Lucian seemed infuriated. He scoffed and said mockingly, “You think I accused her unfairly?”
He forcefully shoved his phone into my hand. “Here’s the proof. Take a good look. See if I'm wrong about your two-faced mother.”
The phone played a video. In it was someone wearing a headscarf, bearing a strong resemblance to my mom. She nervously handed over a lunch box with some wild berries in it at the counter and said something before leaving. Later, Esther came down and took away the lunch box. Glancing at the date on the screen, it wrote October 20, 2020. It was a day after my mother's death.
“This can’t be right,” I gritted my teeth, refusing to believe it.
