“Stop saying that,” I teased, my face turning red with embarrassment.
The crowd stirred at the sight.
Aunt Mary broke down completely, sobbing so hard she could barely speak.
“Zoey was such a good child! Why can’t you just tell us who hurt her?” she wailed. “Why couldn’t you let Zoey rest in peace? My poor child! You… you don’t deserve to live!”
Aunt Mary sobbed uncontrollably, her voice heavy with grief, while the people in the audience looked visibly moved.
Although their father, Uncle John, had seen many tragedies and usually kept his composure, witnessing his beloved wife break down like that caused him to falter.
He pulled his wife into his arms, whispering comforting words, but his eyes turned to me, filled with unmistakable hatred.
The memory on the screen continued.
After school, Zoey and I went to our secret spot—an abandoned park near the school with a small creek running through it.
We’d set up a tent there, a place almost no one knew about. We often went there to buy snacks, grill food, and have little picnics, away from the world.
Seeing this on the screen, the audience collectively gasped.
This was the very place where Zoey’s tragedy had occurred.