Chapter 2

The living room floor was a mess as Mom and Dad pulled Daisy toward the door.

Their voices tight with frustration and disappointment: "Come on, Daisy, we’re taking you out to celebrate. Today’s your big day—don’t let this ruin it."

Mom gave me a look of profound disappointment and let out a heavy sigh.

"You really need to get your act together."

Daisy hesitated, her steps faltering as she turned back to look at me, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but Dad tugged her away.

"Let's go. There's no point talking to someone like her."

The front door slammed shut, muffling the sounds from outside.

Sticky liquid supplement spilled everywhere, while Daisy's bright red acceptance letter lay abandoned on the table.

I knelt slowly, my fingertips brushing over the cold, shattered ceramic pieces.

The sharp edge sliced my skin, drawing blood beads, but I felt nothing.

Memories from the past two years came flooding back.

After I got sick with anorexia, Mom and Dad poured everything they had into my treatment.

To pay my medical bills, they worked construction jobs during the day and ran a street vendor stall at night, working nonstop until their backs ached too much to stand straight.

They emptied our savings to buy those ridiculously expensive supplement boxes, gritting their teeth through every sacrifice.

They worried I wasn't getting enough nutrients, so they even stopped buying fruit for themselves.

They'd come home covered in dust, exhausted to the bone, yet still force a smile and ask if there was anything I felt like eating.

Daisy was the one who stayed by my side most days.

With Mom and Dad leaving for work early, she became my lifeline.

Knowing how I struggled with food, she'd experiment with gentle, easy-to-swallow soups, spoon-feeding me one tiny bite at a time.

She was always so patient, coaxing me softly: "Lily, just one bite, okay? You need your strength."

When I really couldn't swallow, her eyes would fill with heartache, but she never pushed too hard.

After taking care of me, she'd sit at her desk late into the night, studying with her lamp burning until the early morning hours.

She carried the burden of looking after me while pouring all her energy into her studies.

Now she'd finally gotten into a top university. It should've been our family's proudest moment, but I'd ruined everything.

I remembered Mom and Dad's quiet sighs in the living room early yesterday morning.

"Daisy's heading to college soon. Tuition and living costs aren't cheap. And Lily's supplements are so expensive—she can't go a day without them. How are we going to manage the money?"

"What else can we do? I'll just take another job. Every little bit helps. We can't let our girls suffer."

Those words hit me like a sledgehammer, crashing down on my heart.

The wrinkles around Mom and Dad's eyes, their graying hair, their calloused hands. Daisy's dark circles, her patched clothes, her worn-out shoes…

All their misfortunes, all their hardships—they were all my fault.

I didn't want to be sick. I didn't want to be a burden.

But I couldn't help it.

I leaned against the wall, slowly standing up. My 70-pound body felt as light as a feather, swaying with the slightest movement.

I cleaned up the mess in the living room, smoothed out Daisy's acceptance letter until it looked perfect, and placed it neatly on the table.

I turned and walked into my room, locking the door behind me.

From the bottom of my drawer, I pulled out a utility knife—the one I used back when I used to draw.

Before I got sick, Daisy used to beg me to teach her how to draw. Those were such happy times.

But later, I couldn't even hold a paintbrush anymore.

All that warmth and hope had long since been worn away by two years of illness and hardship.

Lying on the bed, I took a deep breath.

When the blade broke my skin, the first sensation wasn't pain, but an icy coldness.

Blood slowly seeped from the wound, dripping onto the sheets.

I didn't flinch. Instead, I gently rotated my wrist.

Letting the blade go a little deeper, as if that could truly cut all the ties.

Pain washed over me, but inside, I felt a strange sense of relief.

As my consciousness blurred, I saw Mom and Dad's faces, and Daisy's eyes when she used to feed me.

I wanted to tell them I was sorry.

I wanted to ruffle Daisy's hair and tell her to eat well and study hard from now on.

But I couldn't say anything.

I'm sorry. It's not that I don't cherish you, but I can't be a burden anymore.

Blood kept flowing, my body grew colder by the minute, and the last bit of my consciousness was swallowed by darkness.

I said a final goodbye to this family I loved so deeply but could no longer help.