Chapter 4

"Dr. Wilcox! Stop this right now!" Hailey screamed, her face contorted with panic as she lunged forward, desperately trying to wrench the water bottle from Marie's grip. "You're killing her like this!"

"I am giving you ten minutes," Marie finally said, halting her actions.

She stood up slowly, positioning herself right above me with icy detachment. "If you are still lying here playing dead when the clock runs out, I will drag you out to the middle of the sports field. I'll make sure every single student and faculty member in this school can see you.

"I'll let everyone see just how incredibly pathetic and humiliating you are—a lazy, worthless parasite who can only survive by faking illnesses!"

With that final insult, she spun around and marched back to the examination room.

The freezing water continued to drip from my hair and clothes, pooling around my rigid torso. My body had gone completely stiff, and the biting cold was gradually replaced by a hollow numbness.

Hailey crouched closely beside me, frantically dialing the school doctor. She called out to me repeatedly, but I couldn't hear her or feel anything.

My consciousness slipped inch by inch into darkness. In that fading haze, a flood of memories washed over me—countless days and nights filled with Marie's brutal misunderstandings, sharp slaps, and endless screaming.

I remembered once when I suddenly started convulsing in class. My mind had short-circuited, and I had pitched forward, my face smashing violently into the desk.

My forehead had split open, blood pooling on my notes. When the teacher called Marie to the school, Marie didn't pull me into her arms.

She didn't ask if I was in pain, nor did she take me to the emergency room. Instead, in front of all my classmates, she delivered a ringing slap across my face.

She screamed that I had intentionally staged the fall to embarrass her, then hauled me home and forbade me from sleeping all night.

I remembered another night when a profound, suffocating agony had crept through my limbs, leaving me curled into a tight ball beneath my blankets. Unable to bear the pressure, a few quiet whimperings escaped my throat.

Marie burst into my room, raging that I was intentionally making noise to disrupt her sleep. She called me a worthless burden and forced me to stand upright in the corner of the room all night.

By the next morning, my entire frame was shaking so violently that I nearly collapsed onto the floor, yet she ignored me completely.

Every time she took me for a medical workup and the lab results came back clean, her conviction grew stronger. To her, a normal blood panel was proof that I was a manipulative liar, wasting her hard-earned money and precious time.

She eventually placed me on a draconian diet, rationing my meals. She monitored every bite, banning even a single scrap of snacks or sweets from the house.

"Your chronic exhaustion is entirely your own fault because you're lazy and gluttonous," she would sneer. "You only pretend to be sick because you want an excuse to shirk your duties and skip your classes."

During those dark years, I had wondered countless times if I really was useless and didn't deserve her love. I had even doubted my sanity. "Am I somehow subconsciously faking the tremors?"

To survive, I learned to swallow my pain and wear an invisible mask. When the agony became too heavy to bear, I would bury my face deep beneath the quilts and weep silently.

When the violent tremors seized my limbs, I would slam my hands into tight fists, driving my fingernails deep into my palms until they bled, forcing myself to look normal.

I didn't dare show a single speck of vulnerability in her presence. I had foolishly believed that if I could just be more obedient and stop fainting, she would believe me, treat me better, hold me in her arms, and ask if I was hurt as she used to do.

But I had been entirely wrong. She would never believe me. To her, I would always be nothing more than a lazy, fraudulent waste of space.

Suddenly, a profound shift occurred. The biting chill and the aching pressure in my chest began to lift. I felt incredibly light—like a feather floating in the air.

The throbbing in my skull faded away, taking the deep sense of grievance and the agonizing sting of being hated along with it.

It felt wonderful. This way, I wouldn't have to endure Marie's slaps or listen to her accusations ever again. I wouldn't have to hide under the covers or force myself to pretend to be strong.

I could finally stop the endless, exhausting cycle of hoping for her trust and aching for her love. There was only one tiny, lingering shadow of regret left in my fading heart.

Even at the very end, I never managed to make her believe me. I really wasn't lying about being sick, and despite everything, I still loved her.