Chapter 4

That evening, Mom came back.

This time, she held a notebook in her hands—the exact same scorecard from my previous life.

She sat on the stool beside my bed and flipped to the first page, which read: "Maya's Survival Viability Scorecard."

Just like before.

"Maya, I need to keep track of your progress so we can see if you're actually going to recover." Her voice was chillingly casual, as if she were discussing the weather.

I stared at the pages. There was no anger left in me, no grief—only an eerie, hollow numbness.

In my last life, this notebook had terrified me.

In this life, I had been waiting for it.

"Can't dress yourself: minus one point," she read aloud.

I was wrapped like a mummy, unable to even lift my arms without tearing open my skin.

Deducted.

"Can't feed yourself: minus one point."

Deducted.

"Incontinent: minus two points."

Deducted.

"Emotionally unstable: minus three points."

She glanced up at me. "You've been crying non-stop these past few days, bothering the other patients. Minus three."

I didn't argue.

Beneath the thin hospital blanket, my fingers gripped my pen:

[Mom brought out her scorecard: minus 10 points.]

[For every point she deducts from me, I double it: minus 10 points.]

Current score: 29 points.

Mom kept reciting, crossing off points one by one.

I watched her lips part and close. Every word that tumbled from her mouth felt like a dull blade sawing through my chest.

Yet, strangely, it didn't hurt anymore.

A heart can't hurt once it's already dead.

Finished with her deductions, Mom snapped the notebook shut and cast an indifferent glance my way. "Maya, you still have sixty points left. Do your best and don't disappoint me."

Sixty points?

She left me sixty points on her rubric?

A hollow laugh caught in my throat.

*Mom, you think I have sixty points left, but on my score sheet, you only have twenty-nine.*

She walked out.

I pulled out my paper and traced the number "29" with a trembling finger.

Just a few more days, and it would be zero.

When that happened, I wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

When that happened, she could shower Chloe with all the love in the world.

She wouldn't have to look at my ruined face, wouldn't have to resent my existence, wouldn't have to waste another cent on my life.

It was better this way.

I slid the paper back inside the pillow and closed my eyes.

Through the quiet corridor, the sound of Mom and Chloe laughing drifted into my room.

Mom was reading her a bedtime story.

Mom was laughing.

Whenever she spoke to Chloe, her voice was warm and melodic, her eyes bright with pride.

Whenever she looked at me, there were only scowls and weary sighs.

I scribbled one more entry:

[Mom smiles at Chloe, but only ever scowls at me: minus 5 points.]

24 points.

Only twenty-four points left.

Soon.