he recorder crackled, the journalist’s voice cutting in again. “Damien, why do you think your mother is participating in the math competition?”
Damien’s voice came through, clear and unguarded: “She wants to be famous! She wants money, and she wants to fight Dad for me! She wants to take me away, to threaten Dad into giving her more money!”
The innocent tremble in his childish voice was like a thousand needles piercing Selene’s skin, leaving behind a thousand stings. For a moment, she was lost, disoriented.
He had once been her son–her greatest weakness and her only armor, the boy who had once shared her heartbeat.
He was her own flesh and blood. With nothing but a careless word, Damien could send her world crashing down, could destroy her completely.
All color drained from Selene’s face, her dark eyes turning into empty voids that refused any light.
The journalist’s voice returned in the recording. “Damien, is there anything you’d like to say to everyone watching?”
“Don’t let Selene fool you! She’s selfish and mean! I’m her own son–I know better than anyone what kind of mother she really is!”
The recording ended. The journalist, still gripping the recorder, looked at Selene with a satisfied smirk.
Countless cameras zeroed in on Selene’s face, each lens desperate to capture every flicker of emotion that crossed her features.
The journalists swarmed like sharks drawn by blood, shoving their microphones closer and closer, almost jabbing them into her cheeks.
“Miss Thompson, is what your son said true?”
“Miss Thompson, did you abandon your child on purpose?”
Selene felt the blood in her veins freeze. She lifted her hand, her knuckles scraping together like ice cubes in a glass.
She pressed her palm against one of the microphones–if she hadn’t, they would have poked her right in the face.
1/2
21:40
A reporter from Platinum 818 was practically vibrating with excitement, nostrila flaring as he declared, “A five–year–old doesn’t lie!”
Selene parted her dry lips, and a brittle, icy laugh escaped her throat.
“But children can make things up,” she replied.
A flat–faced reporter with yellowed teeth spat as he accused her, “Your son hates you this much because you’re an unfit mother!”
“Miss Thompson, if you’re abusing your child, we won’t stand for it. We’re reporting you to Child Services!”
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