Chapter 3

After Samuel "exposed" me, my mother became convinced that I didn't have depression at all.

From that day on, she used the cruelest methods she could think of to force me to admit I was perfectly normal.

She ignored my struggles and panic, and dragged me out of my room.

"Stop pretending! Sam told me he's seen you sneaking out plenty of times. Walk home by yourself."

She shoved me into the middle of a crowded intersection.

Every accidental brush from a stranger sent me spiraling into terror.

Car horns blared around me.

A driver slammed on his brakes just feet away.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? If you want to die, do it somewhere else!"

His face was red with rage.

I felt like a tiny boat sinking beneath a stormy sea, completely alone and beyond rescue.

After that, my depression worsened beyond anything it had been before.

Night after night, I lay awake under the covers, drawing nonstop.

Even when my fingers split open and bled, I couldn't stop.

Then the opportunity that changed everything appeared.

It was a world-renowned art competition.

I clung to it like a lifeline.

If I won, I would receive a six-year scholarship overseas.

I could leave.

I could finally get away from this place.

My roommate suddenly smacked his forehead, pulling me from the memory.

"Wait, I remember that competition! Wasn't there a huge cheating scandal afterward? The internet went absolutely insane. I heard someone even tracked the cheater down and broke their hand."

I took a slow breath and looked at my right hand.

Even now, it still trembled from time to time.

"That person was me."

"No way."

He covered his mouth, staring at me in shock.

The night before the competition, my mother did something completely unexpected.

She brought me a glass of warm milk.

"You always want milk but refuse to leave your room. Honestly, you're such a hassle."

She awkwardly walked over and closed the window for me.

"Wasn't painting your dream ever since you were a kid? Then don't embarrass yourself tomorrow."

For a brief moment, guilt crept into my chest.

She didn't know that if I achieved my dream, it would also mean escaping from them.

The competition was a triumph.

Every judge called me a genius.

Universities across the world sent invitations on the spot.

But just as I stepped forward to receive the award, my mother suddenly rushed onto the stage and snatched the trophy from my hands.

"This painting wasn't done by Julian!"

Her voice rang through the entire venue.

"It was painted by my son, Samuel!"

I froze.

Every artist had a style that was uniquely their own. How could I possibly have stolen someone else's work?

That was when Samuel stepped forward, his eyes red with tears.

"Julian, entering this competition was my dream. Why did you lock me up and steal my painting to submit under your own name?"

He lowered his head and choked back a sob.

"And don't you know? Every one of my paintings has my personal signature hidden in the lower right corner."

He pointed toward the darkest section of the canvas.

My gaze followed his finger instantly, and there it was.

A tiny monogram, cleverly hidden in the darkest part of the painting.

The world tilted beneath my feet.

How was that possible?

Then, like an explosion inside my mind, a memory surfaced.

The milk.

After drinking it the night before, I became so drowsy I could barely keep my eyes open. I'd assumed it was because I'd been staying up late painting for days.

I slowly turned my head.

My mother stood in the middle of the crowd, comforting a tearful Samuel.

But the corners of her mouth kept lifting, unable to hide her satisfaction.

For Samuel's sake, she was willing to destroy me with her own hands.

The accusations crashed over me from every direction.

It felt as though someone had pushed me from a great height.

There was no impact, only an endless fall.

The competition committee stripped me of my award on the spot.

The backlash exploded online.

Headlines like "Fake Depression, Real Thief" and "Adopted Brother's Artwork Stolen by Fraudulent Artist" dominated trending topics for weeks.

From that day forward, my reputation was dead.

Outside the hospital room, my father was still knocking on the glass.

"Why are you so stubborn? You really stayed away all these years without coming home."

He sighed heavily.

"Your brother had such a hard life growing up. Couldn't you have just helped him realize one dream?"

The look on his face made him seem every bit the loving father grieving for his son.