Chapter 3

The screen lit up, not with accusations, but with a photo of a small, scared girl with big eyes. Me, at six years old, the day I arrived at the Mayor's house.

My early life hadn't been easy, a string of foster homes after my unknown parents were gone.

Mr. Finch's voice, calm and steady, narrated the images.

"Sarah Miller was adopted by Mayor Thompson and his late wife, Martha, at the age of six," Finch stated.

He showed pictures of a slightly older Ethan, maybe ten, looking awkward but kind, offering me a toy.

"Ethan, their son, initially welcomed her."

I remembered that day. Ethan had been the first friendly face in a long time. He'd built a fort with me in the backyard, sworn to be my knight.

My heart ached with the memory, a dull throb of what was lost.

Finch's presentation continued. "Sarah was a child seeking stability, a place to belong."

He didn't shy away from my "rebellious" streak as a teenager – the dyed hair, the arguments, the times I chafed against Havenwood's small-town expectations.

But he framed it not as malice, but as the actions of an outsider trying to find her footing, often misunderstood.

Then, a new face appeared on screen: Veronica Hayes, stepping off a bus, smiling, charismatic.

"Three years ago, Veronica Hayes arrived in Havenwood," Finch said.

The screen showed her at town events, charming everyone, shaking hands with my father, laughing with Ethan, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Mark.

My stomach tightened. I remembered her arrival. She was like a bright, exotic bird, and Havenwood was instantly captivated. Especially Mark.

Finch laid it out, piece by piece.

Veronica, the community benefactor, the one who secured the GlobalCorp investment. He showed news clippings of her donations, her speeches about prosperity.

Then, the images shifted.

Veronica whispering in Mark's ear, Mark looking at me with sudden coolness.

Veronica having quiet words with Ethan, Ethan starting to echo her subtle criticisms of me.

Veronica and my father, the Mayor, in serious discussion, after which he'd lecture me about responsibility and the town's image.

"Veronica Hayes systematically began to isolate Sarah," Finch explained.

He presented evidence of small incidents, things I'd forgotten or dismissed at the time.

A school project I'd worked on, mysteriously sabotaged, with rumors pointing to my carelessness.

A town fundraiser where funds went missing from a booth I'd briefly manned, only to be "found" later by Veronica, who made a show of not wanting to point fingers, but the damage to my reputation was done.

Each incident, skillfully orchestrated, painted me as unstable, untrustworthy, even malicious.

I saw Mark on the screen, at the high school prom. He was supposed to be my date.

But there he was, dancing with Veronica, who wore a dress the exact shade of blue he knew was my favorite.

The flashback showed him finding me later, me confronting him, heartbroken. Veronica had told him I was seeing someone else, that I was making a fool of him.

He'd believed her.

He'd yelled at me, called me a liar.

The screen showed me running off, tears streaming down my face, and then an image of my sprained ankle from when I'd tripped in my distress.

The real footage was a punch to the gut. The public humiliation, the casual cruelty of Veronica's manipulation, Mark's easy betrayal.

It was all there, undeniable.

The people in the town hall were silent now, the earlier hostility replaced by a stunned, uncomfortable quiet.

I saw Ethan shift in his seat, his gaze fixed on the screen, his jaw tight. My father looked down at his hands.

Even from the back, I could feel their discomfort growing.

This wasn't the narrative they'd all bought into. This was something far uglier, and the villain wasn't me.