She Reads the World, Not Me

Victoria was a renowned micro-expression expert who claimed no lie escaped her. To study us, she wired our home with surveillance, turning our lives into a lab.

When Paige cried over a scraped knee, Victoria held her, praising her genuine emotion. But when I writhed in agony from cramps, she stared at her monitor, lecturing her students. "Twitching lips, shifting eyesclassic histrionic disorder. She is acting."

The day I ingested a lethal allergen, my throat sealed shut. Clawing at my neck, I crawled to her, begging. Victoria simply pushed up her glasses, opened her notepad, and wrote clinically, "Rapid respiration. Cyanosis. Gemma, your acting has improved, but your micro-expressions betray you."

As punishment, she disabled the medical alarm, locked the doors, and took Paige to a concert. "Enjoy your performance for the cameras. Let's see how long it takes you to admit the truth."

I curled up on the freezing tiles, my vision fading as I stared at the blinking red eye of the camera above.

Mom, you spent your life analyzing humanity. Yet, you never saw your own daughter.

I drifted into the air, looking down at my own body curled on the floor.

My face, bloated and turned a dark, bruised purple from suffocation, looked grotesque, almost pathetic.

All the agony, the burning in my lungs, the sheer despair had remained trapped in that useless vessel.

It felt peaceful. Finally, the pain was gone.

Lighter than a feather, my spirit slipped through the solid brick walls with a single thought, finding myself in the grand, gilded concert hall across town.

Victoria sat in the front row. She took a strawberry candy from Paige's hand, carefully peeled back the wrapper, and popped it into Paige's mouth.

Her eyes held a warmth I had never once received in life.

"Eat slowly, sweetheart. Don't choke."

Paige mumbled around the candy, her voice dripping with irritation. "Gemma is so annoying. She had to play sick today and almost made us late."

A faint, smug smile played on Victoria's lips, filled with absolute certainty.

"Don't let her bother you. It's just her histrionic tendencies craving attention. She needs a cold dose of reality. Once she realizes her little stunts don't work on me, she'll stop."

Right then, her phone buzzed inside her designer handbag.

It was a notification from the home security app.

Living Room Camera: Target motionless for an extended period. Potential anomaly detected. Please check immediately.

Victoria casually unlocked her screen and opened the live feed.

On the screen, I lay contorted on the cold floor, completely still.

"Huh? Gemma looks weird," Paige whispered, leaning over with a look of pure disgust. "She's playing dead again. She just wants to trick you into coming home."

Victoria let out a soft huff, devoid of any real concern.

Pinching her fingers to zoom in on my stiff, curled fingers, she turned my death into a teaching moment.

"Look closely, Paige. This is what we call intentional rigidity. When someone actually faints or dies, their muscles go entirely limp in the initial stages. Look at her fingers. They are incredibly tense. It is a clear case of overacting. She is trying too hard to make sure the camera catches it."

She paused, pointing to my parted lips.

"And see the downward pull of her lips? That is a classic masochistic-gratification expression. She is indulging in the tragedy of being misunderstood to gain psychological satisfaction."

A well-dressed woman sitting nearby overheard the explanation and leaned in, her eyes wide with admiration.

"Excuse me, are you Dr. Victoria Brooks? The famous micro-expression expert from the talk shows? I've read all your papers. You're brilliant."

"That analysis is absolutely incredible. Your eyes really are like X-rays. Nothing can slip past you."

"You're too kind," Victoria replied with a poised, graceful nod.

Floating above them, I could only manage a silent, bitter smile.

Mom, this time, you got it completely wrong.

I remembered when I was little, before my mother became a renowned specialist.

Back then, her eyes held nothing but pure affection for me.

Whenever I felt hurt or upset, she would pull me tightly into her arms, kissing my forehead over and over.

"Gemma's feelings are the most precious things in the world to me. Mommy will always protect you."

But as Victoria's fame grew, Paige was born.

My sister was a naturally sweet talker, bright and endlessly cheerful, effortlessly capturing everyone's hearts.

I, on the other hand, was always stiff, my expressions awkward.

Accustomed to absolute perfection and control, Victoria slowly grew to resent my existence.

I used to think that if I just tried a little harder, if I strove to be better, she would love me again.

But every attempt only pushed her further away.

The classical music finally swelled to a close.

As the crowd filed out, Victoria showed no intention of heading home.

Paige tugged on her hand, looking up innocently. "Mom, aren't we going home? Is Gemma still putting on her show?"

Victoria stood up, smoothing the fabric of her elegant dress.

Her eyes swept over the frozen image of my body on her phone.

"No. I want to see who breaks first, her drama or my patience. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it all night. Come on, Paige. Let's get that French dinner you've been craving."

At the upscale bistro, Paige kicked her legs under the table, her eyes wide.

"Mom, Gemma's been face down on that cold floor for so long. She must be starving. Should we pack some escargot for her?"

The waiter pouring their lemon water smiled warmly. "Your little girl is so sweet and thoughtful."

Victoria smiled, stroking Paige's hair. "Kindness is a virtue, Paige, but you have to choose who deserves it."

She spread her linen napkin over her lap. "For someone as full of lies as your sister, showing pity only enables her deceit. We aren't bringing her anything. A night of hunger will teach her the true cost of honesty."

The phone on the table lit up again.

Alerts from the security app flooded the lock screen, bright red exclamation marks popping up with persistent urgency.

Warning: Extended immobility detected.

Warning: Abrupt temperature drop in target area.

Warning: Minor fluid leakage detected...

Victoria glanced at the screen. My fingers remained in that stiff, frozen curl. Not a single line creased her brow.

She flipped the phone face down onto the mahogany table.

"Here, Paige. Try the foie gras. It's excellent for development."

She neatly sliced a piece, blew on it gently, and fed it to her younger daughter.

Meanwhile, the only variable in our heavily monitored house had finally arrived.

Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, was scheduled to visit. Since she was leaving for her hometown tomorrow, she decided to finish the cleaning a day early.

She stood outside the massive glass patio doors, peering in as she reached for the doorbell.

The next second, her smile shattered.

Through the pristine glass, she saw my pale, bluish-purple face contorted on the living room rug.

A dark patch of fluid was slowly pooling beneath my head.

"Gemma! Gemma!"

Panic-stricken, Mrs. Gable began banging violently on the thick glass. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Open the door!"

The glass remained impenetrable, and the body inside didn't stir.

Desperate, she slammed her thumb into the red emergency button near the door, but it was dead.

Looking closer, she saw the wiring had been cleanly severed at the base.

Shaking violently, Mrs. Gable pulled out her phone and dialed Victoria.

"Yes, Mrs. Gable? What is it?" Victoria's voice held a note of irritation.

"Dr. Brooks, something is terribly wrong! You have to come home right now! It's Gemma. She's on the floor, completely still, and her face is turning blue!"

My spirit drifted beside Mrs. Gable. Seeing her sweat-streaked, tearful face sparked a faint ember of hope in me.

She had watched me grow up. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Victoria understand.

But Victoria's next words dragged me straight back into the abyss.

"Mrs. Gable, ignore her. I've told you before, Gemma suffers from histrionic personality traits. This is part of a cognitive behavioral therapy scenario I set up to correct her manipulative lying."

"A scenario? What scenario?!" Mrs. Gable was hysterical. "Dr. Brooks, this isn't acting! The poor girl is blue, her lips are turning black! Please, you need to come back!"

"It's makeup," Victoria countered smoothly. "She once smeared ketchup on her face to fake coughing up blood just to get my attention. She is highly resourceful when she wants sympathy. Don't let her play you. She thrives on manipulating people's pity."

"No! This isn't makeup!" Mrs. Gable begged, tears streaming down her face. "I've known this child for years. I know when she's playing around, and this isn't it! Please, just call an ambulance!"

"Enough!" Victoria's voice rose, sharp and laced with the fury of a professional who despised being questioned. "Mrs. Gable, I am the clinical psychologist here. I understand my daughter's behavioral patterns far better than you do!"

"I am in the middle of a critical psychological intervention. Your panic is going to ruin my entire therapeutic progress! Leave the premises immediately. Do not interfere."

The line went dead.

Refusing to give up, Mrs. Gable redialed, only to be met with a cold, automated operator.

The number you are trying to reach is currently busy...

She had been blocked.

Her hand fell limp. Pressing her face against the glass, she took one last, helpless look at my silent form.

With no other choice, she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder in agony as she left the gated community.

I watched the only person who could have saved me walk away.

The last spark of light in my chest died.

Back at the restaurant, Paige licked her ice cream spoon and asked innocently, "Mom, was that Mrs. Gable? What did she want?"

Victoria dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her soft, maternal smile returning instantly.

"Nothing, sweetheart. Just another fool falling for your sister's theatrics."

"Weird. Why is the door deadbolted from the inside?"

Robert stood on the front porch, dragging his suitcase and pressing the doorbell repeatedly.

He had just returned early from a business trip, hoping to surprise his family.

When the bell elicited no response, he reached for the red emergency alarm button.

The button hung loose, its raw copper wires dangling helplessly.

A cold dread seized his chest.

Shaking, he dug his spare key out of his wallet and jammed it into the lock.

With a heavy click, the deadbolt gave way.

A heavy, stagnant odor of raw decay and bodily fluids rushed out, hitting him like a physical blow.

Robert froze on the threshold, his gaze locking onto the center of the living room.

And then, he saw me.

He saw the body on the floor, stiff, pale, with dark lividity already pooling in the skin.

"Gemma..."

His lips trembled, unable to form a coherent sound.

His suitcase hit the floor with a loud thud as he scrambled across the room, falling to his knees.

"My baby. Oh God, Gemma, what happened to you?!"

He tried to pull me into his arms, but my limbs were as rigid as stone.

Touching my ice-cold, lifeless skin, he realized there was no breath. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat.

My spirit hovered near the ceiling.

I watched this man, who had always been a pillar of strength, break down like a helpless child.

He clung to my rigid form, crying my name over and over.

The veins in his neck bulged, tears streaming down his face as he shook with heavy, violent sobs.

"Victoria. Victoria, pick up!"

He snatched his phone, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and dialed Victoria's number.

At that very moment, Victoria was at a high-end boutique downtown, watching Paige twirl in a white lace dress.

"Mommy, look. I look just like Elsa!" Paige giggled, spinning in front of the mirror.

"If you love it, we're buying it," Victoria said softly, pulling out her phone to pay.

Robert's name flashed frantically across her screen.

She glanced at it, her brow furrowing in irritation, and swiped to decline.

"Your father is so exhausting. He doesn't call once during his trip, and now he won't stop ringing."

The call was disconnected.

But a few seconds later, an unknown landline number flashed on the screen.

Annoyed, she swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Victoria, where the hell are you?!" Robert's voice roared through the receiver, using a neighbor's phone. "Gemma is dead. You killed her!"

Facing this shattered, bloody accusation, Victoria was silent for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft, mocking sigh.

"Robert, did you look at the cameras too? You have to trust my professional judgment on this. Don't enable her drama like you always do."

Her voice was perfectly level, tinged with a clinical sort of disdain.

"I watched the live feed earlier and analyzed her micro-expressions. Avoidant eye contact, manufactured physical stiffness. It is a textbook stress response to lying. She is attempting to leverage self-inflicted misery to force us to come home."

"You... you monster..."

Robert shook so violently he couldn't form the words.

He slammed the phone down and immediately dialed 911.

Sirens soon shattered the quiet of the exclusive neighborhood.

Neighbors peered out of their windows as police cruisers and ambulances lined the street, cordoning off our lawn with yellow tape.

Back at the mall, Victoria was signing the receipt, a pleasant smile on her face.

Looking up, she caught a breaking news broadcast flashing across the massive digital screen in the mall's atrium.

Breaking News: A young woman was found dead in an upscale residence earlier today. Authorities are currently investigating.

A brief shot of our gated community's entrance flashed on screen.

Victoria's heart skipped a beat.

But within a second, her professional pride took over, silencing the dread.

No. Absolutely impossible.

The rigidity and posturing in the live stream were entirely manufactured.

The news report was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with her household.

The brief flash of panic vanished, replaced by an irritation at being manipulated.

"Typical," she muttered, taking Paige's hand. "Your father is still trying to play his part in her little play. He realized I wouldn't bite, so he stopped calling. Using life and death as a prop. How pathetic."

"Come on, Paige. Look at the camera and smile."

Victoria took Paige straight to the most exclusive portrait studio in the city.

She seemed determined to use social media to show Robert and me that her resolve was unbreakable.

The camera flashed, capturing a picture-perfect portrait of maternal bliss.

Victoria immediately uploaded it, carefully crafting her caption:

A day free from emotional hostage-taking. Honesty is the only foundation for true connection. #QualityTime #Parenting

Below it, she posted a beautiful grid of photos showing her and Paige laughing in their matching dresses.

Within minutes, comments and likes poured in by the dozens.

So true, Dr. Brooks!

Your parenting is such an inspiration!

Paige looks like an absolute angel!

Victoria scrolled through the glowing praise, her chest swelling with pride.

At that moment, the heavy glass doors of the studio slid open, and three uniformed police officers entered, their faces grim.

The chatter in the studio died instantly.

Every eye tracked the officers as they marched across the room.

The lead officer scanned the lobby, locked onto Victoria, and walked straight toward her.

"Are you Victoria Brooks?"

Victoria blinked, startled.

Quickly recovering her composed, academic poise, she nodded.

"I am. Can I help you, officers?"

"I'm Detective Briggs from Homicide," the lead officer said, showing his badge. "We need you to come with us regarding the death of your daughter, Gemma Brooks."