She Smiled Before Jumping

The first snow of winter had just begun to dust the old iron bridge when Lila Carter climbed onto the railing, smiled, and let go.

No scream. No hesitation. Just the quiet gasp of onlookers as her lavender scarf fluttered behind her like a wounded butterfly before disappearing into the frozen river below.

By the time the police dragged her body from the water, the town of Willowbrook had already begun stitching together its own explanations.

"Depression," murmured the guidance counselor.

"A secret heartbreak," sighed the barista at The Daily Grind, where Lila had always ordered vanilla lattes with extra whipped cream.

"A cry for help gone wrong," insisted her best friend, Maya, who had laughed with her over pancakes just that morning.

But the truth? The truth was far more unsettling.

The Girl Who Glowed

Lila Carter was the kind of person who radiated warmth. The kind who remembered birthdays, who brought homemade cookies to her neighbors, who volunteered at the animal shelter every weekend. Her Instagram was a gallery of golden-hour selfies, coffee dates, and sunflowers—always sunflowers.

#Blessed, her captions read. #LivingMyBestLife.

And everyone believed it.

Because how could someone so bright be anything but happy?

But those who looked closely might have noticed the cracks. The way her smiles never quite reached her eyes. The way she sometimes paused too long before responding, as if calculating the correct reaction.

Maya had noticed once. They’d been watching a movie together, some sappy romance, and when the sad scene came on, Lila’s face remained perfectly still. No tears. No frown. Just blank.

"You okay?" Maya had asked.

Lila blinked, then laughed—a little too loud. "Of course! Just thinking about… pizza. Want to order some?"

The moment passed. But Maya never forgot it.

The Devil in the Details

Detective Reyes was the first to notice the inconsistencies.

There was the matter of Lila’s journal, found tucked beneath her mattress. Not a diary of sorrow, but pages and pages of… lists.

October 3rd: Smile at the mailman. (He looks lonely.)

October 17th: Compliment Mrs. Henderson’s garden. (She’s been sad since her dog died.)

November 29th: Laugh extra hard at Jake’s joke. (He needs confidence.)

Every interaction—planned, practiced, perfect.

Then there were the voicemails. Dozens, all from Lila’s own number, timestamped between 2:00 and 4:00 AM over the past six months. Reyes pressed play on the most recent one.

A whisper: "You’re doing great. Just keep pretending. Just keep smiling."

A chill ran down his spine.

The Reflection in the Mirror

Maya was the last person Lila texted.

Lila (3:12 PM): Meet me at the bridge. I need to tell you something.

When Maya arrived, Lila was already on the railing, swinging her legs like a child on a park bench. The snow had started falling harder, catching in her dark hair.

"Lila! Get down!" Maya screamed.

But Lila just tilted her head, her grin widening. "Don’t you get it? I’m not real."

"What?"

"I’m just… a thing they built to make people happy." She tapped her chest. "Empty inside. But I did my job, right?"

Maya’s blood turned to ice. "Lila, please—"

"I’m tired, Maya. So tired." Her voice cracked, the first real emotion Maya had ever heard from her. "I don’t know how to stop smiling."

Then—before Maya could reach her—she leaned back.

And let go.

The Truth No One Wanted

The autopsy found no drugs. No alcohol. No note.

Just one odd detail: a tiny, healed-over scar beneath Lila’s right ear. The shape of a barcode.

When Reyes traced the number, it led to a defunct laboratory specializing in synthetic human trials.

"Project Lumina," read the file. "Objective: To engineer beings capable of absorbing human sadness and reflecting back joy."

The lab had shut down years ago. All specimens were supposed to have been destroyed.

But Lila—whatever Lila was—had escaped.

And for a little while, she’d made Willowbrook believe in happiness.

The Aftermath

The town mourned. Then moved on.

But sometimes, on quiet nights, Maya walks to the bridge and swears she hears laughter in the wind.

And if she looks hard enough into the river’s dark water?

A flicker of a smile, staring back.