Chapter 6 - The Flying Monkeys
By Tuesday afternoon, the psychological warfare shifted from the physical world to the digital sphere. My mother, realizing she had been permanently locked out of her playground of abuse, launched a massive smear campaign across our entire extended family network. My phone began vibrating incessantly while I was sitting next to Sarah’s hospital bed, bombarded by notifications from family WhatsApp groups and Facebook tags.
I opened Facebook to find a lengthy, dramatic post written by my mother, accompanied by a black-and-white stock photo of a weeping grandmother.
“My heart is shattered into a million pieces today,” her post read. “After weeks of selflessly dedicating my life to helping my son and his unstable wife care for my newborn grandson, I was thrown out of their home like trash. Sarah has been suffering from severe postpartum hysteria and neglect, refusing to feed the baby or clean the house. When I gently tried to intervene for the safety of my darling grandson, Ethan was manipulated into calling the police on his own mother! Please pray for my family during this dark time. A mother's love is unconditional, even when her son turns his back on her for a woman who needs serious mental help.”
Within hours, the comment section was swarming with dozens of messages from aunts, uncles, and distant family friends commiserating with her manufactured grief and casting Sarah as a negligent, crazy mother.
My phone rang. It was Aunt Beatrice, my mother’s older sister and the undisputed matriarch of family gossip. I pressed answer and put it on speaker so Sarah could hear that I wasn't backing down.
“Ethan Matthew Vance!” Aunt Beatrice screeched into the receiver. “How dare you treat your mother like a common criminal! She called me crying her eyes out from a hotel room! She spent weeks scrubbing your floors and changing diapers while your lazy wife laid in bed, and this is how you repay her? You march back to that hotel, apologize on your knees, and bring her home right now, or I am writing you out of the family trust!”
“Beatrice, listen to me very carefully,” I said, my voice cutting through her hysterical rant like an icicle. “My wife is currently in the neurology ward because your sister deprived her of food and water for weeks, drugged her tea, and physically blocked her from resting until she collapsed and suffered a concussion. We have the entire assault recorded on high-definition video. My lawyer is currently submitting that footage to the district attorney to press criminal charges for felony endangerment.”
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The line went dead silent.
“So if you or anyone else in this family posts another defamatory word about my wife on social media,” I continued smoothly, “my attorney will add you to the defamation lawsuit we are drafting. Have a wonderful Tuesday, Aunt Beatrice.” I hung up and permanently blocked her number.
