My sister, Phoebe, was always frail, but viciously defiant. To guide her—to shock her into compliance without laying a hand on her—my mother, Elaine, turned me into her living, breathing Control Group. Phoebe snuck out, chasing trouble in cheap clubs and coming home smelling of stale smoke and bad decisions. So, my mother sent me out. Dressed in a skirt barely wider than a belt, walking home at 3 AM through the worst stretch of the city. When Phoebe saw me the next morning—my clothes ripped, a map of cheap, purple bruises marking my neck—she was so terrified, she stopped seeing those low-life punks for good. Phoebe got pregnant and still drank like it was spring break. So, in my eighth month of pregnancy—my pregnancy—Mom forced me to drink. Not just a glass, but bottle after bottle of cheap beer. Phoebe watched me hemorrhage. She watched me lose my son. My son, Micah. The sight, the absolute visceral terror of it, kept her sober for the rest of her term. She delivered a perfect, healthy baby boy. Beside the hospital bed, Mom squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “If you’d kept drinking, you would have ended up just like your sister, Jade. Lost the baby. Maybe lost your chance to have any more.” Phoebe looked at me, her eyes wet with gratitude. “Thank you, Jade. You saved me from myself.” “You’re welcome.” I wrapped my arm around Mom’s throat. A single needle, deep into her neck. “This is your final lesson, little sister. See what happens when you spend twenty-seven years turning a daughter into a monster.” 1 A bead of blood splattered across Phoebe’s cheek. Her scream ripped through the sterile air. I dragged Mom backward, away from the delivery bed, backing slowly toward the door. She slumped to the floor, her body still weak from giving birth, and there was no way she could catch me. By the time her crying brought the rest of the family and the nurses running, I was long gone. While everyone scrambled, a live stream was tearing through every social media platform. On the screen, a chilling, metallic sound filled the air: the blade of a heavy hunting knife being pulled across a whetstone. Behind me, Mom, Elaine Tanner, was zip-tied to a heavy armchair, her eyes wide with terror. [? Isn’t that Elaine Tanner, the woman who just went missing? Why is she here? And tied up by her eldest daughter!] [OMG, is this a live murder?] “Jade!” In a second window, Phoebe had started her own broadcast. "Jade, what are you doing! Stop it right now!" I admired the razor-sharp edge of the blade, then gave the camera a cold, flat look. “Sister! I’m begging you!” She dropped to her knees with a desperate, sickening thud. Her post-delivery body looked impossibly fragile. "Mom raised us for twenty years! She’s done so much! If you have a problem, take it out on me! I’ll take her place! Please, just let her go!” The comment section exploded. [Are you insane? That's your mother! What kind of hate is this?!] [A live-streamed patricide! This is sickening! She needs to be arrested! This woman clearly has violent genes!] The police warning popped up on my screen. [We are currently tracking your location. Surrender now, and you can still save the situation.] I smiled. “Welcome to the chase.” [!!! Too arrogant! Lock her up and throw away the key!] [Just shoot her on sight. She’s too dangerous.] I didn't speak. I simply turned toward my mother. She trembled. "Jade. Please, surrender. I’ll write a letter of leniency for you." [Poor dear, the unconditional love of a mother.] [It's true, even after all this, a mother would still forgive her daughter.] [Jade is a monster!] I chuckled. “No need.” The blade dragged across the floor, sparking as it scraped the cement. I approached my mother. [!! Stop! Don't touch your mother!] [Police! Where are you! Stop her!] “Sister!” Phoebe’s voice was a ragged shriek. I pressed the knife against Mom’s throat. She shook uncontrollably. "Jade, are you really going to kill your mother?" I looked down at her. "Tell me. Where is Micah?" Mom froze. 2 Not just Mom. Everyone watching the live stream paused. Phoebe’s tears finally overflowed. “Jade, he died! We all grieved for him!” “No!” I whirled around, my eyes burning. The knife in my hand trembled. I ground my teeth. “He’s not dead! I know he’s not dead!” "Jade! I know you’re hurting because of the miscarriage, we all are! But you have to move on!" My father, whom I had not seen in months, roared through the stream. I just smiled. I looked at my mother. “Mom, you know if my baby was truly miscarried, don’t you?” Her eyes darted away. I looked back at the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen! I did not start this stream to commit murder. I started it to find my child—the son my mother hid from me!" [What is she talking about?] [She had a miscarriage, but she thinks the baby is alive?] I stared hard at the lens. “What you might not know is that my ‘miscarriage’ was no accident. It was the direct result of my sister’s drinking while pregnant, and my mother—to make her realize the danger—forcing me to drink bottle after bottle of beer in my eighth month!” [What? Is that… an actual sentence?] [I can understand the words, but not when they’re put together like that.] [The mother forced the older daughter to miscarry just to teach the younger one a lesson about drinking while pregnant?] [If that is true, I would go absolutely insane!] I smiled at my mother. “Right, Mom? Tell them the truth.” “Lies!” Mom raged. “You were reckless! You wouldn’t listen to anyone! Why would I force you to miscarry? He was my grandchild too!” [Hmm… I think the mother makes sense. A mother’s love is complex, but no one would do that to a grandchild.] [I have two daughters too. Even if I favor one sometimes, they are still my children.] [She must have had a breakdown after the miscarriage, a delusion that her mother forced her to drink and hid the baby.] [Definitely. No sane person would live-stream a murder attempt.] I knelt in front of Mom. “I know exactly why you did it, Mom. I’ve been Phoebe’s Control Group for over twenty years. And my Micah? He was going to live on to be your perfect grandson’s next control group, wasn't he?” “You’re talking nonsense!” Mom shrieked. But I saw it. Her breathing was uneven. The panic of being exposed. I placed my hand on her knee. “Mom, why did you do this to me? Am I not your daughter, too?” “You’re crazy!” She twisted her head away, unable to meet my eyes. I gave a bitter laugh. I stood up, my expression turning icy. “I know the police are tracing this. Don't worry, you won’t find me. But I promise you this: As soon as you bring me my son, Micah, I will walk out and surrender. If you fail to…” I pointed the machete at Mom. “Every ten minutes, I take a piece of her.” [A torture-murder?] [She's completely deranged!] I ignored the furious scrolling of the comments and Phoebe’s desperate, heart-wrenching sobs. I hit the timer. The police were stalled. They had no choice but to follow my instructions. A unit was sent to question the family about Micah. Without exception, they all maintained the same story: "He was stillborn." My father, wiping away performative tears, claimed, “If Jade hadn't been so reckless with alcohol, Micah wouldn't have died in utero! Now that she’s lost him, she blames her mother!” I scoffed. I just watched the timer. “Ten minutes is up.” I stood. Phoebe rushed toward her camera. “Sister! Don’t do anything crazy! You’re just talking, right? That’s Mom! We’ll find Micah together when you get out, okay?” I stood behind Mom. I grabbed her ear. A sharp, downward strike. Mom’s scream was pure, animal agony. I held the severed ear up to the webcam. In Phoebe’s horrified gaze, I let it drop. The small, wet slap as it hit the desktop. Phoebe’s eyes rolled back; she collapsed into the arms of her husband, Dr. Adam Fitch. Adam, furious, stepped in front of the camera and slapped a stack of papers onto the table. “Jade, wake up!” There, stark and irrefutable… was Micah’s death certificate. 3 I stared at the report for a long time, unable to speak. Adam was breathing heavily. “It’s signed, sealed, and stamped by the hospital! What more proof do you need?” The comments went ballistic. [Confirmed. Jade is officially crazy!] [Witnesses and evidence are all here. She really must be psychotic, hallucinating the baby was hidden.] [Poor Mom, this is a nightmare she never deserved.] “Jade!” Adam glared at me through the lens, a hint of desperation in his eyes. I picked up the printed death certificate and flipped through it. Then, I turned and reset the timer. “Jade!” Adam shrieked at the camera like a maniac, as if trying to reach through the screen to strangle me. I simply sat back, composed, watching the countdown. “You’re insane! Absolutely insane!” Adam paced, then pointed directly at the camera. “What is it going to take for you to believe us? Micah’s ashes are already buried! If you don't trust a death certificate, what do you trust?” “I don’t distrust the death certificate.” I looked coldly at the screen. “I distrust the death certificate you provided.” He froze. I stood up, leaning my hands on the table. “Dr. Fitch, if anyone else had signed this, it would be one thing. But it has your signature.” His face went pale. I smiled sardonically. “All those years Mom was using me as Phoebe’s control group, you never once objected. In fact, you probably encouraged her, telling her all the bad habits you wanted Phoebe to drop, so Mom could experiment on me instead, giving your wife a ‘painless’ lesson!” Adam deliberately looked away. I leaned closer to the camera, my smile widening. “You just wanted your son to learn his life lessons the easy way, didn't you? Well, I’m telling you, Dr. Fitch, that will never happen. My son will never be the control group for yours!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Adam’s breathing was fast and shallow. I chuckled and sat back in the chair. “You don’t? Fine. You certified him as stillborn. Are you willing to bring in the obstetrician and the entire delivery team who were on duty that night, to confront me?” “I—” Adam choked. He couldn't get a word out. The comments immediately shifted. [Wait, something’s wrong. Is the death certificate fake?] [If it’s real, why can’t he answer? Did the baby live?] [They wouldn't really use someone else’s child as a control group, would they? That’s pure evil!] The police officers who were questioning Phoebe and Adam saw the change in their faces. “Sir, we need your full cooperation.” “No! Wait, don’t listen to her! I didn’t fake anything, it’s all real!” Adam was panicking. The police were composed. “We will contact your colleagues for verification, including everyone on the delivery team that night. Rest assured, we won’t wrongly accuse you.” “Wh-What?” Adam’s face went white. Phoebe rushed to his side. “Don’t bother, Officers! My sister is lying! You should be finding her location, not suspecting innocent people here!” [This is suspicious. Why are they so desperate?] [The attitude shift is too sudden. They are definitely hiding something.] [Could Jade’s baby really have been hidden by them?] The viewers could see it, and the police saw it instantly. With the timer showing less than a minute remaining, the officer’s face hardened. “Mr. Fitch, this is a matter of life and death. If you are concealing the child’s condition, you can still gain leniency by confessing now. And Mrs. Tanner can be spared further harm.” “I… I…” Adam was buckling. "The baby died!" The door was pushed open. A man walked in, calm and assured, and faced the officers. “Officers, please don’t believe any of Jade’s accusations.” I stood up. “Neil!” He looked at me. "Jade, stop this farce." 4 I knew this wouldn’t be easy. But I never thought the person to stop me would be my own husband. “What are you doing here?” My fists were clenched tight. His expression was cold and aloof. “Stopping you from making an even bigger mistake.” “Micah isn’t dead!” “He is dead!” In three years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever yelled at me. The comments were a mess of question marks. [What is happening now?] [Her own husband is confirming the baby is dead?] [But Jade seemed genuine, didn't she? Is Neil Everett taking his sister-in-law's side? That's his son!] “No, everyone, Jade is lying.” Neil Everett turned to the camera with a heavy sigh. “My wife is suffering from postpartum psychosis.” I froze. The comments were still confused. “After we lost the baby, she developed severe postpartum depression, which eventually led to this. She can’t accept that Micah is gone, and has even fabricated this delusion that she was Phoebe’s control group. As her husband, I understand and feel tremendous sympathy for her.” He looked at me, his eyes softening with the gentle concern that had won me over years ago. “Jade, please, stop this. We can have another baby.” “I’m not making a farce!” My eyes stung. “You know Micah is alive! You know better than anyone! Why are you lying to protect them?” “Micah is dead!” He tossed a folder onto the table in front of the camera. The title was clear and chilling: [AUTOPSY REPORT] 5 The report was detailed and complete. Every step had a photograph. Though my baby had been rushed away the moment he was born, I had caught a brief, half-conscious glimpse of him. The baby’s face in the autopsy photos—it was my Micah. Acute intrauterine asphyxia. He was born blue, without any life signs… Looking at his tiny, suffocated face as he took his first and final breath, my legs gave out. I sank to the floor, clutching the report to my chest, my tears blurring the text. “How could this be… I heard him cry… I know I did…” Neil sighed softly. “You must have heard the woman next door, sweetie…” “Ah!!” A guttural cry tore from my throat. I pressed the autopsy report to my chest and cried, letting out all the grief and pain that had been trapped inside me. At the same time, Phoebe rushed to Neil, collapsing against him, as if to kneel. Neil caught her instantly. “Thank you, Neil. You’ve always helped me, since college. Now you’re married to my sister, and you’re still looking out for me. I can never repay this kindness. Please, let me thank you on my knees.” “Stop it!” Neil gripped her arms tightly. His throat bobbed as he looked into her tear-filled eyes. “We’re family. This is what I’m supposed to do.” Phoebe sniffled and returned to Adam’s side. Neil’s eyes followed her, lingering for a moment, before he regained his cool composure and looked at the camera. “Jade, stop this. It’s not too late.” I stumbled to my feet. Mom looked at me with deep concern. “Jade.” My expression was blank. “Jade, Mom has been a little biased, I admit, but I would never harm my own grandchild!” I watched her tears fall. She wouldn’t, would she? No matter how much she favored Phoebe, she wouldn’t conspire to kill her own grandchild… I walked toward her, my hands shaking as I reached for the zip-ties on her wrist. “Jade, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I kept untying the knot. Just as it was about to come undone, a small detail flashed in my mind. “No!” I pulled the knot tight again. “Jade?!” Mom’s eyes widened. The ten-minute timer went off. I pointed the machete directly at her. “The autopsy report is fake!”
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