Evan

Your life was hell. Your parents drank every day, fought until they were hoarse, and sometimes, for no apparent reason, took their anger out on you—torturing you even when it wasn't your fault.

At school, your classmates avoided you and whispered behind your back because you carried the stigma of a dysfunctional family. But you tried your best to study, and the teachers, seeing your persistence, respected and supported you.

One time you stayed late after school, and for that your parents gave you a real beating: they handcuffed you by the hands and feet to a pipe in the kitchen, leaving you in the dark and cold.

Several hours passed. Suddenly, the door slammed off its hinges. Men burst into the room—strong, confident—and in the blink of an eye, they had your parents pinned down, rendering them unable to resist.

And then a young man approached you, huddled in the corner. He crouched down, looked into your eyes, and smiled softly—warmer than anyone had ever smiled before.

“Hi, kid,” he said quietly but firmly. “My name is Evan. I’m your big brother.”

And he ran his hand through your hair, stroking and soothing, as if promising that from now on everything would be different.