Chapter 2

I clutched that pastry like a drowning person clutching a lifeline.

The moment the soft, buttery bread touched my lips, before the rich, sweet bliss could even bloom across my taste buds, a dark shadow loomed over me from behind.

My mother seemed to materialize straight out of my shadow, violently snatching the food from my grip.

Her movement was terrifyingly swift. Her face contorted into an ugly fury I had never seen before.

"Click."

She whipped out her phone and snapped a photo of me with my mouth full, frozen in sheer terror. Instantly, she blasted the photo into the family group chat.

The glow of her phone screen illuminated her twisted features.

"Look! Everyone, look at her! She's lying to me again! Acting compliant to my face, sneaking food behind my back! What a lying little sneak! A born fraud!"

The chat exploded instantly. Dozens of aunts and relatives poured in with overwhelming "concern," every single message reprimanding me for being ungrateful and taking my mother's sacrificial love for granted.

That night, she locked me in the study, shoved a laptop in front of me, and gave a cold command: "Draw up a '100-Day Extreme Weight-Loss Plan.' Target weight: eighty-five pounds. You don't sleep until it's done."

I stared at her. For the first time, a bizarre mix of absurdity and total despair bubbled up inside me like a bitter laugh.

Fine. You want a plan? I'll give you a plan.

I opened the document and drafted something so outrageously exaggerated it defied basic human biology.

"Phase One (Days 1–10): Consume solely morning dew collected before 6:00 AM to maintain vital signs. Cease all solid food intake. Absorb sunlight for three hours daily to photosynthesize and generate bodily energy."

"Phase Two (Days 11–30): Daily six-mile weighted ruck march. Diet: Three lettuce leaves per day, supplemented by atmospheric air (flavor choices: northwest breeze or southeast gust)."

"Phase Three (Days 31–60): Eight hours of posture toning and six hours of Pilates daily. Goal: Razor-sharp collarbones and a hollow spine."

I even included ridiculous evaluation metrics, such as: "Sunlight-to-calorie conversion efficiency must reach at least 5%."

Finally, I mapped out a detailed timeline covering all one hundred days, mapped out down to the exact minute.

The next morning, with heavy dark circles under my eyes, I presented the satirical document to Helen.

I thought this utter lunacy would shock some maternal sense into her, making her realize how unhinged she had become.

Instead, she read through it with rapt attention.

"Good. Very good." She nodded approvingly, looking like a corporate executive greenlighting a multi-million-dollar project. "Now this is what I call scientific. This is real structure. So humans really can survive on sunlight! Chloe, you're finally being honest with me. If you dare slack off, just wait and see what happens."

She printed out the schedule, taped it directly to my bedroom wall, and demanded strict compliance.

While I pretended to adhere to the plan, my secret communications with Maya never stopped.

She was my only lifeline to the outside world.

"Chloe, I listed your old collectible figures and art books on eBay. A few sold already. I'm holding onto the cash for you."

"When my paycheck hits next week, I'll lend you a bit more. That should cover a train ticket and a cheap place to crash for a while."