Chapter 4: Greer's Fake Proof

Greer crossed the cafeteria so fast that two people had to move their chairs out of her way.

She stopped beside my table, gripping her phone so tightly that her fingers had gone pale.

“Delete that reply.”

I looked up at her. “Why?”

“Because you know exactly what you're doing.”

“I asked the hospital whether they use the form you posted. They said they don't.”

Whispers spread around us.

Greer glanced at the phones already pointed in our direction and immediately lowered her voice.

“That doesn't prove anything.”

“You're right.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I continued, “It doesn't prove why you were at OB-GYN. It only proves the document you posted as evidence isn't a document that hospital issues.”

Someone at the next table muttered, “That's actually worse.”

Greer's face flushed.

Last time, she had controlled every conversation about me. She made an accusation, and I spent days desperately trying to disprove it.

This time, she was explaining herself.

And she hated it.

“My aunt sent me that screenshot,” Greer said suddenly. “Maybe she got the hospital wrong.”

I almost admired how quickly she produced another excuse.

“Then you should probably correct your post.”

“Stop acting innocent.”

“I'm not acting.”

Her jaw tightened.

The bell rang before she could answer.

I stood carefully. My abdomen still hurt when I moved too quickly, and I wasn't going to tear my incision just to make a dramatic exit.

As I passed Greer, she whispered, “You're going to regret this.”

I stopped.

Last time, those words would have terrified me.

Now I took out my phone.

“Could you repeat that?”

Greer stepped back.

“What?”

“The threat.”

Several students laughed.

She stormed away.

By the time afternoon classes began, her fake document had become the biggest topic on the forum.

Greer deleted it.

That made things worse.

Screenshots were everywhere.

One post had already collected thousands of views.

“Why delete it if it was real?”

Another asked:

“Can we talk about how Greer started this by implying Imogen had an abortion, but suddenly everyone needs to respect medical privacy when people ask why GREER was there?”

I saved both posts.

I wasn't interested in humiliating Greer over medical care.

That wasn't my goal.

I wanted everyone to see the double standard she had created.

If being seen outside OB-GYN proved nothing about Greer, then it proved nothing about me.

Simple.

During the final period, a student aide appeared at the classroom door.

“Imogen Vale? Counselor Bennett wants to see you.”

My fingers stopped over my notebook.

Counselor Bennett.

The same man who, in my previous life, had leaned back in his chair and told me:

“The more you explain, the worse it looks.”

I closed my notebook.

I had been waiting for this.

His office looked exactly as I remembered.

Same gray carpet.

Same motivational posters.

Same bowl of wrapped candy on the corner of his desk.

Counselor Bennett gestured toward the chair.

“Sit down, Imogen.”

I remained standing long enough to switch on the voice recorder in my pocket.

Then I sat.

He folded his hands.

“There's been a lot of disruption today.”

“I've noticed.”

“The administration is concerned that this online conflict is escalating.”

I waited.

He sighed.

“Greer says you're spreading sensitive medical rumors about her.”

I almost laughed.

“Greer posted a photograph of me leaving OB-GYN and implied I'd had an abortion.”

“She says that wasn't her intention.”

“The title of her post was ‘That 11th grader who took sick leave? Saw her at the OB-GYN.’”

He shifted in his chair.

“Regardless, retaliating isn't productive.”

There it was.

Last time, I had cried in this office.

This time, I asked, “What disciplinary action has the school taken regarding Greer's original post?”

His expression changed.

“We're looking into it.”

“And the vandalism on my desk?”

“We're looking into that too.”

“Have you preserved the hallway and classroom security footage?”

His eyes sharpened.

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I emailed the principal this morning requesting preservation.”

For the first time, Counselor Bennett looked uncertain.

I continued.

“I also want a written copy of today's complaint against me and a written record of whatever action the school takes.”

“Imogen, there's no need to turn this into something bigger.”

My heartbeat slowed.

Those words.

Almost exactly the same.

I looked directly at him.

“Then please tell me whether I'm being disciplined.”

He hesitated.

“Not at this time.”

“Great.”

I walked to the door.

His voice followed me.

“Imogen, I strongly suggest you stop making trouble.”

My hand froze on the handle.

There it was.

The sentence that had followed me all the way to my grave.

I turned around.

“Thank you, Counselor Bennett.”

He looked confused.

I tapped my pocket.

“That's exactly what I needed.”