Chapter 3

While my parents were drowning in diapers and sleepless nights, Emily was curating her new online persona. She started posting on Instagram and TikTok, building a narrative around her "brave" decision.

She' d post a heavily filtered selfie, her hair perfectly styled, with a caption like: "Embracing the single mom life. #IndependentWoman #GoSolo #DitchTheDad #MyBodyMyChoice."

Then she' d post a picture of Leo, usually one where he was sleeping peacefully (after my mother had spent an hour calming him down), with a caption that read: "Being a mom is the hardest and most rewarding job. So blessed to have a family that supports my journey. #MainCharacterEnergy #FamilyLegacy."

The comments started rolling in. At first, it was just her college friends, leaving strings of fire and heart emojis. "You' re so brave, Em!" "Slay, queen!"

But then, the tide started to turn. Our relatives, people from our hometown, and even complete strangers began to comment.

"Brave? Your parents are the ones raising him."

" 'Main character energy' ? More like selfish spoiled brat energy."

"I saw your dad at the grocery store, he looked like a zombie. Maybe help him out instead of taking selfies?"

The negativity grew. People started sending private messages, calling her out for her hypocrisy. Emily, of course, ignored them or blocked them. She lived in a bubble of her own making.

But I didn' t ignore them. I took screenshots of everything. The nasty comments, the angry DMs from our cousins, the posts from local gossip groups discussing the "Miller girl who dumped a baby on her old parents."

I waited for the right moment. It came on a Sunday afternoon. My parents were both asleep on the couch, utterly exhausted. Leo was finally quiet in his crib. I gently woke them up.

"Mom, Dad. We need to talk," I said, my voice serious.

They blinked at me, groggy and irritated.

"Sarah, not now," my father mumbled.

"Now," I insisted. I held out my phone. "You need to see this."

I showed them everything. I made them read every single comment, every message. I watched the color drain from their faces. My mother' s hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. My father' s face hardened, a deep line forming between his brows.

"They' re... they' re talking about us?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling. The shame was a physical blow to her. Public opinion was her Achilles' heel.

"They' re talking about Emily," I corrected gently. "And they' re blaming you for letting her get away with it."

Just then, Emily emerged from her room, yawning. "What' s all the noise about? And is dinner ready yet?"

My mother shot to her feet. "Emily, look at this!" she cried, shoving my phone in Emily' s face. "Is this what you' re doing? Telling the whole world you' re some kind of hero while your father and I kill ourselves taking care of your son?"

Emily glanced at the phone and scoffed. "Oh, that? It' s just haters. They' re jealous of my freedom. You can' t let them get to you."

The sheer audacity of her response left my parents speechless.

But Emily wasn't done. Realizing she was in trouble, she switched tactics. Her face crumpled, and huge crocodile tears began to stream down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees in front of them.

"I' m so sorry!" she wailed, grabbing my mother' s legs. "I didn' t know it would cause so much trouble! I was just trying to be strong! I' ll delete it all, I promise! I' ll be better! Please, don' t be mad at me!"

She started banging her head softly against the floor, a move she' d perfected in childhood to get her way.

And it worked.

My mother' s anger dissolved into pity. "Oh, my poor baby," she said, pulling Emily into a hug. "It' s okay, it' s okay. We' re not mad. We' ll figure this out."

My father sighed, running a hand over his face. The fight went out of him. "Just... just be more careful, Emily. Okay?"

I stood there, watching this pathetic display, a cold knot of disappointment in my stomach. I had underestimated the depth of their delusion, the power of Emily' s manipulation.

This wasn' t enough. The social pressure was a good start, but I needed something more direct, something they couldn't explain away or forgive with a hug.

I needed irrefutable proof of who Emily really was. And I knew exactly where to get it.