He simply asked,
"Mom..."
"...did you pay her?"
Silence.
I had rehearsed a hundred explanations in my head over the months.
I had convinced myself I could justify it.
Now...
I couldn't say a single word.
He already knew.
"I..."
He nodded before I finished.
"You did."
I started crying.
"I'm sorry."
"You paid someone..."
His voice cracked.
"...to pretend to like me?"
"I only wanted—"
He stood.
"No."
"I wanted—"
"No."
His voice echoed through the empty hallway.
"You wanted to fix me."
I froze.
"You've been trying my whole life."
"Jeremiah—"
"You thought I wasn't enough."
"No!"
"You thought I couldn't survive being myself."
"I wanted one happy memory."
He laughed.
It wasn't laughter.
It sounded broken.
"You bought me the worst memory of my life."
He walked past me.
I reached for him.
He pulled away.
That hurt more than anything.
Not because he rejected me.
Because he'd never done it before.
We drove home in silence.
No music.
No conversation.
Nothing.
When we arrived, he walked straight upstairs.
His bedroom door locked.
I sat outside it for hours.
Sometimes I heard him crying.
Sometimes I heard nothing.
That was worse.
The next morning...
the videos were everywhere.
TikTok.
Instagram.
Facebook.
Group chats.
People had edited dramatic music behind Jeremiah's confused expression.
Some added captions.
"When your mommy buys your date."
"Prom DLC."
"Girlfriend Premium Subscription."
Millions of views.
Thousands of comments.
Cruel ones.
People who had never met my son laughed at him.
At us.
At me.
I spent the entire day sending copyright requests.
Reporting videos.
Begging accounts to remove them.
Every one disappeared...
and ten more appeared.
The internet had decided my son's heartbreak was entertainment.
Jeremiah didn't leave his room for three days.
When he finally came downstairs...
he looked older.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As if something innocent had been stolen.
He quietly made himself toast.
I tried speaking.
"I'm sorry."
He nodded.
"I know."
"Can we talk?"
"Not yet."
Then he carried his plate upstairs.
Two weeks later...
graduation came.
Jeremiah almost skipped it.
I begged him to reconsider.
"You earned this."
"I don't want people staring."
"They'll stare for five minutes."
He sighed.
