Chapter 1

Two years.

Two years I've been... gone.

And Jessica, my old roommate, is on a stage.

She's accepting an award. "Annual Community Contributor." The words feel like ash in a mouth I no longer have.

The live stream captures her practiced smile, her modest nod. A paragon of virtue.

Millions are watching.

Then, a glitch.

The huge screen behind the host, meant to show Jessica's highlight reel, flickers.

My old laptop's desktop appears. My screensaver – a candid shot of Michael, laughing, his guitar across his lap.

A collective gasp from the studio audience.

The host, a seasoned pro, looks flustered. "Uh, we seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties."

My laptop. How?

It was supposed to be locked away, evidence.

Or so I thought.

On the screen, my cursor, somehow active, hovers over an icon: "Sarah's Private Posts."

Michael, my stepbrother, is in the front row. His face, once open and kind, is a mask of disgust.

"What is that dead girl's junk doing here?" he snarls, loud enough for the nearby microphones. "So damn disrespectful."

The live chat explodes.

[WTF? Is that Sarah P's stuff?]

[Michael's right, get that trash off the screen!]

[She was bad news when she was alive, still causing trouble now.]

[Jessica is a saint for even knowing her.]

The host tries to regain control. "Ladies and gentlemen, please..."

But someone, maybe a clumsy tech, or maybe someone with a purpose, clicks open the folder.

A cascade of Instagram post previews fills the screen. My private thoughts, my hidden life.

The host, David, a journalist I vaguely remember, leans closer to the monitor. His expression is unreadable.

He picks up his microphone. "This... this is Sarah Peterson's private Instagram account, it seems."

Jessica's smile is frozen. Her eyes dart towards Michael.

Michael glares at the screen. "She was obsessed. Peterson family took her in, gave her everything. She repaid us by trying to ruin my life."

The chat goes wild again.

[See? Michael knows!]

[Sarah was a psycho stalker, always heard rumors.]

[Jessica is marrying Michael next month, right? This is so messed up.]

[That Sarah probably slept with half the town. No shame.]

David doesn't look at Michael or Jessica. He scrolls.

Dozens of posts. A visual diary of my last few years.

He stops at the first one.

His voice is steady, cutting through the noise.

"The first post is dated June 20th, 2020."

He reads.

"'Michael went to the mountains to photograph the meteor shower again. He got hurt. I'm so worried. But I can't stop him from chasing his dreams. I've decided, starting today, I'll donate all my allowance each month. Secretly, for him. For his safety. May the universe protect him, and may he become the greatest astrophotographer.'"

He pauses. "The attached image is a donation receipt."

David looks up, his gaze sharp. "The date, and the recipient organization for this donation... it's a small community outreach for the homeless downtown. It matches the time and place Ms. Hayes first publicly claimed to begin her charitable work."

He turns to Jessica. "You and Sarah were roommates back then, weren't you? Close friends, I heard?"

Jessica forces a pained smile.

Michael grips her hand, his knuckles white. "It's a coincidence. A sick, twisted coincidence. This is Jessica's night. Stop talking about irrelevant, dead people."

The chat erupts.

[Sarah's just trying to steal Jessica's thunder, even from the grave!]

[Jessica has 50 million followers who've seen her charity work for years. This is BS!]

[What's this host trying to do? Is he trying to say Jessica is a fake?]

Jessica looks down, a picture of pained humility. "My fans know... I don't like conflict. But seeing everyone stand up for me... I can't stay silent."

She signals to someone off-stage.

Two large boxes are carried out. Overflowing with letters.

"These are letters," Jessica says, her voice trembling slightly. "From the kids I've helped over the years. From the families. Sarah might have faked a receipt or two... but these genuine emotions, these connections... they can't be faked."

Michael looks at Jessica, his eyes full of adoration.

Jessica squeezes his hand, then smiles at the camera. "Don't worry, everyone. I won't be brought down by these... shadows. The person who did wrong has already paid the price. I've moved on."

The chat melts.

[OMG, Jessica is so strong!]

[A true angel!]

[Unlike that Sarah, probably rotting for her sins.]

My name, dragged through the mud. Again.

Just when they think it's over, David's finger stops on another post.

He clears his throat.