"The boy is already dead, Sarah. Do you really want to drag the whole family down with you?"
The relatives nodded, sighing in perfect unison.
Margaret grabbed my hand, her face a mask of tragic sorrow.
"Sarah, please. The child is gone. Don't ruin the lives of the living children. They're too young for a police investigation..."
Aunt Brenda chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern.
"We're all family here, Sarah. If this goes to court, it'll drag our name through the mud. Think of the child's spirit—he wouldn't want to see his family tearing each other apart."
When I stayed silent, Derek's voice dropped an octave, patience gone.
"If you don't sign, you're condemning yourself. You'll be the murderer who killed her own son. Everyone here can testify—you put him in that costume. You sent him to his death."
I ignored their faces. My gaze drifted past them, landing on the snow-covered yard through the window. The hem of the mascot costume had flipped up, exposing a single foot.
A navy blue sneaker with white stripes.
Ethan didn't own shoes like that.
I looked up, scanning these so-called "relatives" one by one.
"Are you all certain the boy who died is my son?"
The room went still. Then incredulous laughter broke the tension.
"If it's not Ethan, who else would it be?" Aunt Brenda scoffed.
Diana's eyes were still red-rimmed, but her tone snapped back to its usual sharpness. "You brought the costume. You put it on Ethan yourself. Are you going senile?"
Margaret wiped her crocodile tears and nodded vigorously. "Yes, we all saw it. You dressed him with your own hands."
A lie repeated a thousand times becomes truth. They'd told the story so many times they'd started believing their own fabrication.
I fixed my eyes on Derek.
His gaze flickered—a crack in his composure—before he steadied himself.
I took a slow breath and asked the question that had burned in my chest for two lifetimes.
"Derek, is it because Ethan isn't your flesh and blood that you don't care he's dead?"
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Everyone knew Ethan was from my first marriage. During our year together, Derek had played the perfect stepfather. I knew he was a mama's boy, knew he had an unhealthy obsession with spoiling his sister, but I'd tolerated it. As a remarried woman, I thought if he treated my son well, I could endure the rest.
I never expected the mask to slip so completely.