The ring light made their California living room look brighter than it had any right to be at seven in the morning.

“Hey, Tucker Fam fans!” Candace chirped into the camera, white teeth practically glowing. “I’m Candace!”

“And I’m Fred!” her husband boomed, raising his hand in that same practiced wave his followers in Texas and Ohio and Florida mimicked in their own living rooms.

Welcome to our family vlog, Leigh mouthed silently from the couch, lips moving with the rhythm she’d heard a thousand times. Her face was already aching from fake smiling. The enormous “TUCKERAMA” neon sign hummed above the mantle. The American flag throw blanket was draped, very deliberately, over the couch behind them—patriotic, family-friendly, brand-safe.

“And I’m Leigh,” she said when her mom pointed at her, stepping into frame with the small, tight smile that had become her default expression. “Welcome to our family vlog.”

“Cut!” Candace snapped a second later, dropping the bubbly tone like a prop.

Leigh sagged, the smile sliding off her face. “Mom, can we please take a break? We’ve been filming for hours. I have homework and—”

“Leigh.” Candace’s voice sharpened. “What did we say about smiling for the camera?”

“I’m just really tired.” She rubbed her eyes. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Stop complaining and smile,” Candace hissed. “With teeth.”

Leigh inhaled. Exhaled. Pulled the smile back on like a mask, all gums and strain.

“Better,” Candace said, flipping instantly back into her vlogger voice. “Okay! And… action!”

They ran the intro again. And again. And again. Every time Leigh’s eyes drifted toward the window, every time her shoulders sagged, Candace called “cut” and picked at her like a director on a low-budget film set.

By take thirteen, Leigh could feel the knot at the base of her neck throbbing.

“I can’t do this,” she blurted finally, stepping out of frame. “I really need rest.”

“Get back here this second, young lady,” Fred barked, dropping the goofy smile.

She didn’t. She walked down the hallway and shut her bedroom door, heart pounding.

Back in the living room, Candace’s bright expression cracked.

“Don’t worry,” she muttered to Fred, grabbing for her phone. “She won’t be a problem for much longer.”

She opened a text from their talent agency. A profile picture stared back at her: a little girl with big eyes, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit. “Available for adoption,” the caption read. Underneath: “High engagement potential. Neurodivergent. Loves stuffed animals.”

“Look at this one,” Candace said, turning the phone toward her husband.

Fred skimmed the bio, eyebrows rising. “Yeah, but… she has autism.”

“Are you kidding?” Candace’s eyes lit up with the cold gleam Leigh had learned meant dollar signs. “Loving American family adopts a child with autism? That’s not just content, that’s a saga. That’s a recipe for unlimited views.”

“And money,” Fred added, the corners of his mouth curling.

“Exactly,” Candace murmured. “We’ll get brand deals for inclusive toys, sensory-friendly clothing. Sponsors will fall all over themselves to support us. This will make Tuckerama unstoppable.”

In her bedroom, Leigh had no idea that somewhere across town, a social worker’s phone was about to ring.

Two weeks later, Leigh woke to the sound of someone whispering her name and cold air hitting her face.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Candace said, yanking open Leigh’s curtains with one hand and shaking her shoulder with the other. The camera hovered in her left hand, already recording. “Come on, honey, this is going to be so cute.”

“Can we not…” Leigh groaned. “Please, not with the camera.”

“It’s time to meet your new sibling!” Candace sing-songed.

Leigh’s eyes snapped open. “New what?”

“Could you act like you’re waking up again?” Candace asked, ignoring the question. “We need a cleaner take. And Fred, fix her hair. Bedhead is fine, but 4K is unforgiving.”

Fred smoothed down Leigh’s sleep-tangled curls roughly. “There,” he said. “Passable.”

“What do you mean ‘sibling’?” Leigh demanded, pushing herself up on her elbows.

The answer came, not in words, but in the sound of the front door opening and a tiny, startled squeal echoing through the house.

“Oh, I hope we got that,” Fred muttered, bringing the camera closer. “Is it still rolling?”

“Go, go,” Candace whispered, hustling Leigh toward the hallway. “Don’t look annoyed. Smile. Big moment.”

“Smile?” Leigh said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

But she walked anyway, because arguing on camera only made things worse in the edit.

The foyer was a blur of florists and social workers. A delivery guy from Rosenblooms was wheeling in a towering bouquet of pink and white roses, the ribbon printed with “Welcome Home!” in looping script. A woman from the agency stood near the doorway with a clipboard.

And in the middle of it all, a tiny girl in too-big jeans and a faded hoodie crouched on the floor, examining the pattern on the tiles like it was a map.

“Hi, honey bunny!” Candace trilled, shoving the bouquet toward the camera. “Look at our complimentary floral arrangement from Rosenblooms, the best flower shop in Southern California! Use code TUCKERFAM for ten percent off!”

“Wow,” Fred said, zooming in. “Look who’s already exploring!”

The little girl looked up at the sound of his voice. She held a stuffed bunny so tightly the fur was worn at the ears.

“Leigh!” Candace called. “Come and meet your new sister. This is Gina.”

Leigh stepped forward, heart pounding. “Hi,” she said quietly.

Gina stared at her for a long moment, then at the camera, then back at Leigh. Her shoulders hunched.

“Hi,” she whispered, almost inaudible.

Leigh forced the edges of her mouth up. “Yeah,” she said. “See you later.”

She turned and walked down the hallway without waiting for permission. The wall between her and the living room felt thinner than ever.

“Do you want me to go talk to her?” Fred asked Candace, glancing after Leigh.

“No,” Candace said, watching Gina. “We don’t need her anymore.”

She crouched down in front of Gina, tilting the girl’s chin up toward the lens. “Now,” she said sweetly, “can you give us your biggest, bestest, prettiest smile, sweetheart?”

Gina hesitated, then tried. It came out lopsided and shaky.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Candace cooed. “A star is born.”

“I know,” Fred said. “This is going to be huge.”

“Wait,” Helena said later that week at school, eyes wide over her cafeteria salad. “Your parents adopted a child… to get more views?”

Leigh stared at the table. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” she said. “You can say it. They’re awful.”

“I mean,” Helena said slowly, “Gina seems like a sweet kid. She just needs routine and support. She’s on the spectrum—not a prop.”

“Tell them that,” Leigh said bitterly. “They treat her like she’s a storyline. They push her past her limits for cute shots because ‘the audience loves her meltdowns, they’re so relatable.’”

“And how are you holding up?” Helena asked. “You’ve been texting me at midnight, you look exhausted. My dad and I… we worry.”

“I’m desperate to get out,” Leigh admitted. “They know it. They keep threatening that if I don’t play along, they won’t pay for college. NYU, Sarah Lawrence—gone. They’ve made it very clear that my future depends on me smiling on cue.”

“What about Gina?” Helena said. “If you leave for New York, she’ll be stuck with them.”

“I know,” Leigh whispered. “I’m more worried about her than me. She should be in therapy, with people who actually understand autism. Not being filmed twenty-four seven by two maniacs with a ring light.”

“Hey,” Helena said, softening. “You put my address on your FAFSA forms, right? So any official NYU mail will come to my house first? Your parents can’t snoop?”

“Yeah,” Leigh said. “If I get in, you’ll know before they do.”

Helena hesitated. “My dad’s still looking for an editing job,” she added. “Not a lot of work for an older video editor who doesn’t want to move to New York or Atlanta. But I could mention him to your parents. If they’re really serious about hiring someone to help with Tuckerama…”

Leigh made a face. “He would hate them.”

“He’d hate what they’re doing,” Helena said. “Which might be exactly what you need.”

“Fifty-eight thousand views in six hours,” Fred crowed a few nights later, eyes glued to the analytics dashboard. “Look at the CPM spike. We’re killing it.”

On the screen, the thumbnail showed Gina holding her stuffed bunny in the middle of a pastel bedroom, her name written in glittery font. “Meet Our New Daughter | Adopted!” blared across the bottom.

“And the comments,” Candace squealed, scrolling. “‘She’s so precious.’ ‘Best Tuckerama ever.’ ‘You guys are the kindest family on YouTube.’”

“Scroll down,” Fred said. “Look at those.”

Candace frowned. “‘Where’s Leigh?’ ‘Doesn’t Leigh like her new sister?’ ‘Did Leigh get replaced with a younger model?’”

“She will be,” Fred said, smirking. “Give it a couple weeks. It’ll be ‘Leigh who?’”

“You know what would help?” Candace mused. “A bridge. A video with both girls. Something sweet and wholesome to show they’re getting along. Sibling content performs really well in the U.S. market.”

Just then, Leigh stepped into the kitchen clutching a stack of papers.

“I need your signatures for FAFSA,” she said. “I’m applying to NYU and Sarah Lawrence. Deadlines are coming up, and—”

“You know what we need,” Candace cut in, ignoring the forms. “To shoot a new video called ‘Playtime with My New Baby Sis, Gina.’”

“Catchy,” Fred said. “Let’s go make some tuition money magic.”

Leigh stared at them. “Seriously?”

“I’ll get the lights,” Fred said.

Leigh sat cross-legged on the carpet in the playroom, wearing a pink dress Candace insisted on. Gina sat beside her, gripping Bunny like a lifeline. Fred’s camera hovered, red light blinking.

“Okay, Leigh,” Candace said from behind the ring light. “Pick up the princess doll and say, ‘Hi, Gina! Wanna play tea party in my magic castle?’ Make it sound excited.”

Leigh lifted the doll and tried. “Hi, Gina. Wanna play tea party in my magic castle?”

“Can we get less… dead?” Fred said. “You don’t have to be a witch about it.”

Leigh shot him a look. “You don’t have to be a witch about it,” she mimicked under her breath, then sighed louder. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re the wannabe actress,” Candace snapped. “Improvise.”

“Okay,” Leigh said slowly. “What if the princess gives the servants the day off and sets up the tea party herself? We could talk about independence, kindness—”

“No.” Candace clapped her hands sharply. “Cut. Fred! Get over here. We’re losing light.”

Fred crouched in front of Gina. “Hey, look,” he said, voice too bright. “If you want to get more toys, you need to be nice and smile when Mommy and Daddy say ‘action.’ Okay? That’s how this works.”

“No,” Gina muttered, clutching Bunny tighter.

“Gina.” Candace’s voice sharpened. “You’re being difficult. Mommy and Daddy are trying to help you. Do you want us to take you back?”

“Mom,” Leigh snapped. “She’s just a kid. And she’s autistic. Maybe try being patient and loving instead of treating her like a prop?”

“Fred, we have a situation here!” Candace hissed.

Leigh slid off the bed and sat on the floor next to Gina, lowering her voice.

“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

Gina’s chest hitched. Tears teetered on her lashes.

“You don’t have to smile if you don’t want to,” Leigh continued. “You’re allowed to feel things. Big things. Scary things. I’m not mad at you.”

Gina’s breathing slowed, just a tiny bit.

“We can sit here for a while,” Leigh said. “No cameras, no pretending. Or we can pretend Godzilla stomped the castle flat. Does that sound fun?”

Gina’s lip quivered… then she gave a tiny nod.

Behind them, Candace’s phone was already in her hand, capturing Leigh wrapping an arm around Gina’s shoulders.

“This is gold,” she whispered to Fred. “Come on. Smile, Gina. Smile. More smiling.”

Leigh turned, glare icy. “Mom,” she said. “Stop.”

Toy Galaxy was the kind of place kids dreamed about: shelves towering with plush animals, blinking gadgets, glittering dolls, neon scooters. The kind of place parents in the Midwest watched in Tuckerama videos and thought, that must be nice.

“That was intense, TuckFam!” Candace laughed into the camera, breathless. “Gina just finished a two-minute shopping spree challenge right here in Los Angeles at Toy Galaxy!”

Gina’s hair was slightly mussed, cheeks flushed. She held an armload of toys—robots, dolls, a stuffed rabbit almost identical to Bunny.

“Leigh, show us what she got!” Fred said.

“Time to check out!” Candace squealed. “Whip out that credit card, honey.”

“Way ahead of you, babe,” Fred said, brandishing a card toward the camera like a game show host.

“Bye, TuckFam!” Candace chirped.

“Bye, TuckFam,” Leigh echoed.

“Bye,” Gina whispered, waving shyly with the hand that wasn’t gripping the plush rabbit.

“Cut!” Fred called. The camera light blinked off.

The smile fell from Gina’s face. “Do I get to keep them?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Candace said, already turning away. “We were just playing pretend. We talked about this.”

Gina’s grip tightened on the rabbit. “Just this?” she asked. “Please?”

Candace flipped the price tag. “Seventy-five dollars?” she scoffed. “Not going to happen. That’s practically our electric bill. Bunny’s a wee bit expensive.”

“He’s a ripoff,” Fred muttered.

“But we do have a brand sponsorship with that sock company,” Candace added, brightening. “How about a neon toe sock?!”

“No!” Gina burst into tears.

“Can you deal with this, please?” Candace said, already checking her phone. “Seriously?”

Leigh moved without thinking, kneeling beside Gina. “Hey,” she murmured. “Hey, I’ve got you. Come on, let’s go sit.”

Behind them, shoppers watched, faces tightening.

“She’s the reason your channel’s blowing up,” Leigh snapped over her shoulder. “And you can’t buy her one stuffed rabbit? How much was that diamond necklace, Mom?”

“Stay out of our finances,” Candace snapped. “Especially since you need us to pay for four years of drama school in New York City.”

Leigh felt something in her chest crack.

In a small apartment across town, Helena’s dad Luis watched the polished Toy Galaxy video on his laptop, the sound muffled by the hum of their old fridge.

“This is bad,” he muttered in Spanish. “This is really bad.”

“Have you seen the comments?” Helena asked, leaning over the back of his chair. “Everyone’s saying Gina wasn’t allowed to keep anything. ‘This feels exploitative.’ ‘Is this legal?’”

“I know,” Luis said. “I’ve been scrubbing through Tuckerama footage for thirty-six hours. I’m glad Candace hired me. I need the job. But… there’s a line, and they’re doing the tango on it.”

Helena put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re their editor now,” she said. “Maybe you can protect Gina. Cut out the worst parts. Make sure they can’t twist everything.”

Luis nodded. “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He didn’t have to look hard.

“Make sure to cut the part where Gina hits the toy against the wall,” Candace said breezily one afternoon as she and Fred watched a rough cut. “We want the vibe to be more Saturday morning cartoon, less… emotional breakdown.”

“No problem,” Luis said, fingers on the keyboard. “I’ll shape it.”

From the next room, Gina’s voice rose in distress.

“Gina, stop that!” Candace snapped. “You’re going to break it.”

“No!” Gina cried. “I don’t want you.”

Candace’s footsteps stormed down the hall.

Luis thumbed the volume down and stared at the timeline on his screen. Candace only wanted sunshine and smiles. The raw footage, though… told a very different story.

He hesitated, then opened a folder on his external drive and created a new one: BACKUP – RAW.

Just in case, he told himself. Just in case.

Outside the editing room, Candace paced.

“I cannot deal with Gina anymore,” she told Fred. “This is the third time this week she’s wrecked something on camera. She’s anxious, she screams, she shuts down—it’s depressing.”

“Relax,” Fred said. “Take a breath. Think about the money she’s making us.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing her temples. “But we were talking about a family vacation. Disneyland, the Grand Canyon, all that All-American stuff. Those videos would do numbers. With Gina? She’d melt down at the airport. It would be a disaster.”

“Then we focus on her good side on camera,” Fred said. “That’s all the audience needs to see.”

“Luis,” Candace said, turning abruptly. “Didn’t see you there. You need something?”

“I had a question about the edit,” he said carefully. “But… it can wait.”

Her phone buzzed. Another brand email. Another sponsorship.

“I’m starting to wonder if she’s more work than she’s worth,” she muttered to Fred as Luis stepped away. “We’ve made enough. The adoption doesn’t have to be permanent.”

Fred looked at her, calculating. “We could say it wasn’t a good fit,” he said. “Tell the agency we’re overwhelmed. She goes back, we keep the videos. No one has to know.”

“It’s perfect timing,” Candace said. “Leigh’s going off to college soon. We’ve made our money. Now we get to spend it how we want. And how we deserve.”

They laughed quietly, not realizing the new editor had left his headphones on the table.

That night, Gina appeared in Leigh’s doorway clutching Bunny like a shield.

“Hey, kiddo,” Leigh said, sitting up on her bed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” Gina whispered.

Leigh softened instantly. “Scared of what?”

“Going away,” Gina said. Her voice shook. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. With you.”

“Who told you you’d be leaving?” Leigh asked, anger spiking.

“No one,” Gina said. “They’re talking in the kitchen. About sending me back. Like… like the foster homes.”

Leigh’s stomach dropped. “You’ve been to a lot of foster homes, huh?”

Gina nodded. “It was scary. I never stayed long. Sometimes years. Sometimes days. It felt like… no place wanted me. Every time I thought I had a family, they’d send me back.”

“Is there something wrong with me?” she whispered.

“No,” Leigh said fiercely. “No, absolutely not. There is nothing wrong with you. You are smart and funny and kind. What’s wrong is the way grown-ups have treated you. That’s not on you.”

Gina blinked rapidly.

“I’m so sorry you went through all that,” Leigh said. “None of it is your fault.”

She reached under her bed and pulled out a small bag.

“I got you something,” she said.

Gina’s eyes widened when Leigh pulled out a brand-new stuffed rabbit, almost identical to the one from Toy Galaxy.

“The one I wanted,” Gina gasped. “He looks just like my old one.”

“I saved up from my tutoring gig,” Leigh said. “Figured you deserved at least one thing you didn’t have to give back.”

Gina threw her arms around Leigh. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Leigh said, throat tight.

It was late when Candace poked her head in. “Bedtime, girls,” she said, voice sugary. “Big shooting day tomorrow. We need our stars well-rested.”

“Can Bunny stay here?” Gina asked.

“Yes, please,” Leigh said quickly.

Candace shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “Sleep tight.”

After she left, Gina grabbed Leigh’s hand. “They’re going to take me away,” she whispered in the dark. “Aren’t they?”

“Of course not,” Leigh lied. “You’re part of us now. And family isn’t just blood, you know. It’s about love.”

She hoped, with everything in her, that saying it might make it true.

The letter arrived two days later.

Leigh was at Helena’s kitchen table when Helena burst into the room waving a big, official-looking envelope stamped with NYU’s purple logo.

“It finally came,” Helena panted. “It came here. Like you planned.”

Leigh’s hands shook as she opened it.

“Dear Miss Tucker,” she read aloud. “Congratulations…”

She didn’t get any further before they were screaming and hugging.

“I got in!” Leigh shrieked. “I got in, I got in, I got—”

Her phone rang, slicing through the joy.

The caller ID read: Mom.

Leigh stared at it, then picked up.

“Are you done celebrating?” Candace’s voice snapped through the line. “We’ve got things to do.”

When Leigh walked into the house that afternoon, the living room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too clean.

“Gina?” she called. “Gina, I have great news. I got—”

Her words died.

Her old neon sign still glowed. Her parents were on the couch, laptops open. Gina’s favorite blanket was gone from the armchair.

“Where’s Gina?” Leigh demanded.

Candace didn’t look up from her screen. “We took her back,” she said. “To the agency. It just wasn’t a good fit.”

Leigh stared at her. “Wasn’t a good fit?” she repeated. “She’s a person, not a stray dog.”

“Hey,” Fred said sharply. “Watch your tone.”

“You used her for views,” Leigh said, voice rising. “You built a brand on her trauma. And as soon as she got hard to manage, you discarded her.”

“Wow,” Candace said. “Looks like someone got into college and thinks she’s better than us. NYU, huh? Acting degree in the heart of New York City—the American dream. You’ll need our help to bankroll that, you know.”

“That is not important right now,” Leigh snapped.

“It is if you want us to pay tuition,” Candace said sweetly. “Which we will. On one condition.”

“Let me guess,” Leigh said. “I help you spin this. Lie to the audience. Say rehousing her was ‘best for everyone.’”

“Exactly,” Fred said. “You’ve always wanted to act. Here’s your chance. We’ll write a heartfelt script, you’ll pretend you’re sad but understanding, and we’ll calm everyone down. Then we can move on. Maybe a series about you ‘chasing your dreams in New York City.’ The fans will eat it up.”

Leigh felt sick.

“I’m going to Helena’s,” she said quietly, turning away. “For the night.”

“If you walk out that door,” Candace warned, “don’t expect us to write any checks.”

Leigh paused at the threshold, then stepped through anyway.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Leigh told Helena that night, voice raw. “They dropped her off like she was a package that got delivered to the wrong address. And now they want me to lie about it.”

“And if you don’t?” Helena asked.

“No tuition,” Leigh said. “No NYU. Not from them, anyway. But even if they did pay, I don’t trust them. They’d hold it over my head forever.”

Helena glanced at her dad, who was sitting at the table with a closed laptop in front of him.

“I wish the fans knew what Tuckerama is really like,” Leigh said. “I wish I could show them.”

Luis cleared his throat. “You can,” he said.

Leigh blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The first day I worked there,” he said, “I… found something. I didn’t like what I was seeing in the raw footage, so I copied it. Just in case.”

He opened his laptop and turned it toward them.

Folders filled the screen. Each one was labeled with a date and a title: GINA SHOPPING – RAW. CASTLE MELTDOWN – RAW. OUTTAKES – GINA.

“What is it?” Leigh whispered.

“Everything,” Luis said. “All the parts they cut out. The yelling. The threats. The moments where Gina screams ‘no’ and they keep rolling.”

Leigh’s jaw clenched. “Show me.”

They watched. For hours.

By the end, Leigh’s hands were shaking, her face blotchy.

“They can’t keep doing this,” she said. “Not to her. Not to other kids. They have agencies begging to work with them, brands sending kids’ products for ‘family reviews’…”

“So what should we do?” Helena asked.

Leigh took a breath.

“Mr. Gomez,” she said, turning to Luis. “Can I borrow your camera?”

She sat on Helena’s couch with no ring light, no makeup, no neon sign. Just a cheap camera, soft afternoon light from a California sky, and the truth.

“Hi, everyone,” she said, staring into the lens. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “I’m Leigh Tucker. And I’m done with Tuckerama.”

She swallowed.

“My parents adopted Gina for one reason,” she said. “Views. They saw her as a storyline, not a child. They used her meltdowns as thumbnails, they refused to let her keep toys, they manipulated her on camera—and when she became too ‘difficult,’ they sent her back to the agency like she was a defective product.”

She gripped her knees. “They’re holding my college tuition over my head, telling me if I don’t help them spin it, I won’t get to go to NYU. But there isn’t a college in this country worth covering up what they did.”

She looked straight into the camera. Straight into every living room and phone screen from Los Angeles to Chicago to New York.

“So please,” she said. “Don’t support Tuckerama anymore. Don’t watch their videos. Don’t share them. Don’t buy what they’re selling. They may look like a perfect American family, but off-camera, they are hurting kids.”

Her voice softened. “And Gina—if you’re watching this somehow—I miss you. I love you. None of this was your fault. You deserve a real family, not one built for views.”

She ended the recording with shaking hands.

“Are you sure?” Luis asked quietly. “Once it’s out there, you can’t take it back.”

Leigh nodded. “Upload it,” she said. “And send the raw footage to anyone who’ll listen.”

The internet moved fast.

Within hours, Leigh’s video had hundreds of thousands of views. Comments poured in.

“This is beyond messed up.”

“Using an autistic child for clout? Unfollowed.”

“Child exploitation, plain and simple.”

“She’s so brave for speaking out.”

Other YouTubers made reaction videos. Parenting blogs picked it up. A journalist from a New York magazine emailed Helena, asking to speak to Leigh.

At the Tucker house, the atmosphere collapsed.

“This is sabotage,” Candace raged, pacing the living room. “Those clips were private. That editor had no right—”

“It was me,” Leigh said from the doorway.

Candace spun. “You?”

“How foolish can you be?” Fred demanded. “Tuckerama was your ticket to drama school. We built all this so you could have everything we didn’t.”

“No school is worth covering up abuse,” Leigh said. “I’m not interested in that kind of acting.”

“You ungrateful—”

“Save it,” Leigh said. She picked up her backpack from the floor. “I’m moving in with Helena and Luis. Goodbye.”

She walked out before they could answer.

The spiral was swift.

Subscribers unsubscribed by the thousands. Their latest video had more dislikes than views. Sponsors quietly pulled out. Candace’s inbox filled with brands “reevaluating the partnership.”

“We need to end the channel,” Fred said bleakly, staring at the analytics. “Today.”

“It’s a witch hunt,” Candace snapped. “We were just giving people what they wanted. Cute videos. A happy family. They shouldn’t punish us for that.”

A tow truck arrived to repossess one of their cars. A jeweler called about overdue payments on the necklace Candace had flaunted in three hauls.

“You can’t take my car,” Candace cried as the driver started the engine. “I’ve worked too hard—”

“You should’ve thought of that before you quit making payments,” he said flatly.

Then the cops came.

“Are you feeding kids, Tucker?” someone shouted from the sidewalk as officers approached the house.

“Stop!” Candace cried when she saw the uniforms. “What is this? We didn’t do anything.”

“Hands behind your head,” one officer said. “You’re under arrest for child neglect and endangerment.”

“This is insane,” Fred shouted. “We’re innocent!”

“Tell it to the judge,” the officer replied. “We have video evidence. Lots of it.”

The ring light was still plugged in when they were led out the door.

Months later, when the dust had settled, Leigh sat on a bench by a duck pond in a quiet park, watching Gina toss crumbs to a cluster of waddling ducks. The little girl’s face glowed.

“And here we are with the ducks,” Gina told the phone camera in her hand, voice shy but happy. “With my new family.”

She panned the camera to reveal a smiling couple beside her—a school counselor Leigh recognized, and a woman who ran the local foster network. Their arms rested around Gina’s shoulders like they’d been born to do it.

“And here we are baking cookies,” Gina narrated in another clip, flour on her nose as she stood on a stool by a mixing bowl.

Leigh watched the stitched-together TikTok for the tenth time. Gina’s new account, managed by adults who understood boundaries, was mostly short updates: drawings, ducks, cookies. No emotional traps. No staged meltdowns.

“How wonderful,” Leigh said softly. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I love them so much,” Gina said, appearing at her side suddenly, Bunny clutched in one arm. “I really trust them. They’re not like… before.”

“You deserve it,” Leigh said. “All of it.”

The woman from the foster network smiled. “Oh, we have something for you, Leigh,” she said, reaching into her bag.

She held out the stuffed rabbit Leigh had bought months ago, the one that had sat on Leigh’s pillow all summer.

“I believe this belongs to you,” she said.

Gina gasped. “Bunny,” she whispered. “Thank you. I love him so much.”

Leigh laughed. “He missed you.”

Gina hugged the rabbit, then stepped back. “We have a surprise for you, too,” she said solemnly.

Leigh blinked. “For me?”

Gina’s new guardian nodded. “Your video, Leigh. The one exposing your parents? It got so much attention. A bunch of our followers started a campaign to support you.”

She handed Leigh an envelope.

“They raised enough to cover your first two years at NYU,” she said.

Leigh’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Read it,” Helena urged, bouncing on her heels.

Leigh unfolded the letter. The number made her dizzy.

“Wow,” she whispered. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll go,” Helena said. “Say you’ll chase your dreams and learn how to do this for real, without ruining anyone’s life in the process.”

“Just one question,” Gina piped up. “Can we visit you in New York?”

Leigh laughed, tears pricking her eyes. Times Square, Central Park, the NYU campus—suddenly, they didn’t feel so far away.

“You better,” she said. “The three of us will always be sisters. Blood or not.”

Gina squeezed her hand.

“Family’s not about views,” Leigh said, more to herself than anyone. “It’s about what you do when the camera’s off.”

For the first time in a long time, she knew the next scene in her life wouldn’t require a script.