Chapter 3

"Baby, you must be hungry after all this time. Mommy will cook for you right now."

I carefully floated to the kitchen, watching Mom prepare dish after dish of my sister's favorite foods.

I hadn't eaten in so long. I was drooling with hunger.

Dad sat on the sofa watching TV with my sister when he suddenly spoke up.

"Hey, where's Quinn? Why is it so quiet?"

Mom's hands suddenly stopped moving.

"Why mention her on such a happy day? She's probably sleeping late in her room."

Mom, that's not true. I wasn't sleeping late.

Every day I woke up to clean, scrubbed the toilet until it was spotless.

"Didn't you say you'd get rid of her as soon as possible? I'm telling you, it's either me or her in this house!" Mom slammed down the kitchen utensil in her hand, her words leaving no room for argument.

Then she lowered her head and muttered to herself, "Why is she the normal one? Why!"

The tone in her voice made me feel strange.

Mom didn't love me---was it because she favored my sister, or because she was... jealous of me?

She'd said these same words before, when I brought home a running award.

She stared at my certificate with bloodshot eyes, then grabbed a feather duster and beat my legs viciously.

"How dare you run! You know your sister and I have heart conditions and can't run. Who are you showing off to? Why are you the normal one? Why!"

The pain made me cry. I knelt down and begged Mom.

"Mom, I won't run anymore, I'll never run again!"

She acted as if she couldn't hear my pleas, couldn't see the flesh torn open on my legs.

She kept beating me until I nearly passed out, until my leg bone made a cracking sound. Only then did she stop and call my PE teacher.

"Quinn broke her leg. She can never run again."

The PE teacher sighed, "What a shame. The kid had real talent."

A strange smile appeared on Mom's face as she looked at me with ill intent.

"You won an award for a painting too, didn't you?"

I didn't understand what she meant. I just shrank back, not daring to speak.

After my injury healed, Mom took me back to school, called my homeroom teacher, and shouted in front of the entire class.

"Quinn's grades are all from cheating, including that award-winning painting---her sister drew it for her. She's a shameless thief. Nobody is allowed to play with her anymore!"

Then she pulled out my books from my backpack and tore them to shreds, one by one.

The friend I used to play with most looked at me with disgust.

I gradually lowered my head amid everyone's condemnation, not even daring to defend myself loudly.

The homeroom teacher looked shocked and tried to reason with Mom.

But Dad suddenly arrived and pulled Mom into his arms.

"Quinn, why are you provoking your mother again? Is this the first day you've known she has a heart condition?"

At those words, the teacher stopped and didn't dare approach.

Dad pulled Mom's hand and walked out of the classroom.

Before leaving, Mom turned back to look at me with a triumphant expression.

I stood there at a loss while my classmates chattered around me.

After that, I became a loner, a freak.

Any talent I displayed was ruined by Mom. My excellent grades became reasons for her to beat and scold me.

Or rather, my very existence was the root cause of Mom's anger.

Thinking of this, I suddenly felt that death was a good thing.

At least Mom wouldn't be angry anymore.

At least I wouldn't be sad about Mom not loving me anymore.