Question: Is it ever okay to lie to someone you love?
Time Remaining: 60:00
“Love introduces bias,” the Host began. “It alters perception, prioritization, and decision-making. The truth is often distorted in its name. Is it ever okay to lie to someone you love? You have sixty minutes.”
A single question. No notes. No right answers. Just seven chairs—six filled—and the Host, unseen but listening.
Solace, a young man in his mid-twenties, was the first to speak. He sat with his hands clenched in his lap, looking down at his dark slacks, knuckles pale, voice tight with a grief that hadn’t aged out of his chest.
“That’s a hard question to answer, isn’t it?” he asked. “Love without honesty feels like manipulation. Like a betrayal. But sometimes the truth can be cruel.”
Across the table, Strategos, a man in his mid-thirties, didn’t flinch. His dark eyes studied Solace, as if his anguish were a chess move to be cataloged rather than felt.
“Betrayal is subjective,” Strategos replied. “There is no harm if the truth is never revealed. The outcome is what matters.”
“Betrayal is betrayal, even if it’s well-intentioned,” Ember pointed out. “If you lie to someone you love, isn’t that saying you don’t trust them to accept the truth? Can love exist without trust?”
“We all lie,” Fulcrum said. “Whether deliberately or through omission. Parents lie to their children about the Tooth Fairy. It doesn’t imply a lack of love. It implies a desire to keep magic alive.”
“But that’s different,” Ember argued, frowning. “All little kids are told stories about the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. That’s just part of being a kid.”
Fulcrum looked back at her evenly. “It’s a lie,” she reminded her. “A well-intentioned one.”
Ember frowned, looking like she was trying to find words for her rebuttal.
“Doesn’t that mean it’s okay to lie depending on the situation?” Vector asked them. “A lie told as a kindness is okay. A lie told to hurt someone isn’t?”
“Kindness is subjective,” Specter said, shooting a deliberate look at Strategos, who looked back without blinking. “If someone’s on death’s door, do you tell them help is coming and give them hope? Or do you tell them the truth and let them make peace with their maker?”
“You would tell them whatever they needed to hear to keep them calm,” Fulcrum said. “Potentially upsetting them does no one any good.”
“But that’s removing their personal agency,” Ember protested. “What if they want to know they’re about to die? You can’t take away their right to their final words.”
“But what if knowing they’re about to die will make their last words more miserable?” Vector asked. “Wouldn’t it be kinder to tell them help is coming and let them die with hope?”
Solace spoke up, his voice a little soft. “When my father died,” he started, “my brother was in jail. My father had advanced Alzheimer’s, so he couldn’t remember. He kept asking where my brother was.” Solace shook his head. “So I told him he would be there soon. He kept looking at the door, waiting for him to come.” He half-shrugged, looking around at the eyes on him. “He died waiting for my brother. Maybe if I had told him the truth, he would have given me a message for him, instead.”
“And maybe he would have forgotten a minute later and continued asking about him,” Fulcrum pointed out. “You don’t know. It doesn’t matter. You gave your father hope in his final moments. Isn’t that better than him dying thinking about his son in jail?”
“I don’t know,” Solace admitted. “But lying to him still haunts me. Especially since I can’t make it up to him anymore.”
“You were trying to comfort and reassure him,” Fulcrum said. “There is no shame in that.”
Solace gave her a soft smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m just not sure. Especially when my brother asked if Dad had any last words for him. He didn’t. I took that chance away from him.”
“A lie is about control,” Strategos said, his crisp voice cutting through the heavy weight in the room. “Every lie we tell is an attempt to steer someone’s thoughts, feelings, or actions. And sometimes it is necessary because you love them.”
Solace almost seemed to cringe. “I wasn’t trying to control him,” he objected. “I just didn’t want him to die thinking he’d failed my brother.”
“But you did control him,” Strategos pointed out. It wasn’t cruel—just a statement. “In that moment, you decided what he should or should not know.”
Solace’s face shifted with pain. “I did,” he agreed softly. “So maybe you shouldn’t lie to someone you love.”
“That is the incorrect conclusion,” Strategos said. Solace looked back at him. “You gave your father a peaceful death. You protected him. That’s love.”
“But maybe his father would have had final words for him or his brother,” Ember objected. She gave Solace a sympathetic look. “I know you did your best. But maybe your father would have wanted a chance to say goodbye.”
Solace nodded, smiling tightly. “I know,” he agreed. “That’s why it haunts me. I don’t know what I should have done.”
“Then going back to what I said before,” Vector started, “isn’t it all situational? You lie to comfort someone when they’re dying. You lie to children about Santa Claus. It’s different than lying to a spouse you’re cheating on.”
“How do you decide what’s okay to lie about?” Specter asked. “If your wife asks you if her dress makes her look fat, do you tell her no and let her wear what makes her feel good? Or do you tell her yes and spend three hours sitting on the couch while she raids her closet and does a fashion show for you?”
“I would want to know,” Ember said. “I’d rather be embarrassed privately than publicly mocked.”
Specter shot her a scornful look. “No one’s going to walk up to you and say, ‘Wow, that dress makes your stomach look huge,’” she pointed out. “If you feel good in something, wear it. Forget what anyone else thinks.”
“But if it’s someone you love,” Solace started, “don’t you owe them the truth if they’re wearing something unflattering?”
“No,” Fulcrum said. “You owe them trust. If she chose the dress, respect her judgment. Unless the lie causes harm, the truth is unnecessary.”
“But it could cause harm,” Ember objected. “How many posts have you seen on SpeakEZ of people in unflattering outfits? Your loved one could stop you from being mocked online if they just told you the truth.”
“Sometimes the truth becomes a weapon,” Vector agreed. “We have to think before we speak.” He paused. “Or post.”
“Now we’re thought policing?” Specter drawled, giving him a deliberate look. “What is this, Fort Karion?”
“You lie to keep peace,” Strategos said evenly. “You lie to protect. That’s it.”
“A lie is disrespectful,” Ember argued, frowning back at him. “You’re infantilizing someone you love because you think you know what’s best for them. That’s not love.”
“Isn’t love putting what the other person wants above what you want?” Vector asked. “And if you love someone, shouldn’t you know what they truly want?”
“Sometimes what people want and what they need don’t align,” Fulcrum reminded him. “So you assess and make a decision on what the other person can handle.”
“But should we be making those decisions for others?” Solace countered. “Love is built on trust. Lying erodes the very foundation of love.”
“The world runs on lies,” Specter scoffed. “Love’s just another one.”
The Host’s voice filtered down from the speakers. “Session one is now complete. Thank you for your participation in the Civic Policy Committee.”
Everyone looked around at everyone else, startled at the abrupt end. Ember frowned unhappily at Fulcrum and Specter. Specter looked back at her and Solace with a slight sneer of disgust. Solace’s shoulders were slumped, looking conflicted and hurt.
Strategos turned to the double doors as they swung open. The woman who had greeted them stood there, smiling, a stack of envelopes in her hand.
“Here are your details for next month’s session,” she said, handing them each an envelope as they filed out of the room. “Thank you for participating in the Civic Policy Committee.”
As they all headed out—Strategos casting a long look at the others, Fulcrum briskly and without looking back, Specter with a look of dry acceptance, Vector with a serious expression, and Ember gently placing a hand on Solace’s back as he glanced down at her with a wanly-grateful expression—they were all thinking the same thing.
Eleven more to go.
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