Over the Memorial Day weekend, my dad saved a girl who'd slipped and fallen into the river.

However, once she regained consciousness, she complained of pain in her private areas and falsely accused my dad of molesting her.

Our family was blasted online. Unable to endure the harassment, my mom, overwhelmed, leaped from the 30th floor of our building.

Yet, the girl smirked and remarked, "Fools! All publicity is good publicity. Some folks can't even make a buck while lying down."

Eventually, she became the target of internet backlash.

***

When the principal called me into his office, I was deep in a battle with the final question on my math exam.

He looked at me with mixed emotions, hesitated, and then advised me to be resilient.

Confused, I assumed it was about the recent cyberbullying.

Clapping a hand over my heart, I assured him, "Mr. Lewis, no worries. I'm innocent, and I won't let this scandal affect my SATs."

Only when I found myself in the morgue, seeing my mom lying there stiff as stone, did I grasp the gravity of Mr. Lewis's words.

Dad tried to shield my eyes to spare me the sight of her current state.

But I insisted on saying goodbye one last time.

Gently, I drew back the shroud, and upon seeing her mangled form underneath, my body seized up and tears flooded out.

The devastating impact from the fall had gruesomely distorted her body; her skull was half-crushed, and no part of her was spared the brutality—blood was everywhere.

Never before had I despised the color red as much as I did at that moment.

Just the night before, back at school, Mom was all smiles as she packed my suitcase, stuffing it full.

Yet, less than a day later, she was nothing more than a corpse in this chilled, cramped space.

I should have realized sooner.

As she continued to pack things into my suitcase, I should have picked up on the signs.

Normally gentle and soft-spoken, she had smiled through weeks of relentless cyber attacks.

Something was definitely off.

I blame myself terribly.

Dad, tears streaming down his face, pleaded with the funeral home artist to make her look like herself again.

Mom always loved to look her best; she didn't deserve to leave the world looking like this.

"Dad, do you think Mom's already reached the other side?"

"Is there a chance she might forget us?"

My dad paused, his eyes instantly welling up. He bowed his head, continuing to pack my suitcase with milk cartons, just like Mom used to do.

"No way, kiddo. Mom loved us too much to ever forget."

"Sometimes I wish she would forget, just so she wouldn't be in pain anymore."

"...Stop thinking about it, alright? Everything's packed. We'll head back to school after dinner."

I'd only been home for a day, but Dad was already pushing me to head back to school.

With finals looming, he was adamant that I soldier through this tough time.

With a heavy heart, I returned to the classroom.

In just two days, my desk had become buried under a pile of test papers.

I forced myself to focus on the exams, but images of Mom kept invading my thoughts.

The harder I tried to suppress my sorrow, the more overwhelming it became.

After two evening study sessions, not a single answer was written on my papers.

Overwhelmed, I crumpled, hiding my face in my arms as I started to cry.

"What's this, a sob fest? You love crying so much, why not stay home and mourn a few more days?"

"She's barely cold, and you're back here bawling? Have some decency!"

"Your mom was clueless! In this era of influencers, she didn't even snag the chance to go viral."

"All publicity is good publicity. She couldn't even make a dime from lying down—what a dunce!"

I clenched my fists and stood up sharply, but the class president immediately pushed me back into my seat.

"Megan, cut the drama. Use that energy for some extra problem sets instead!"

He glared at Megan Maxwell, his duty as class president to keep order, especially during this critical prep time for finals.

Those words somehow were a trigger that made Megan bristle, "Listen up! I'm the victim here!"

"I'm just speaking the truth. Did I say anything wrong?"

"Her mom's death—You think she's not even a little to blame?"

"Are you defending her because you like her or something?"

After hearing this, the class president's face hardened, "We have just twenty days till finals. Every minute counts."

"Nobody's got time for your conspiracy nonsense."

"Study or don't—that's on you, but keep your drama away from everyone else."

As he finished, several students who had been studying looked up, their expressions filled with irritation at Megan.

Megan huffed dismissively and turned back, flipping through her English textbook resentfully, then shot me another angry glance.

The class president turned back to me, offering a quiet word of encouragement, "Just twenty more days. You can do it."

I sank back into my seat, my tears circling in my eyes before finally spilling over.

Megan wasn't wrong—it was my fault Mom died.

If it wasn't for me, she'd still be here.