Chapter 2

That night, I didn't sign the agreement. It wasn't because I couldn't bear to leave this household, but because I had an appointment for a psychological evaluation the following morning.

A month ago, I started hearing someone's cries in the middle of the night. That voice sounded a lot like my childhood self. The little girl kept asking me why Mom didn't love her.

Sometimes, when I stood before the window of my classroom on the tenth floor, a terrifying thought would cross my mind. Would everything come to an end if I finally took that one final step?

I was scared out of my wits. Thus, without telling my family, I reached out to the hospital.

…

The next morning, I was about to head out when Mom stood in my way. "Where are you off to?"

"School."

She snatched the document folder out of my hand. My appointment slip fell out.

The moment her eyes landed on the words "Department of Psychiatry", her expression twisted with rage. "What's the meaning of this?"

I bent down to pick it up. "I haven't been feeling well lately, so I want to go get checked out."

"You haven't been feeling well?" Mom abruptly raised her voice. "What's wrong with you?"

I balled my hands into fists. "I can't sleep, and I keep hearing voices in my head. The doctor said it might be depression."

As soon as my words fell, she burst into laughter. She laughed so hard tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. "Depression? Danica, as if you have the right to be depressed!"

I froze.

Mom ripped the appointment slip to shreds and hurled it at my face. "I've been suffering from postpartum depression for 18 years, and now you want to be depressed too? Why do you have to steal everything from me? Was your father and the whole family's attention not enough? Now, you've gone as far as to copy my illness!"

I parted my lips. "I'm not copying you."

"In that case, why did you have to fall ill now of all times? Why did it have to happen right when I asked you to move out?"

Mom seized my chin, forcing me to look her in the eye. "You realized playing the victim wasn't getting you anywhere, so now you're pretending to be nuts, aren't you? You want everyone to think that we drove you crazy. You want to turn me from the victim into the villain!"

Grandpa and Grandma heard our argument and emerged from the dining room. Grasping at my last straw, I showed them the text message from the hospital. "I'm not lying. The doctor told me to come in for an evaluation as soon as possible."

Grandma only took one look at it. "You call that a diagnosis? You merely chatted with some random doctor online for a few minutes. When your mother has an episode, she cries, she screams, and she even self-harms with a knife. What do you ever do besides sit there with a stoic face? Have you ever seen someone with depression that quiet?"

I wanted to tell her that quiet people feel pain too. However, Mom had already snatched my phone away and flung it onto the ground. The screen shattered instantly.

"I forbid you from going! There can only be one patient in this house. If you're sick as well, who's going to make it up to me for these 18 years?"

Dad happened to descend the stairs at that moment.

Paying no mind to my broken phone, I rushed over and grasped his hand. "Please come to the hospital with me, Dad. I seriously don't feel so well. Last night, the voice in my head told me to end my life again!"

A flash of panic crossed Dad's face. He glanced at the time, seemingly intent on getting me out of there.

Mom, however, walked straight into the kitchen and picked up a fruit knife. Pressing the blade flush against her throat, she said calmly, "Douglas Langston, if you dare take her to the hospital today, you'll come home to a corpse."

Dad immediately let go of my hand.

My palm suddenly felt empty. I stood rooted to the spot and felt as though I was three years old all over again.

That day, he had held my hand as he took me to kindergarten. Mom had also held a knife, forcing him to choose between us.

In the end, he pried my fingers apart and told me to go on my own. 15 years later, he still made the exact same choice.

Dad slowly backed up to Mom's side. "Evelyn, put the knife down. I won't take her to the hospital anymore."

A faint smile crept onto Mom's face. She tossed the knife into the sink and looked at me over Dad's shoulder. "Did you hear that? Even your father knows that your little discomfort isn't as important as my life!"

Grandma patted her back and comforted her softly. "Fear not, sweetheart. We will always be on your side."

I looked down at my empty hand and suddenly asked Dad, "What about me? What am I supposed to do?"

Dad avoided my gaze. "Go back to your room and calm down. Don't spout such things in front of your mom again."

"What if I really end up dead?" I pressed.

Mom sneered. "Quit bluffing. You're far too selfish to take your own life."

Dad's forehead creased. His patience wore thin. "That's enough! Stop provoking your mom."

I took in the four people in front of me and suddenly understood that when Mom said she wanted to die, it was an emergency that required the entire family to rush to save her. Yet, when I told them I wanted to die, I was merely triggering her. I didn't even have the right to cry for help.