At first, it seemed harmless. Her mom had always enjoyed a good debate, loved sharing news articles on Facebook with catchy headlines and a touch of drama. So when the posts started shifting, stories about petty crimes and talk of “disorder” in the cities, Cora barely noticed.
It was during a family call that the first real red flag appeared.
“Did you hear about that guy who got arrested?” her mom asked, her tone casual. “He was out there protesting, but it turns out he had a record. Honestly, he deserved it.”
Cora had frowned. “I think he was protesting those raids at the factories, Mom. They were targeting undocumented workers.”
“Well,” her mom replied quickly, “he should’ve thought about that before breaking the law. We can’t just let people do whatever they want, Cora. There’s no such thing as a free ride.”
Her dad, sitting in his usual spot by the window, had murmured, “It’s true, you know. If we don’t have law and order, we don’t have a country.”
At the time, it felt like a blip, an odd moment in an otherwise pleasant conversation. But over the weeks and months that followed, it became clear that her parents were changing.
The posts on her mom’s Facebook began to shift. First, they were about “restoring fairness” and “protecting families.” Then came the articles about immigrants, how they were “flooding” the borders, “draining” the system, taking advantage of “hard-working Americans.” Each post dripped with the rhetoric of the Circle, the black ring emblem stamped at the corner of every shared image.
Her dad’s humor started to vanish, replaced by quiet nods as her mom grew more vocal. Where he once balanced her out with calm reasoning, he now deferred to her, echoing phrases like, “It’s just common sense,” or, “I’ve done my research.”
“They’re not like us,” her mom said one day, almost offhandedly. “They don’t care about our values.”
“Who’s ‘they,’ Mom?” Cora asked, her stomach twisting.
“People who don’t belong here,” her mom replied, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. “The Chairman was right, America needs to take care of its own first. It’s about time we started putting hard-working families first.”
Her dad nodded, sipping his tea. “That’s just the way it has to be. You’ll understand someday.”
The world her parents inhabited grew smaller and scarier. Every news story they consumed, every post they shared, reinforced the idea that they were under attack, not physically, but existentially. The Black Circle painted the Compassionates as a threat: teachers, activists, journalists, anyone who dared to challenge the narrative.
Her mom had once loved hosting book club meetings, always welcoming friends from different backgrounds. But when Cora asked about them, her mom shrugged. “Oh, we don’t talk to Mark anymore. He’s gotten so political, it’s exhausting.”
Mark was gay, one of her mom’s oldest friends. He’d been at their Christmas parties, arranging poinsettias and joking with her dad about eggnog recipes. Now he was just another casualty of the Circle’s campaign.
“They’re different from us,” her mom said when Cora pushed her on it. “We don’t have anything in common anymore.”
Cora’s husband, Alex, had tried to bridge the growing divide, but it only made things worse. Her mom began blaming him for Cora’s reluctance to embrace their new worldview.
“He’s filled your head with lies,” her mom said during one argument. “You used to understand the value of this country, Cora. Now you’re too busy feeling sorry for people who don’t deserve it.”
Her dad, as always, stayed quiet. But the way he looked at Alex, like he was the source of everything wrong, spoke volumes.
Cora didn’t know at first. She didn’t realize her parents had turned Alex in until after the enforcers came. She remembered the night vividly: the pounding on the door, the black-uniformed agents, the cold voice reading off accusations of “destabilization” and “subversion.”
“They’re lying,” Alex had said as they dragged him away. “Don’t let them turn you against yourself.”
Her parents didn’t even mention it when she called them, frantic and heartbroken. When she finally confronted her mom, all she said was, “I made my peace.”
The transformation was complete. Her mom, who had once prided herself on being open and accepting, now quoted scripture she barely understood, twisting it to justify her newfound hatred.
“According to Jesus,” her mom posted one day, “false testimony comes from the sinful desires of the heart and makes people unclean. The ninth commandment says, ‘You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.’ Slander is simply lying about someone with the intent of causing others to view that person in a negative light.”
Cora had stared at the screen in disbelief. The hypocrisy was staggering. Her mom was slandering people constantly, blasting anyone who dared to stand against the Circle as “traitors” and “moochers.”
The saddest truth was that none of it affected them. Her parents weren’t struggling. They were retired, comfortably living off their savings in a quiet town. But the propaganda fed into something deep and ugly, a latent narcissism, a sense of superiority they had always hidden behind jokes and politeness.
Their fear was imaginary, but their hate was real.
Her dad’s quiet complicity was worse than her mom’s fanaticism. He would mumble phrases like, “It’s just the way the world works,” or, “The Circle knows what’s best for the future,” as if absolving himself of responsibility.
Cora didn’t recognize them anymore.
By the time her mom cut her off completely, it almost felt like a relief.
“If you can’t see what’s happening,” her mom said during their last conversation, “then maybe you’re one of them.”
Her dad had stood behind her, silent as always.
Cora hung up the phone and stared out the window. The world was shrinking, just like her parents’ hearts.
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