I remember the first time I saw oil rise from our land like black blood from the earth. It was supposed to be a blessing—the flower moon blooming across the hills, my people finally free from want. But blessings have a way of turning cursed when white men smell money.

My name is Mollie Burkhart, and I am Osage. My mother, Lizzie, taught me to honor our ancestors, to keep the pipe ceremony alive even as the world tried to erase us. But now, my sisters are gone—Minnie, Anna, Reta—all dead under strange circumstances. The doctors call it illness. I call it murder.

I married Ernest Burkhart believing he loved me. He came back from the war with haunted eyes, and I thought I could heal him. We built a life, raised children, lit candles in both Osage and Catholic tradition. But lately, my insulin doesn’t work. My body weakens. And Ernest… he watches me with a guilt he can’t hide.

Last night, I found an empty vial in the trash. Not medicine. Something else. When I confronted him, he looked away, voice trembling: 'I didn’t want to… but he said it was the only way.'

I know who he means. William King Hale—his uncle, our so-called friend, the man who smiles while signing death warrants.

Now I lie here, heart pounding, wondering if the next dose will be the one that kills me. I have evidence. I have names. But who will believe me?

The train to Washington leaves tomorrow. I can stay and fight, flee with my children, or confront Ernest one last time. But time is running out.