Chapter 3

David's voice, steady and clear, filled the silence.

"September 10th, 2022. 'A woman showed up today. Said she was my birth mother. A cocktail waitress, she called herself. Said she found me on one of those ancestry websites. She wants money. A lot of it. Or she says she'll go to the papers, tell them the Petersons are hiding their 'shameful secret.' Mom and Dad looked... broken.'"

My adoptive parents, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, were good people. Kind. They'd given me a home, a life. Brenda, my birth mother, was a storm I never saw coming.

The chat was a mix of pity and scorn.

[Wow, so much drama in one family.]

[That birth mom sounds like a piece of work.]

[Poor Petersons.]

David moved to the next post.

"September 15th, 2022."

"'Brenda – I can't call her mom – she's staying with us. Temporarily, Dad said. She screams. She throws things. She smells of stale cigarettes and cheap gin. She found my donation receipts for the youth shelter. Laughed in my face. Called me a 'stupid little savior.' Said I should be saving money for her. Michael tries to stay in his room. I can hear his music, loud, trying to drown her out.'"

I remembered the tension in the house. So thick you could cut it with a knife. The way Mr. and Mrs. Peterson aged years in a few days.

Jessica watched the screen, her expression carefully neutral. Michael stared at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap.

"September 25th, 2022."

"'Brenda cornered me today. Said if I didn't get her five thousand dollars by next week, she'd tell Michael... tell him things. Horrible things she made up about me, about why she really gave me up. Things that would make him hate me forever. I don't have that kind of money. I feel sick.'"

The helplessness of that time washed over me. Brenda's threats, her cruel eyes.

David's finger moved.

"October 1st, 2022."

"'She did it. She told Michael. I don't know what lies she spun, but he won't look at me. He won't speak to me. When I tried to talk to him, he just said, 'Stay away from me, Sarah. You're disgusting.' The way he said my name... it shattered something inside me. Mom and Dad tried to intervene, but Brenda just shrieked at them. I packed a bag. I told Mom and Dad I had to leave. For their sake. For Michael's. Brenda smiled when I walked out the door.'"

The memory of Michael's face, twisted with revulsion, was a fresh wound.

The chat was divided.

[See? Michael knew she was bad!]

[That Brenda woman is evil!]

[Sarah should have fought back!]

"October 5th, 2022."

David's voice was low.

"'Staying at a youth shelter. The same one I used to donate to. The irony isn't lost on me. At least it's quiet. Brenda keeps calling, demanding money. I block her number, she calls from a new one. Jessica found me. She was... surprisingly kind. Said she was worried. Asked if I needed anything. I asked her if she could talk to Michael. Try to explain. She said she would.'"

Jessica. My "friend."

On screen, Jessica dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "I tried," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I really tried to help her. To mediate. But Sarah... she was already so lost."

Michael put an arm around Jessica, pulling her close. He glared at the screen, then at David. "Are you enjoying this? Ripping open old wounds?"

David met his gaze. "I'm just reading what's here, Mr. Peterson."

He returned to the laptop.

"October 20th, 2022."

"'It's Michael's birthday. I got a night shift at a diner. Used every cent I earned to buy a small cupcake. The cheap kind, with too much frosting. I asked Jessica if she could give it to him. Just... let him know I remembered. She said she would. I waited near the diner after my shift, hoping she'd text. Instead, these huge guys showed up. Brenda's friends, I think. Or her dealers. They said Brenda owed them money. Big money. They smashed the diner's window. They found the cupcake box in my bag, stomped on it. Then they... they beat me. Right there on the sidewalk. Told me to pay Brenda's debts, or they'd go after the Petersons. After Michael.'"

The phantom pain of those blows echoed. The taste of blood. The sight of that small, crushed cupcake.

"'I smashed my phone after they left. Deleted every contact related to the Petersons. I can't let them get hurt because of me. Or because of Brenda.'"

The chat was silent for a moment. Then:

[OMG. That's horrible.]

[Those thugs!]

[But why didn't she go to the cops?]

[Maybe she's making it up. For sympathy.]

David read the last post for this segment.

"November 10th, 2022."

"'Found a job. Waitress at a place called 'The Night Owl Club.' It's... rough. The tips are okay if you can handle the customers. I need the money. For Brenda's debts. To stay invisible. To keep them safe.'"

The Night Owl Club. The name alone conjured up images. Dark, smoky, a place for secrets and bad decisions.

The chat exploded with judgment.

[A club waitress? LOL, knew it.]

[That's code for something else, right?]

[No wonder Michael was disgusted.]

Michael visibly flinched at the name of the club. He looked down, his face pale.

Jessica squeezed his hand, a look of profound pity on her face.

David paused. The laptop screen glowed with my words, my descent.

Then, Michael lunged. Not at David this time, but at the laptop on the table.

He swiped at it, sending it crashing to the floor.