Chapter 2 - THE REWIND
The screen flickered to life, casting a cold, digital glow across Ethan’s face. Behind him, the rest of the family—aunts, uncles, and cousins who had rushed in at Sophia's initial screams—murmured nervously among themselves, unsure of what was happening, sensing the sudden, dangerous shift in the atmosphere.
"Ethan, what are you doing?" Sophia’s voice spiked, her tone frantic as she darted toward the console. "You can't trust automated systems! You know that router has been glitchy all week!"
"Stand back, Sophia," Ethan warned, not looking away from the monitor.
He swiped backward through the timeline, navigating past the dinner party, past the afternoon conversations, landing precisely ten minutes prior to the moment Sophia’s screams had pierced the house.
The screen loaded the high-definition video feed of the living room.
There was Richard, sitting quietly in the armchair by the window, reading a book. And there was Sophia, standing near the doorway.
Ethan held his breath. The room behind him went dead silent. Even the restless shuffling of his cousin Marcus stopped entirely as every pair of eyes locked onto the screen.
On the monitor, Sophia is seen walking briskly into the hallway, checking both directions to ensure it is completely empty. She looks back into the living room, making sure Richard’s back is turned. Then, she walks back toward the center of the room, her expression devoid of any fear or distress—exhibiting instead a cold, calculating focus.
With sharp, aggressive movements, Sophia grabs a handful of her own hair and aggressively messes it up, pulling strands loose to look like a woman who had just fought off an attacker.
Then, she pauses, glares directly down at the front of her blouse, and begins violently tearing the buttons off one by one, dropping them onto the wooden floor.
On the screen, Richard turns around, staring at her in utter bewilderment, asking, “Sophia… what are you doing?”
The video continued, but Ethan didn't need to watch another second.
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The screen felt like it was pressing in on him. The air in the room turned ice cold. He lowered his hands slowly from the console, feeling as though the ground had completely vanished beneath his feet. He had struck his innocent, seventy-five-year-old father—a man who had given him everything—because of a vicious, calculated lie spun by the woman he had trusted with his entire life.
Ethan slowly turned around to face his wife.
