Chapter 2

Kate went quiet. She was a smart reporter, and it only took her a second to see the story's value. Whether the footage showed the "truth" I claimed, or a genuinely perfect mother, she'd come out ahead either way.

"How do I know this isn't some kind of revenge scheme you're setting up?" she finally asked.

"You don't have a choice." I looked at her and gave her the first smile I'd worn since this whole lawsuit began. "Because you don't have a better story to chase, and I'm not giving you a second chance at this one."

I didn't wait for a response. I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, leaving the reporters behind me shouting louder questions and firing off more flashes.

I knew Kate would say yes. She was exactly like me, the kind of person who didn't quit until she got what she wanted.

Sure enough, less than five minutes after I climbed into a taxi, my phone buzzed with a text from an unfamiliar number. The message was short, just one word.

[Fine.]

Kate worked fast. By ten the next morning, the video was live right on schedule. The title alone was enough to sting: [24 Hours With a Great Mother.]

There was no music, just the raw audio picked up on-site. The footage opened in the morning mist, with my mother, back bent low, digging through the recycling bins outside an apartment complex for empty plastic bottles.

Her hands moved with practiced ease, flattening each bottle before stuffing it into the huge woven sack slung over her shoulder, like she'd been doing it her whole life.

At noon, she sat alone in the corner of a fast-food place with no tray in front of her. The moment the young man at the next table left, she slid over, scraped his half-finished bun and a few leftover fries into a plastic container she'd brought with her, and washed it all down with free hot water, one bite at a time.

The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Her expression was calm and satisfied, as if she were savoring a feast.

The video's climax came late at night. It was our living room, my father's black-and-white memorial photo sitting on the cabinet. Claudia knelt on the cushion in front of it.

She didn't sob or wail. She just cried in silence while murmuring, "Glenn, watch over Lorna for me. Help her let go of this, before it eats her alive.

"I know she's hurting inside. But what am I supposed to do?

"I don't blame her. As long as she's all right, I'll do anything she asks of me."

Within an hour of going live, the video had broken a million views. I was trending before I knew it.

[Ungrateful daughter of the year, hands down.]

[Where do you even find a mother like that? Is her daughter even human? Suing her? She doesn't deserve a mother like that.]

[I'm in tears. That woman is a saint. Someone tell her daughter to get on her knees and apologize.]

[Someone dox this ungrateful witch. She deserves to lose everything.]

Within the hour, my phone number, my workplace, and my home address had all been compiled into a bright red image and pinned to the top comment.

My phone exploded. Unknown numbers poured in one after another, and every call I picked up was either a screaming stream of curses or something colder, a threat murmured just quiet enough to feel worse.

I unplugged the landline at home and put my phone on silent. It didn't help. Texts and app notifications kept flashing across the screen, lighting it up over and over in the dark.

My boss called me on the office line, his voice full of discomfort and distance, and suggested I take a "voluntary" leave of absence so I wouldn't drag the company's reputation down with me. Coworkers who used to swap snacks and gossip with me every day quietly set me to "mute" on their socials.

Overnight, I'd become public enemy number one.

I picked up my phone, calm as ever, and called Kate.