Chapter 3: No One Believes Me

A neighbor clicked his tongue. “She’s really going all out for a dog, huh? Derek, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

He called for help, but Derek blocked him, face dark.

“Don’t waste your time. Lillian’s dog is trapped on the right.”

I heard the commotion. Neighbors stared as I bowed my head, forcing back sobs. “Please, help my mom. She’s trapped. He won’t listen—he just wants to save the dog.”

“What’s happening?”

Derek pinched his brow, then cut me off, sharp and loud. “Is a dog’s life not worth anything? Even if you’re mad at Lillian, this isn’t the time for drama.”

He raised his voice for the crowd. “Everyone knows I’m close to Lillian. Emily’s just jealous and making excuses to hurt her dog.”

“Lillian has depression. Max is her hope. I can’t stand by.”

The crowd murmured. Derek was one of their own. His words stung.

Lillian collapsed into Derek’s arms, crying. “It’s my fault—I’m willing to move away. Max is all I have left. Without him, I don’t want to live.”

Everyone knew her parents had died. They believed her instantly.

Mrs. Thompson—her house always decorated with holiday flags and plastic flamingos, the unofficial gossip of Maple Heights—narrowed her eyes at me, her voice sharp. “Outsiders just don’t get it. A dog’s a life too. If your mom saw you now, she’d be ashamed.”

Lillian sobbed, and Derek comforted her, while the neighbors glared at me.

I trembled, vision swimming. My hands and feet went cold. “You don’t believe me either.”

I swallowed hard, fighting nausea.

[Sigh, if it were me, I’d save my mom—no contest.]

[Why does everyone buy his act?]

[She should just accept her fate. Her mom’s old anyway.]

But I couldn’t accept it. I was carrying my mom’s hope.

I raised my bloody hands, all ten fingers raw and broken. “I’m lying? Would I do this to hurt a dog?”

Derek sneered. “Still putting on a show? What, you want us to beg you now?”

He stepped closer. “You keep saying your mom’s under there? Yesterday she was in Pennsylvania. How’d she end up here, right under this slab?”

[He’s got a point.]

[Yeah, how did she know?]

[She didn’t react at first, then suddenly freaked out.]

[Can she see our comments?]

I said nothing. He was right. If I told them about the floating comments, they’d think I was crazy. My mom would never get saved.

Derek glared, “If you listen now, we’ll get married. Otherwise, don’t make me find someone else.”

He pinched my chin. “You’re not a virgin anymore—no one else will want you. Not like Lillian.”

But then I saw a comment flash by:

[Girl, borrow a phone and call Mrs. Foster. She’ll tell you your mom came to find you.]

I shook off Derek’s grip and ran to a neighbor with a phone. “Let me use this!”

I snatched it, fingers slippery with blood, fumbling numbers. The call finally went through.

“Mrs. Foster, is my mom home? Did she come find me today?”

Everyone watched. Derek’s impatience radiated.

On speaker, Mrs. Foster’s voice came through: “No, honey, your mom went out for groceries. Wait—are you at your boyfriend’s? Stay put—”

Before she could finish, Derek snatched the phone and hung up, shoving it back.

He yanked my hair, shouting, “Did you hear that? You have to make a scene for everyone?”

In that moment, with everyone staring, my bloodied hands shaking, I realized how utterly alone I was—and how desperately I still needed to fight for the truth, no matter what they believed.

But I wasn’t giving up. Not with my mom’s life on the line. Not ever.