Chapter 5

The next day, my mom set up her phone on a tripod in the living room.

She set up two chairs and made me sit right next to her.

"Smile. Don't look so miserable."

I forced the corners of my mouth upward.

"Like this?"

"More natural."

She hit record and flashed a practiced, glowing smile at the camera.

"Lately, so many parents have been asking me what to do when their kids constantly claim they have depression."

"Honestly, there aren't that many sick kids. They just spend too much time on their phones, think too much, and lack discipline."

She held up the evaluation report to the lens.

"My daughter went through a phase too. But we took her to the doctor, got her tested, and absolutely nothing was wrong."

She turned the camera toward me.

Under the table, she nudged my leg with her foot.

"Tell everyone yourself. Are you all better now?"

I stared at my pale, hollow reflection in the camera lens.

"Yes. I'm all better."

"Why did you think you were sick before?"

"I was just being dramatic."

"Did I ever abuse you?"

"No."

"So when I discipline you, is it for your own good?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

My mom turned off the recording and replayed it a few times.

"You did great this time."

She posted the video to the school PTA Snapchat group with the caption.

"You can't coddle kids. The more you indulge them, the worse they get."

Within thirty minutes, the comments were flooded with praise.

Some called her a parenting genius.

Some asked her for advice on how to make their own teenagers listen.

Someone even forwarded the video to our high school's student group chat.

That afternoon, Ms. Jenkins called my mom.

"The video is spreading. Some of the students in class are gossiping about it."

My mom chuckled.

"Let them talk. It's a good lesson for those kids to stop faking illnesses for attention."

After hanging up, she showed the screen to me.

In the video, the girl was smiling brightly.

One comment read.

"This girl looks so normal. How could anyone think she was sick?"

Another said.

"She just needed some tough love. Look how quickly she was cured!"

My mom slid the phone in front of me.

"See? Everyone can tell you're perfectly fine."

I nodded and let out a soft laugh.

For dinner, she made my favorite lasagna again.

"We're celebrating today. Eat up."

She kept piling food onto my plate.

I swallowed every single bite.

My mom took out her phone and snapped a photo of me eating.

"Look at you, eating and drinking just fine. And you dared to say you were depressed."

"I'm posting this to show everyone how great you're doing."

I flashed a quick smile for the camera.

By the second plate, my stomach was burning.

I forced it down anyway.

My mom was still scrolling through the new comments under her video.

"Someone suggested I should start a parenting podcast."

"To teach other parents how to handle these overly sensitive kids."

My dad smiled too.

"You really did cure her."

Late that night, my stomach couldn't hold it anymore.

I knelt over the toilet, clutching my mouth, not daring to let a single sob slip out.

Blood began to drip from my wrists, falling into the vomit before I could flush it away.

My nails had clawed through my old scars, ripping the half-healed flesh wide open.

Crimson and white swirled together in the bowl.

In the living room, the audio from my mom's TikTok video was still looping.

Through the open doorway, I could hear my own calm voice playing over and over.

"I'm all better."

My mom wasn't wrong.

I woke up on time today. I ate two plates of food. I smiled at everyone.

I didn't cry. I didn't complain.

My heart rate slowly began to drop.

Thump. Thump.

The pauses in between grew longer and longer.

I pressed my palm against my chest and waited quietly.

This time, my heart didn't scream for help.

When dawn was breaking, my mom noticed the bathroom light was still on.

She pushed the door open.

Seeing me slumped on the floor, she froze for a second, and then she screamed.

My dad rushed in, frantically dialing 911. My mom collapsed onto her knees in the blood and vomit, screaming my name over and over.

But her voice sounded so incredibly far away. I couldn't make out the words at all.