Chapter 1

“It hurts…”

I curled up on the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably.

The pain in my chest didn’t ease.

Instead, it felt like a rope tightening around my heart, pulling tighter and tighter.

I don’t know how long I lay there before I suddenly heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

A flicker of hope sparked in my eyes.

Mom was back.

She worked at a clinic in Rome and had seen countless patients over the years.

She must have realized something was wrong with me and rushed back specifically to save me.

“Why are you still lying there?”

Mom glanced at the clock on the wall, and her brows immediately knitted together.

“The Christmas gala is about to start. Sophie has been waiting forever.”

“Mom…”

I called out weakly, reaching one trembling hand toward the doorway.

“Mom, please help me…”

“I really can’t breathe.”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes remained fixed on the red light around my wrist.

Slowly, her expression turned cold.

“Julia, do you really think everyone should revolve around you?”

“I don’t…”

I struggled to shake my head.

“I really don’t feel well.”

She walked over to me and bent down.

“Every time there’s something you don’t want to do, you start making excuses.”

“Today is the Christmas gala, and suddenly you have an attack right when we’re about to leave. Don’t you think that’s a little too convenient?”

I wanted to explain.

But another wave of excruciating pain struck without warning, trapping my voice in my throat.

Mom took my silence as guilt.

“You’re lazy down to your bones. Stay home and think about what you’ve done!”

Dad called from the doorway.

“Darling, we’re running late. Why don’t we just go to the gala first? Julia doesn’t want to come, so just leave some food for her.”

Mom stood up and dusted off her hands as if she had touched something dirty.

“Leave what?”

“There are plenty of snacks in the cabinet in her room. She bought them with the money she stole last time. She won’t starve.”

“Lock the door. When her bracelet turns green again, then you can let her out.”

“But…”

Dad hesitated.

“She looks really pale.”

“You always spoil her!”

“Look at Sophie. She’s so disciplined. Her bracelet is always green.”

“Julia is simply lazy. We have to correct her!”

Dad fell silent.

Mom didn’t look at me again.

She turned around and began fixing Sophie’s scarf.

And the cabinet in my room had been empty for a long time.

My sister had taken the money that time.

She had eaten the snacks, too.

She had simply stood there beside me, her bracelet glowing a gentle green, and said,

“It wasn’t me.”

Mom believed her.

I had only said that I hadn’t taken anything either.

My bracelet turned red on the spot.

That night, I was forced to stand in the living room, listening to that piercing alarm until dawn.

No one was willing to listen to my explanation.

Now, Sophie peeked half her face out from behind the door again.

She blinked at me, her voice sweet, almost as if she were showing off.

“Big Sister, we’re going to the gala.”

“I heard there’s going to be Santa Claus and a fireworks show tonight, too.”

She raised her wrist.

The green glow from her bracelet fell across her pale, delicate face, making her look especially beautiful.

Bang.

The door slammed shut.

A moment later, I heard the lock click.

The house fell silent.

There was no one left inside except me.

And the pain deep inside my chest, growing heavier and heavier.

I told myself that Mom couldn’t be wrong.

She was only correcting my bad habits.

The bracelet had turned red because I was trying to escape again.

So I wasn’t in pain.

I really wasn’t.

I repeated those words over and over until tears finally slipped from the corners of my eyes.

After a long while, the pain seemed to ease for a brief moment.

I leaned against the wall and dragged my weakened body toward the desk.

I had to write a self-reflection.

That was Mom’s rule.

Every time my bracelet turned red, I had to write a thousand-word confession, admit that I had been lazy, and promise that I would never make excuses again.

Once I finished, maybe Mom would calm down.

Maybe she would take me to the clinic.

I pulled open the drawer and took out the notebook whose edges had already become worn and frayed from countless uses.

It was filled with promises I had written over the years.

“I’ll wake up early from now on.”

“I won’t procrastinate anymore.”

“I’ll become a hardworking child.”

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

This time, I held the pen in my hand for a long time, unable to put it down.

The words in front of me gradually blurred.

In the end, I still managed to write a few sentences.

“Mom, I really love you.”

“I didn’t pretend to be lazy, and I wasn’t pretending to be sick.”

“I really don’t feel well.”

“Mom, please believe me just this once.”

The moment I finished the final stroke, the pain in my chest suddenly stopped.

In that instant, I felt as though I had broken free from my heavy body.

The sounds around me grew farther and farther away.

I looked down and realized I was floating beside the desk.

Another “me” was lying facedown on the desktop, her face buried in her arms, her fingers hanging limply over the edge.

The self-discipline bracelet around her wrist was still flashing a vivid red.

I stared at her for a long time before I finally understood.

I was already dead.

Yet until the very end, I still hadn’t become the kind of child Mom wanted me to be.

I’m sorry, Mom.