I Poisoned the Narrative

I didn’t like her and I wanted her gone. Over weeks I told my family small things that sounded like concern: comments about her temper, her stability, her past. None of it was invented outright. I selected and framed until it worked. By Easter, people were watching her closely, questioning her tone, correcting her. When she finally snapped, it looked like proof. She left and I stayed. Everyone told me I’d handled it maturely. I let them believe that version because it suited me.