Chapter 1

On my sixth birthday, my mother is suddenly diagnosed with depression.

There are no warning signs and no apparent cause. The only explanation is a message her best friend, Heather Reed, sends Dad.

"Don't ever let anyone hurt her."

From that moment on, that message changes everything.

What I never expect is that one day, it will cost me my life.

Chapter 1

My mother, Alice Lawson, yanked at my hair, her furious face swimming in and out of focus before my eyes.

"You little brat! How dare you wear a dress again? I'll beat the hell out of you!" she shrieked.

Whenever she lost control, she either called me a bitch or a little brat. I was her daughter, yet she hated me as if I were her mortal enemy.

Strands of hair drifted to the floor with every vicious pull, some of them torn out from the roots.

"Why would you wear a dress on purpose when you know it sets Mom off?"

My older brother, Preston Jenner, spoke, his tone laced with displeasure.

Before I could respond, a burst of pain exploded at the back of my head. Something cold and sticky trickled beneath my collar.

My body swayed briefly before my legs gave out beneath me. Then, a metal decoration clattered to the floor beside me.

My father, Claren Jenner, had a horrified expression. He dropped the coat in his hand and rushed toward Mom, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Alice! Are you okay?"

He didn't see the blood running from my head, nor did he see me lying limp on the floor.

All he saw were Mom's red, tear-filled eyes.

She pointed at me, and just like that, the fury vanished from her face. Her expression crumpled into one of pitiful remorse. "I didn't mean to hurt her… I was just so angry that I lost control."

As she spoke, she covered her face and sobbed into her hands.

Dad immediately pulled her into his arms. Without even bothering to look at me, he delivered several kicks at me.

"It's okay. This isn't your fault," he coaxed her, his reassurances punctuated with a kick every time. "Trina must've done something to provoke you. Come on, don't cry."

Maybe I had already been hurt so badly that my body had gone numb, because I couldn't feel much of anything anymore.

My vision simply kept fading in and out.

I clawed at the wall, digging my nails into the cracks as I tried to pull myself upright. Alas, one of my nails split, and I collapsed again.

"Dad… Preston…"

I fought through the pain and forced their names from my throat.

Just as I expected, neither of them heard me. Preston even stepped right over the back of my hand on his way to Mom. He joined Dad in fussing over her, their voices grating against my ears.

Before I turned six, they used to comfort me exactly the same way.

Back then, I was the first person Dad picked up whenever he came home from work. He told me stories, and if my blanket slipped off in the middle of the night, he'd get up and tuck me back in.

Preston was just as protective of me. He always kept jelly beans hidden in his pocket, and somehow, I was always the first one he gave them to.

They treated me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

Because I couldn't handle spicy food, both of them stopped eating it at home and switched to milder dishes for my sake.

Because I loved dresses, they bought me pretty ones in every color.

But Mom's expression grew darker with each passing day. The tenderness in her eyes gradually disappeared whenever she looked at me, replaced by an iciness.

She secretly burned my dresses, my new shoes, and even my Barbie dolls. Then, she chopped my hair into an uneven mess.

I cried to Dad and Preston about what she had done, but the doctor told our family that Mom was sick. She had depression, and anything that upset her could make her condition worse.

Dad stroked my hair and sighed, his voice softening. "Be good, Trina. Your mom's sick. We have to cut her some slack."

I bit my lip and quietly nodded.

From that day forward, Mom became the person everyone in the family protected above all else.

My vision blurred. Tiny white spots flickered before my eyes as my chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

"Dad… Please… Look at me…"

Chapter 2

Dad finally heard my desperate plea. But instead of coming over, he only gave me an impatient glance.

"Your mom's having another episode. Stop lying there acting like you're dying and get up," he snapped.

The moment Mom saw him paying attention to me, she started crying even harder. "It's all my fault! I'll apologize! I'll grovel if I have to!"

She immediately dropped to the floor and began sobbing harder.

The sight sent Dad into a panic. He spun around and shouted, "Get her out of here! Don't let her upset your mom anymore!"

A bitter taste spread across my tongue.

It seemed that even my existence was a mistake.

Preston grabbed me and dragged me toward the stairs, unable to hide the anger in his voice as he chided me, "Would it kill you not to wear a dress? Why do you have to keep pushing her buttons? If anything happens to Mom because of you, I swear you're going to regret it!"

He was so disgusted with me that he couldn't even stand to look at me. That was why he didn't notice the long trail of blood behind me or that my white dress was already soaked red.

I parted my lips, wanting to tell him that if I didn't wear a dress one last time, I wouldn't get another chance because I was really going to die.

But my throat seemed to close up, and I couldn't get a word out.

The last time I went to the hospital to pick up my physical exam results, the doctor stopped me before I could leave. He told me I had advanced leukemia and needed to be admitted immediately.

I came home holding the diagnosis.

The moment Dad saw me, he frowned and pointed at me. "Where have you been running off to again? Can't you stay home and spend some time with your mom?"

I hesitated, then pulled the medical report from my pocket.

Before I could hand it to him, he snatched it away, crumpled it up, and threw it straight into the trash. "Stop bringing things like report cards out in front of your mom. You know they could set her off."

There it was again. Everything set her off—wearing a dress, wearing a hair clip, laughing, talking to Dad and Preston… Even growing my hair long or making friends would set her off.

If I died, would that finally make things easier for her?

My lips trembled. But when I looked at the impatience flickering across Dad's face, I swallowed the confession at the tip of my tongue.

Preston was strong, and before we even reached the upstairs hallway, he shoved me aside. My head struck the wall with a dull thud, and the bleeding worsened.

He didn't seem concerned in the slightest. "You're not dead, are you? Stay up here until Mom calms down. Then you can come downstairs."

A moment later, Dad's voice carried up from below as he made a phone call. "Heather, Alice got upset again. You need to come over and take a look at her."

After a brief exchange, he hung up.

Then, he yelled upstairs, "Trina! Bring your mom a coat!"

I lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath. I couldn't answer him anymore.

Soon, hurried footsteps pounded up the stairs. Dad had come to get the coat himself.

When he passed me, he paused, then nudged me aside with his foot. "What good are you? You're so lazy you can't even bring your mom a coat. All you ever do is upset her."

Dad stood in the light, glaring down at me. He was only a step away, yet somehow he felt impossibly far.

Using the last of my strength, I dragged myself toward him and reached for the hem of his pants, drops of blood falling from my face as I moved.

Before I could touch him, he jerked away from me. "Get off me! You'd better think long and hard about how you're going to apologize to your mom later!"

Like a rag doll, I fell back into the shadowy corner.

The word "apologize" kept echoing in my head.

When I was 15, my class put on a school performance. My teacher said I looked pretty and put a little makeup on me for the stage. The show ran late, so I didn't have enough time to wash it off before going home.

The moment I stepped through the door, Mom dumped a basin of ice-cold water over me.

It was the dead of winter, and snow was falling outside.

Something inside me turned just as cold.

Furious, she ordered the housekeeper to hold me down. Then, she grabbed a broom and scrubbed it harshly across my face while cursing at me.

"You filthy slut! I'll teach you to dress yourself up and go around seducing people!"

The more I tried to explain, the angrier she became. Eventually, she stopped scrubbing and started hitting me with the broom instead.

By the time she was done, my face was covered in injuries.

I curled into myself on the floor and begged through my tears, "Mom! Please stop! I won't do it again!"

When Preston appeared, Mom pouted and cried as if she were the victim. "If Trina hadn't worn makeup, I wouldn't have had another episode… This is all my fault!"

And just like countless times before, I was blamed for setting her off.

In Preston's eyes, every insult and every beating I took was something I had brought on myself.

That night, Dad left an ointment beside my bed.

Even then, all he said was, "Once you're done crying, come downstairs and apologize to your mom. She hurt her hands hitting you."

That was when I finally understood that, while the Jenner residence was Mom's haven, for me, it was a prison.

Chapter 3

Dad's footsteps fading down the stairs pulled me out of my memories, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I stared at his retreating figure, my lips trembling.

"Dad…"

But I never managed to call out to him as my eyes slowly fluttered shut.

By the time I became aware of my surroundings again, Heather Reed, Mom's best friend, had already arrived with her medical staff in tow. They were gathered in the living room.

I first met Heather around the holidays last year. She had come to visit Mom with a fruit basket, and I was immediately sent out of the room.

I was afraid Mom might get upset if she saw me, so I secretly hid beneath the windowsill and listened to their conversation.

"I brought your medication. Take it the same way you always do."

Mom hesitated before asking, "Does it… have any side effects?"

"Real medication does. This stuff doesn't, so don't worry. Clarence won't find out—"

A burst of fireworks suddenly went off nearby, drowning out whatever Heather said next.

Nevertheless, the conversation left me with a question I could never shake.

What exactly was Mom taking? Was she really sick?

Mom suddenly burst into tears again. She collapsed into Dad's arms and curled against him, trembling all over. "I know what I did was wrong, but I didn't mean to do it. If she hadn't snuck around wearing that dress, I wouldn't have hit her… I'm a terrible person. I'm sorry!"

As she cried, she began slapping herself across the face.

Dad looked heartbroken. He pressed his forehead against hers and hurried to comfort her. "This is all Trina's fault! She deserved to be punished!"

Heather chimed in from beside them, "Exactly. If a kid misbehaves, there have to be consequences."

As she turned away, she glanced toward the floor and suddenly froze. "Why is there… blood over there?"

Everyone turned toward the corner.

There was indeed a dark stain on the floor, already beginning to dry. Smears stretched away from it and disappeared around the corner toward the stairs.

Dad's brows drew together, but before he could say anything, Preston spoke up.

"That's not blood. Mom's cat knocked over some ketchup. It just looks like blood."

The tension that had filled the room vanished almost instantly, and Dad's expression relaxed again.

All of a sudden, my phone started buzzing from somewhere near the corner.

Preston walked over, picked it up, and answered.

The voice of my homeroom teacher, Louise Farrow, came through the phone. "Hello, may I speak to Trina Jenner? I'm her homeroom teacher."

At that, Preston turned toward the stairs and yelled, "Trina, quit playing dead! Your teacher's looking for you!"

He waited several seconds.

When I didn't come downstairs, he scoffed impatiently. "She's pulling this crap again."

Dad snatched the phone from him and asked coldly, "What is it?"

"It's Trina's birthday today. Her classmates planned a birthday party for her…" Ms. Farrow explained.

"A birthday party? So that's why she's been causing trouble all day and insisting on wearing that dress! She upset my wife so badly that she's sick again. Trina's not available, and don't organize any more of this nonsense for her!"

Dad ended the call and tossed the phone aside without a second thought, like he had done countless times before.

My classmates, my friends, and even our neighbors had all been driven away like that.

Mom hated me, and she hated anyone who tried to get close to me.

Whenever someone came looking for me, she would chase them away with a broom. Then, as soon as Dad and Preston came home, she would run to them and complain that I had brought bad influences into the house just to upset her.

She would even show them the bruises she had pinched into her own skin.

Little by little, the way Dad and Preston looked at me grew colder.

Eventually, my friends stopped coming around altogether, and only then did Mom stop.

I grew up in that prison until there was barely any life left in me.

Come to think of it, maybe dying wasn't such a bad thing. At least I wouldn't have to spend every waking moment treading on thin ice.

Suddenly, someone pointed toward the staircase and cried, "Look! What's that over there?"

A thin streak of dark red liquid was slowly creeping down the stairs. Under the harsh white lights overhead, it looked deeply unsettling.

Just then, my phone started ringing again from where Dad had thrown it into the corner.

He walked over, picked it up, and barked into the phone, "I told you to stop calling—"

His voice abruptly cut off.

Then, he spoke again, sounding almost as if what he'd heard was too ridiculous to believe.

"What did you just say? My daughter has leukemia? How is that possible?"

Chapter 4

"Who the hell are you? What kind of scam are you trying to pull?" Dad snapped.

"Mr. Jenner, I'm not lying to you! Trina was supposed to come in for her follow-up appointment today. We've been waiting for her all morning, but she never showed up—"

"Yeah, right."

Dad gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. "How much did she pay you to go along with this?"

Without even looking up, he ordered Preston, "Go get my belt."

Preston stood rooted to his spot, staring at him in confusion. "Why?"

"Why? Your sister got some stranger to call me and claim she has advanced leukemia! She's faking an illness because she's desperate for attention!"

Maybe it was my imagination, but Mom's face went noticeably pale at those last words. Heather, standing behind her, seemed to stiffen as well.

"I'm teaching that ungrateful brat a lesson she'll never forget." Dad gritted his teeth and rolled up his sleeves, his face flushed with anger.

I wanted to tell him not to bother because I was already dead. But no matter how many times I tried to speak, none of them could hear me.

Just then, uneven footsteps came from the second floor.

Caleb Parker, the intern doctor Heather had brought with her, stumbled toward the stairwell. His face had gone white with shock.

He pointed toward the shadowy hallway with a trembling hand. "Dr. Reed… She's dead!"

Upon hearing this, Preston burst out laughing. "What are you talking about? That's my sister throwing another tantrum. She's lying on the floor pretending to be dead."

But I really was dead.

I shouldn't have been able to feel anything anymore, yet my heart still ached when I heard him say that.

Up until that point, not one of them had thought to come upstairs and check on me. Not one of them had wondered whether I was okay, yet they had already decided that I was throwing a fit, lying, and even pretending to be dead.

"Don't like joke about things like that!" Heather snapped.

Caleb immediately protested, "I'm not making it up! Come upstairs and see for yourselves!"

A flicker of doubt finally crossed Dad's face.

Eventually, he handed Mom over to Preston and headed upstairs himself.

As he climbed the stairs, he called out in a low, angry voice, "Trina! You've gone too far this time! I don't care if it is your birthday. That doesn't give you an excuse to act like this—"

His voice died the moment he saw the unmistakable trail of blood stretching across the hallway.

Then, he spun around and flipped on the hallway light.

Under the lights, I lay motionless in the corner, my clothes stained with blood as a dark pool spread across the floor beneath me.