Chapter 4

On my eighteenth birthday, the disability benefits rose to $1,200.

At the same time, the Community Director Ms. Jenkins brought news. The policy had changed, and adult individuals with disabilities might require reassessment.

Mom completely panicked.

That $1,200 was no longer just welfare; it was her mental anchor for eighteen years, her shield against all her misfortunes.

She looked at me, her expression unreadable.

At eighteen, even in my tattered clothes, my face deliberately smudged, I couldn't hide the delicate features and overly serene gaze that didn't belong to a dummy.

"Daisy," she called me for the first time in such a soft tone, with a trembling voice that was almost a plea,

"One last time, help Mom one more time. Just get through this assessment, and Mom will never force you again."

She dressed me in the most ragged, dirtiest clothes, smeared some old chicken feed in my hair, and repeatedly coached me.

"If they ask your name, just drool and grin stupidly. If they ask what one plus one equals, just say it equals apple..."

On the day of the assessment, it wasn't just Ms. Jenkins, but also professional-looking doctors in white coats.

My heart pounded, my palms were slick with sweat.

I knew this might be my only chance to escape the identity of a dummy.

Mom stood behind the doctor, her hands tightly twisting the hem of her shirt, her eyes filled with a humble plea and an undeniable threat.

The doctor took out a picture book, pointing at a cat and asking, "What's this?"

I looked at the lazy cat in the picture, then at Mom.

Mom's lips were trembling slightly, her face pale.

I opened my mouth, and every single day of the past eighteen years flashed through my mind.

The rocks hitting my head, the burned newspapers, the smelly clothes, the occasional eggs she gave me, her back as she secretly cried at night, and that $1200.

These images intertwined into a giant net, binding me tightly.

I took a deep breath, as if summoning all my strength, and facing the picture, I spread my lips into a horribly twisted grin.

Then I made a sound that shocked everyone present...

"Woof! Woof woof!"

I barked like a puppy, stuck out my tongue like a puppy, and finally pointed at the cat in the picture, looking at the doctor with a face full of innocence.

The doctor froze, his pen hovering over the assessment form.

Ms. Jenkins turned her face away, unable to watch.

My mom, however, let out a heavy sigh of relief, almost collapsing, bracing herself against the wall.

The assessment passed without a hitch.

The certificate was saved, and so was the money.

That night, Mom cooked a table full of dishes, fish and meat, more lavish than ever before.

She placed the largest piece of braised pork on my plate, but she didn't eat any herself.

She just watched me, her eyes holding a strange, empty sense of relief, as if she had won something, yet lost so much more.

"Eat, Daisy," she said. "Everything will be fine now."

I ate the meat, but it tasted like ash.

Because I knew, it was far from over.