Before my fingers touched the fabric, a brutal force slammed into me. Derek shoved me aside, sending me sprawling onto the ice.
He loomed over me, his expression twisting into performed grief and rage.
"Now you decide to care?" he spat. "Why weren't you watching him? This is your fault!"
Margaret's wails pierced the air right on cue.
"How many times did I tell you? Too many people today! I told you not to let him run wild, but you wouldn't listen! Are you satisfied now?"
The relatives swarmed like vultures, picking up the narrative.
"That suit is a death trap! We told you not to put him in it!"
"You insisted it was festive. You just had to mess around..."
Rehearsed lines. Every face etched with feigned regret and accusation.
I saw through them instantly. They were replaying my past life, pinning "my son's" death squarely on me.
I scrambled to my feet, glaring at the mob. "You're twisting the truth! You did this! You killed him!"
Their expressions hardened. Derek grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me toward the house.
"Sarah, you need to take responsibility."
Diana was already waiting inside. She thrust a printed document and pen at me the moment we entered.