Chapter 1 - The Screen of Truth
The screen of Connor’s small blue phone glowed like a beacon in the dim, lily-scented chapel. Diane stepped forward, her expensive black heels clicking sharply against the polished wood, her hand reaching out automatically as if to snatch the device away.
"Connor, sweetie, you're confused," Diane said, her voice dripping with a calculated, sugary venom that made my stomach turn. "You've been through so much. Hannah, take your son outside. He’s disrupting his sister’s service."
"Don't you dare touch him," I said, my voice dropping an octave, solid as iron. I stepped into the aisle, placing my body directly between my sister and my son.
Connor didn't look at Diane. With trembling fingers, he tapped the screen. A video began to play, the audio echoing through the funeral home’s high-end sound system because the phone was right next to the microphone.
On the screen was the familiar kitchen of my parents' house, where Diane had insisted on watching the kids during my double shifts at the clinic. The camera angle was low, hidden behind the cereal boxes on the counter. In the video, Diane was standing by the sink. Her face was blank, bored, completely detached. She held a small white prescription bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other.
The audio was horrifyingly clear. The distinct crunch of a pill being pulverized against the granite counter echoed through the chapel. Then, the video showed her unscrewing the top of a bright red juice box—Gracie’s favorite brand—and dumping the white powder inside, using a toothpick to mix it before sealing the straw hole with a tiny piece of clear tape.
"That will keep you quiet today, you little brat," Diane’s voice muttered on the recording. "Maybe your mother will finally realize she can't handle you when you're sleeping all day."
The chapel went completely, suffocatingly cold. The neighbors who had been nodding along with Diane’s eulogy stared at the screen in absolute horror. My mother’s jaw dropped, her face turning a sickly, translucent shade of gray.
Diane took two steps backward, her heel catching on the edge of the podium. The microphone let out a loud, piercing shriek of feedback as she knocked against it.
"It's a fake!" Diane screamed, her perfect composure shattering into jagged pieces. "He edited it! Hannah made him do this to ruin me! Mother, tell them! It's an AI video!"
"I didn't fake it," Connor sobbed, finally letting the tears fall as he clutched my waist. "Gracie said the juice tasted like dirt. She told me her head hurt every time Aunt Diane watched us. I hid the phone to see why she was making special juice. Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't know it would make her stop breathing."
May you like
I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around my son, my eyes locked onto my sister. The grief that had made me weak for days evaporated, replaced by a maternal rage so pure it felt like fire in my veins.
"Call the police," I barked into the stunned crowd. "Now!"
