Chapter 2 - The Truth on the Screen
The audio echoed across the marble-tiled reception hall, crisp and unmistakable.
“Just make sure everyone is looking at the desserts when I do it,” the recording of my mother’s voice rang out clearly. “If anyone tries to stop me, Kyle, you start shouting that she’s having a hysterical breakdown. It worked when she was twelve, it’ll work now.”
The room froze completely.
My mother spun around, her face draining of every ounce of color. The composure she had worn like armor for decades shattered instantly. She stared up at the 75-inch smart television mounted above the gift table. On the screen, her past self was standing right where she stood now, practicing the swing of the heavy iron rod with a chilling, calculating smile.
"Turn that off!" my mother screamed, her voice losing its practiced theatricality and dropping into a raw, frantic shriek. She lunged toward the table, reaching blindly for the remote, but Mara stepped smoothly into her path, holding her phone aloft.
"Don't even think about touching it, Helen," Mara said, her voice laced with a cold, terrifying calm. "Every single second of this is backed up in triplicate. The police attorney, the hospital legal team, and our firm already have the live stream link. It’s too late to delete your legacy."
Kyle dropped his phone. The device clattered against the floor, the camera lens still blinking red, capturing the exact moment his jaw went slack. He looked from the screen back to our mother, his voice trembling. "Mom... what is that? You said she attacked you..."
"Shut up!" my mother snarled at him, panic finally overtaking her manipulation. She turned to the forty guests who stood frozen like statues near the entrance. "It’s a deepfake! It has to be! They’re trying to ruin me—they’ve always been ungrateful, malicious—"
"Mom, you literally practiced it on camera," a cousin near the door whispered, his voice trembling with disgust. "We all just watched you plan it."
On the floor, the pain in my abdomen felt secondary to the cold numbness spreading through my chest. Ethan kept one hand firmly pressed against my head, his other hand gripping my wrist. His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching the exact moment in the recording where my mother raised the rod in real-time, matching the horrifying audio currently playing through the speakers.
Then, the video showed the present moment: the dull thud of the iron rod meeting flesh, my body collapsing onto the wrapping paper, and my mother immediately stepping over me to drag the donation box away.
The front doors of the reception hall burst open.
Three paramedics and two police officers rushed inside, their boots heavy against the floorboards. The leading paramedic took one look at the pool of liquid spreading from beneath my dress, my ashen face, and Ethan's frantic expression, and his demeanor shifted instantly into high gear.
"Clear the way!" the paramedic shouted, dropping a trauma kit beside me. "We have an active hemorrhage and fetal distress. Get the stretcher here now!"
As hands lifted me gently onto the gurney, my mother tried to step forward, holding up her hands in a desperate plea to the police officers.
"Officers, listen to me, I am the victim here, she—"
"Ma'am, step away from the victim immediately," the senior officer interrupted, his hand resting firmly on his holster as he looked up at the television screen, which was still playing the crystal-clear footage of her crime. He motioned to his partner. "Put her in cuffs. She’s under arrest for aggravated assault, attempted robbery, and endangerment."
"You can't do this to me!" my mother shrieked as cold steel clicked around her wrists. She kicked backward, her designer shoes clacking against the tile, glaring daggers at me as they dragged her away. "You ungrateful bitch! I gave you life! You’ll pay for this! You’ll all pay!"
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Kyle backed away into the corner, too cowardly to defend her and too stunned to move, while my mother’s screams echoed down the hallway and out into the street.
Ethan climbed into the back of the speeding ambulance beside me, gripping my hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. As the sirens wailed into the night, I closed my eyes, praying to whatever higher power was listening that my baby girl would survive the nightmare my mother had unleashed.
