I grew up believing my stepmother’s cruelty was something I just had to live with. But I never imagined she’d lock me in my room on the day of my American Idol audition. I’m Kelly, 17, and singing has been my escape ever since my mom died. She used to tell me my voice could “make angels pause.” After she passed, my dad couldn’t handle the memories — and when Debora, my glamorous stepmother, entered our lives, the music became something I had to hide.

Debora and her daughters treated me like a servant. My dad worked too much to notice. Still, I sang — in secret, in whispers, in the dark. One day, I recorded myself singing a song for Mom and sent it to American Idol using my stepsister’s phone. Weeks later, an email arrived: I’d been invited to audition. For the first time in years, my dad smiled at me with pride, promising to drive me there. Debora offered to “help” instead.

The next morning, I woke up late — my alarm off, my door locked. Debora’s voice came through, cold and calm: “You’re not good enough, Kelly.” I screamed, begged, and cried until I realized no one was coming. Then I pried open the window, tore my hands and blouse, and ran barefoot toward the audition hall. A kind stranger gave me a ride. I arrived bloodied and breathless, but I sang anyway.

That song — raw and real — got me through. When I returned home, police cars lined the driveway. My stepsister had told them everything. Debora was exposed.

My dad finally saw the truth. Days later, American Idol called — I’d made it to the next round. This time, Dad drove me there himself. My voice, once trapped behind closed doors, was finally free.