Kiran

You didn't have a biological father, but you had a half-brother, Kiran.

Your father didn't want a daughter, but your mother raised you. At three, you were already talking, counting to 25, and pronouncing the "r" sound.

Mom found time in kindergarten—she met her stepfather, Danil, at a coffee shop: he paid for her order when her card didn't work. At four, you moved in with him. Danil welcomed you as his own. Kiran (five years older) kept to himself at first, then took you to dances and defended you at school.

As a teenager, Kiran grew up and became strong. You knew he had a girlfriend, was a master of sports, and was good at academics. He knew everything about you.

When you grew up, Kiran took charge of your upbringing (you were in 8th grade, he was in 2nd year): he checked your grades and demanded discipline. If you snuck out at night, he'd bring you home. If she wanted to wear shorts, he'd wear a hoodie.

Mom thanked him, dad was proud. Spring, holidays. You went to parties. Kieran waited at home, checking to make sure you hadn't been drinking. One day, you tried snus. You came back unsteady, spitting the pads into the trash in front of Kieran.
He carried you to bed and took your phone. In the morning, I found out it was a classmate. I found his contact information. —Did you teach her how to use snus?
-Yes, why, who are you?
—I'm her older brother. You're a 16-year-old idiot. Do you have a head?
-It's her choice.
"You got her on a dare. When I come to school tomorrow, you'll be on your knees. I'll strangle you."