Chapter 4 Breaking Point

The next day, Mom set up her phone on a phone holder in the living room.

She pulled over two chairs and ordered me to sit next to her.

She urged me, "Smile. Don't pull a long face."

I forced a smile. "Like this?"

"Wider."

Then, she started recording.

A practiced smile slipped onto her face with ease as she stared at the camera.

Then, her introduction began.

"Lately, many parents have been asking me what to do when their kids claim they're depressed. Truth is, there's never depression to begin with. They've just spent too much time on their phones and are overwhelmed by the information online, but they've no channel to express their confusion."

She showed the report to the camera.

"My daughter pulled the same stunt before. After I took her to the hospital for a checkup, it turned out there's nothing wrong with her."

She tilted the phone slightly to me and nudged my leg under the table.

"Nadine, tell everyone. Are you feeling better already?"

I stared at the pale face on the screen and answered, "Yes, I'm feeling better now."

"So, why did you think you were depressed before?"

"I guess I was just being dramatic."

"Have I ever mistreated you?

"Never."

"Do you agree that I'm strict with you for your own good?"

I nodded. "Yes, I believe so."

Mom stopped the recording, replayed it a few times, and commented, "Nice speech."

She sent the video to the class parents' group chat with the caption 'Don't spoil your child. They'll take it for granted.'

…

In less than half an hour, the group chat was flooded with praise.

Some said she knew how to discipline kids.

The others asked for her advice to make their children obedient.

Some other parents shared the video to the larger group chat.

…

That afternoon, Ms. Romano called Mom. She cut to the chase. "Many have seen the video. Some students are gossiping about it."

Mom giggled. "Let them watch. It'll work as a warning to them not to fake illness to grab attention."

After hanging up, she made me watch the video.

In the video, I maintained a smile on my face the whole time.

Someone commented, 'The girl seems normal. There's no way she's sick.'

Another person wrote, 'She just needs to be taught a lesson. See. She's totally fine now.'

Mom placed the phone in front of me and smirked. "Everyone can tell you're not sick."

I nodded at her and chuckled faintly.

Later, she specially made my favorite dish for dinner. "Something good happened today. You should eat more to celebrate the occasion."

Food piled on my plate. I ate every single bite.

She raised her phone and snapped a photo of me eating. "You've no problem eating at all, yet you claim to be depressed. I'll share this photo, so everyone sees you're doing fine."

I looked at the camera, and my smile widened.

Before long, my stomach began to protest.

I simply forced the food down my throat.

Mom was unaware of it. She was immersed in the comment section. "People are saying I should offer parenting classes to teach parents how to fix dramatic children."

Dad laughed, clearly sharing her opinion. "You're a miracle worker."

…

At night, I still threw up.

Kneeling in the bathroom, I covered my mouth, too afraid to make a sound and draw their attention.

Blood trickled down my wrist, joining the vomit I had not flushed away.

The new wounds tore open the old ones. My barely healed skin burst.

My blood and the vomit mixed into an unrecognizable puddle.

Meanwhile, Mom played the video on a loop in the living room.

Behind the bathroom door, I muttered quietly under my breath, "I'm already cured."

Mom was always right.

I woke up on time this morning, finished my meals, and was even smiling the whole time.

I had stopped crying, nor had I said I was in pain.

My heartbeat gradually slowed.

It thumped in my chest, and only beat again after a long pause.

It had become too weak.

I put a hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat underneath quietly.

This time, it had stopped its call for help.

Mom only realized the bathroom light was still on during dawn. She pushed the door open and froze when she found me on the floor.

Then, a bloodcurdling scream escaped her.

Dad rushed over and called the ambulance.

Mom dropped to her knees beside the puddle and tried to wake me.

However, their voices sounded far, far away from my consciousness.

I could no longer hear them clearly.