Two police officers entered swiftly, their movements precise, professional, emotionally detached in ways that immediately unsettled me deeply. The female officer crouched gently beside Courtney, her voice softened by practiced reassurance.
“Can you explain exactly what happened tonight, sweetheart?” she asked carefully.
Courtney lifted her tear soaked face slowly, her trembling finger extending directly toward me with devastating certainty.
“She pushed me down the stairs.” Courtney sobbed dramatically, her voice fractured by deliberate anguish. “She found out about my pregnancy and became violently jealous. She always hated me.”
The male officer approached cautiously, his expression unreadable beneath procedural neutrality.
“Is that statement accurate?” he asked firmly.
“No, absolutely not.” I struggled desperately to my feet, my voice shaking violently. “I was upstairs doing homework alone, and she is completely lying about everything.”
My mother’s voice sliced sharply through mine, cold, controlled, disturbingly distant.