Blurb：
In a dystopian future where memories decide your fate, Chole Taylor faces public execution at the Memory Tribunal. Accused by her own daughter Sophie John of murdering her husband Kyle John, Chole’s past unfolds through forced memory extraction. As the neural screws drill into her skull, the live broadcast reveals shocking truths about control, betrayal, and a family torn apart. Witness the moment Sophie’s certainty turns to madness when the memories prove she herself caused her father’s death. A psychological thriller about motherhood, manipulation, and the devastating power of revealed memories.
Content：
My daughter, convinced I killed her father, sent me to the Memory Tribunal.
They were going to extract my memories publicly.
If the murder charge was confirmed, the system would execute me instantly.
I fought against it, but she accused me of trying to cover my crimes, of refusing to pay for her father’s life.
I just smiled sadly and let them take my memories.
Scene by scene, the past unfolded.
When the truth came out, and my daughter lost her mind.
Because the one who caused her father’s death wasn’t me.
It was her.
Sophie was certain I was her father’s murderer. She wanted my vile crime exposed to the world.
So, she petitioned for a live broadcast, so everyone could witness my depravity.
Under the glare of countless cameras, I shuffled into the Tribunal in heavy shackles.
They forced me into a specially designed chair.
Cold metal cuffs clamped around my wrists.
Thumb-thick neural screws drilled into my skull, connected to a massive screen that would broadcast my sinful memories.
Sophie’s eyes burned with pure hatred. “Chole Taylor,” she spat, teeth clenched. “I’ve endured all these years by your side—just for this day”
“You selfish, hypocritical monster. You deserve to confess your sins in front of the entire nation.”
Her words pierced my heart like blades. Still, I shook my head desperately. “Sophie, please, honey, don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
She grabbed my chin roughly. “Scared? Let me make this clear—begging won’t save you. Just wait for your conviction and execution. You can’t escape!”
From the public gallery, angry voices rose, reaching my ears.
“Poor Sophie, stuck with such a horrible mother. If she hadn’t killed Mr. John, Sophie might be an international star by now. She ruined Sophie’s future!”
“Horrible? She’s a control freak! Remember when Sophie just came over to play? Her mom stormed in like a lunatic, waving a knife! Sophie never dared make friends after that, all through middle and high school. Simply unreasonable!”
“Oh, that reminds me! She even controlled how much Sophie ate! Sophie was only allowed to eat a quarter of a strawberry—any more and she’d be beaten. And soda? She’s never tasted soda her whole life.”
“Honestly, the woman’s a sociopath. Completely unfit to be a mother.”
These were Sophie’s friends. Their stares were pure venom.
Then, a deep male voice from the bench. “Plaintiff Sophie John, Defendant Chole Taylor. Are you prepared for trial?”
Tears welled in my eyes. Remembering everything, I couldn’t bring myself to nod.
But Sophie was resolute. “Begin immediately.”
Without hesitation, she pressed the memory extraction button.
“This trial will extract and display five key memories from the Defendant.”
“Interruption is forbidden. Violation results in immediate execution!”
Sophie’s face lit with triumph. She looked at me, mouthing silent words.
I read her lips: Chole Taylor, you’re dead.
My heart shattered.
The gallery buzzed again.
“She isn’t refuting anything. Is she planning to confess?”
“Sophie’s so certain, she must have proof. How could she even try to deny it?”
“She killed the girl’s father and ruined over twenty years of her life. Someone like her deserves to die! She’s vile!”
BANG! The gavel slammed.
The judge spoke. “Extracting Defendant’s first memory.”
The screen linked to my mind flared to life.
It was eight months into my marriage. I was pregnant with Sophie.
In the video, Kyle John had just come home from work, smiling as he handed a stack of cash to me.
He kept only fifty dollars for himself.
“Chole, my earnings. All yours.”
“You sit and rest. I’ll get dinner started.”
John tied on an apron and bustled into the kitchen, popping out now and then to feed me sips of honey water or small apple slices.
The picture of a perfect husband.
In the Tribunal, Sophie stood opposite me, her eyes filled with bitter disappointment.
“You see?” she choked out. “He was so good to you, Chole Taylor. How could you be so cruel?”
Her grief resonated through the gallery.
“John hands over his paycheck, keeps barely enough for gas, and cooks dinner right away? That’s rare. What more did she want?”
“Exactly! Some people just don’t appreciate what they have.”
“I’d be over the moon with a husband like that.”
But the video wasn’t over yet.
The scene shifted to me driving through run-down streets, finally stopping at the back alley of a neon-lit bar.
As the door opened, deafening rock music and the smell of cheap beer and whiskey assaulted the senses.
John was slumped among a pile of empty liquor bottles, his eyes glazed, waving a crumpled bill at the bartender.
“An…another round of whiskey! The good stuff!”
“John, you’re tapped out! You’ve drunk through your advance from last week already!” the bartender shouted impatiently.
In the video, upon hearing this, I rushed forward, fighting back nausea from the stench of alcohol, trying to pull him up. “John, let’s go home. Please, no more.”
But John, heavily intoxicated, shoved me away violently. “Get off me! Don’t ruin my buzz! Go…get the emergency fund from home… I need another drink…”
“That’s for the baby! You can’t!” I pleaded desperately, my voice breaking.
John staggered to his feet, yelling at me, “It’s my damn money! I’ll spend it how I want! Now go get it!”
I refused. In the ensuing struggle, I lost my balance and fell hard on the concrete floor.
A warm flow, accompanied by the smell of blood, seeped out.
John sobered up instantly, panic replacing his drunken stupor.
He scooped me up and ran for the hospital.
We made it in time. The baby was saved.
John knelt by my hospital bed, crying bitterly, smashing all the liquor bottles he had brought with him, as he apologized.
Seeing that I still hadn’t forgiven him, he grabbed a shard of glass and slashed his own palm, leaving a gruesome scar, swearing to me he would never drink again.
At this point in the footage, my daughter’s face drastically changed, becoming flustered.
But it vanished quickly, replaced by renewed hatred.
In the gallery, opinions shifted.
“So her father is an alcoholic? That’s not a good thing either. And Chole was pregnant! Cooking for her was the least he could do!”
“I take back what I said. An alcoholic is bad news.”
Sophie jumped in. “But he changed! He promised he would never drink! In my memory, he never drank again! You can’t condemn him for one mistake!”
Strapped to the chair, I couldn’t even wipe my tears.
Sophie didn’t understand. The gallery didn’t know the whole story.
“A reformed man deserves a chance. You don’t kill someone for a past mistake. If it was that bad, she could have left.”
BANG! The gavel again.
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