eyes. I want to defend myself and my mother— to tell Lisa about the abuse, about the cruelty, about the things I saw my mother fall for at my father’s hands. About how strong she had to be to walk away from him after he’d spent a decade convincing her that she was worthless. I know, though, that there is no convincing her. We’re the monsters in her book, just as she’s the monster in mine.

So what are we supposed to do?

“I’m so sorry, Lisa,” my mother says in a small voice. “I know you love your brother. I wish things were different, too.”

I open my eyes and look at her, amazed at how she’s easing through this, at the fact that she feels strong next to me for the first time in…god, how long has it been? When was the last time that she comforted me rather than vice-versa?

“You should be sorry,” Lisa says, her tone changing a little. She sounds smug now, pleased almost. The gun is still pointed straight at us, though, so the change is hardly comforting.

My mom nods and goes on, tilting her head up a little. “Do you want to have a glass of wine and talk about this mess?”

My eyes widen. Is she serious, right now? I mean hell, if ever there was a time for a glass of wine, this is definitely it, and yet it’s basically the most inappropriate suggestion I’ve ever heard. Mom doesn’t look at me, though— her eyes stay locked on Lisa.

Lisa doesn’t look surprised, exactly, but almost…gracious? It’s like her mind is at war. Half wants to continue shouting, brandishing the gun, being furious, but the other half wants to sit down and have a fun little catch up with her sister-in-law and niece. Her eyes dart away from us, toward the kitchen, where she must guess the wine is stored.

“I— no! I want you to explain why you hate my brother so much!” she says, but her voice is different, more confused than angry. The rage is fading, now, and she’s having trouble spinning it back up. The gun is still on us, though—

I hear a small noise upstairs.

So does my mother. It’s the sort of sound that you probably wouldn’t think anything of, if you didn’t know the house well— but I know it well enough to be certain that it’s not the normal evening settling of the building. Is it one of my cousins upstairs? A friend of Lisa’s? I have no idea, and a quick glance at my mother tells me that she doesn’t know either.

My mom takes a breath, deep and slow. “I’ve got a really lovely red I’ve been wanting to share with someone. Let’s open it together, you and me.”

Lisa stares at my mom, and I actually think for a moment that she might cry. She looked broken, beaten, and if she weren’t holding a gun I might even feel sorry for her. A brother in jail for a crime that, rightly or wrongly, she truly thinks he didn’t commit. Family she thinks hates him for no good reason. She clenches her teeth together.

“You’ve made the whole world think Chad is a monster,” she says, shaking her head. “You did this to him. You did this to all of us.”

“Lisa—“

My aunt aims the gun.

She fires.