Chapter 2

I lay motionless on the ground.

Trembling with rage, my mother stepped forward and stomped hard on my wrist.

"Briana, pretending to be dead in front of everyone just to embarrass me. Are you very proud of yourself?

"Do you think being my daughter means you get special treatment?

"The biggest mistake of my life was insisting on giving birth to you in the first place!"

Several people nearby gasped sharply.

Sharon covered her mouth, but the delight in her eyes was impossible to hide.

My heart clenched painfully, like someone had twisted it with both hands.

Mom had gone through IVF three times before finally conceiving me. I had seen the dense marks from injections covering her stomach. I knew how much she had suffered just to bring me into this world.

Then I was born premature and developed chronic anemia.

To take care of me, she learned massage therapy and nutritional cooking. She filled notebook after notebook with handwritten notes. Every time I got sick, she would stay awake all night in fear.

However, after I entered university, everything changed.

She was the department director at this school.

On the first day of term, she sat me down and told me that at school, we needed to avoid favoritism and maintain absolute fairness.

To avoid suspicion, she gave away the national scholarship that should have gone to me and handed it to the second-place student instead.

"You're my daughter," she said calmly. "If you win this award, people will say I abused my position. You need to understand."

To avoid suspicion, she also handed my provincial competition spot to an underprivileged student, even though I had earned it myself.

"Briana, don't blame me," she told me. "There are too many people watching me in this position."

Again and again, I chose to understand her. Again and again, I swallowed the unfairness.

However, this time, just to avoid suspicion, she forced me, someone with severe anemia, to participate in the blood donation drive.

"Precisely because you're my daughter, you should be setting an example. Everyone else is donating. If you refuse, what will people think of me?"

And now, she was saying she regretted giving birth to me.

I floated in midair, staring down at my own body lying on the ground.

My arms were covered in needle marks, bruised purple and blue.

I was not pretending to be dead.

I was dead.

Sharon carried the blood bag over and gave my body a few fake, performative tugs.

"Briana, please get up. There's only two hundred milliliters left to draw."

Instead of pulling me up, she stumbled backward and fell dramatically onto the floor.

The blood bag slipped from her hand and flew across the ground, dark red blood splashing everywhere.

My body, which had just been half-lifted, crashed heavily into the pool of blood.

The white shirt was soaked through instantly, making me look even more like a corpse.

Sharon bit her lip, her eyes suddenly reddening.

"Briana, why are you making things difficult for a little nurse like me? I was only trying to help you up. Why did you have to push me?"

"Now look what happened. All the blood we just collected has been wasted. Mrs. Cole cared so much about you, and this is how you repay her!"

Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed, as though she had suffered some unbearable injustice.

"You have no idea how jealous I am of you for having such a wonderful mother. We're about the same age, but you get to enjoy campus life carefree, while I work myself to death as a nurse, only to get bullied by you."

Standing beside them, I could only feel absurdity.

How could a dead person push her?

However, Mom believed her.

She walked over, gently wrapped an arm around Sharon, and patted her back comfortingly.

"Don't cry. As long as I'm here, I won't let her bully you again."

I froze.

I stared blankly at my mother.

Then she turned toward my body on the floor, disgust filling her eyes.

"Since she insists on pretending to be dead to avoid donating blood, I won't cover for her anymore.

"The blood that spilled can be drawn again. Reinsert the needle and continue. Let's see how long she can keep up this act."

The students waiting in line behind us immediately began criticizing me.

"So she really was faking it. Mrs. Cole is usually so gentle, and even she got angry."

"She's only acting out because her mother is the director and she thinks she can get special treatment. Good thing Mrs. Cole doesn't indulge her."

"Seriously, it's just a blood donation. Did she really need to pretend to die? There are so many people waiting behind her. What a waste of time."

At that moment, the dean arrived outside the blood donation bus after hearing the commotion.

The second he saw me lying there surrounded by blood, his expression changed drastically.

"Mrs. Cole, what happened to this student? Should we call an ambulance?"

Mom turned around and sighed softly.

"Sir, this is my daughter. She's pretending to be dead to avoid donating blood. The blood on the ground is from her deliberately throwing the blood bag during a tantrum.

"There's no need to worry about her. The more spoiled and unreasonable she acts, the more I need to discipline that bad temper of hers."