Don’t You Believe Me Now

The only reason my mom ever needed to believe I was faking was the two sick days I’d taken. Two times was all it took for her to decide I loved playing hooky more than I feared failing.

When my temperature spiked again at school, the principal’s office called my mom. But all I heard was a cold snort from the receiver.

“Ms. Harrison, please don’t let her fool you. Willow is capable of anything to get out of class.”

Ms. Harrison’s voice was firm. “Lydia, Willow has a fever of 104 degrees. If it goes any higher, it could be life-threatening.”

Only then did my mother agree to come.

I waited in the nurse’s office for what felt like an eternity, but my mother never showed. I had to brace against the biting December wind and walk home alone.

The moment I managed to open the front door, Mom’s hand shot out and pressed against my forehead. Then, with a cold, cruel smirk, she shoved me back and slammed the door, locking me out.

“I knew you were faking it again! Your forehead is ice cold, where’s the fever? Willow, you are truly a disappointment. You’ll stop at nothing to get out of studying, will you?”

The wind outside intensified. My vision was swimming in black spots. As consciousness started to fade, I had one desperate, silent thought:

Mom, can you please believe me this one time?

1

The winter wind felt like a thousand tiny knives, scraping my face raw.

My body was radiating heat now, my brain slow and thick with fever. All my strength was leached away; I couldn’t even stand straight. My eyes rolled back, and the world tilted until I collapsed heavily onto the cold, unforgiving concrete path.

All I could hear was the howl of the wind and my own harsh, ragged breathing. Each breath seared my throat, like inhaling fire.

A primal instinct for survival flickered to life. I dragged myself toward the iron front door and used every ounce of remaining energy to pound on the metal.

“Mom… I’m not lying.”

“Mom… I feel so sick. I think… I think I’m going to pass out…”

I pressed my ear against the wood, and the sound of approaching footsteps sparked a tiny, desperate flame of hope.

Did she believe me? Is she feeling sorry for me? Is she finally going to let me inside?

The joy was suffocated the moment I heard her voice, ice-cold, from the other side of the door.

“It’s been two minutes, and you’re already making a scene about dying! Two minutes!”

“Why can’t you put this much effort into your grades? You’ll stay right there and think about what you’ve done!”

She let out a dramatic sigh.

“Willow, don’t blame your mother. I’m doing this for your own good.”

“If you don’t suffer through the pain of studying now, you’ll suffer through the pain of a worthless life later! You can have a good reflection out there!”

I wanted to plead, to explain, but her footsteps were already receding.

It had only been two minutes, but with the freezing wind whipping around me, it felt like an eternity.

A familiar rhythm of footsteps cut through my fading consciousness—Dad was home.

He spotted me curled by the door and his face immediately darkened. He rushed forward and knelt, pulling me into his arms.

“Willow! What are you doing out here? You’re freezing!”

“Get inside now! It’s too cold to leave a kid out in this!”

He lifted me onto his back, and the familiar warmth pulled me momentarily back from the edge of the void.

But as soon as he cracked the door open, Mom burst out. She slapped Dad’s arm away, her voice a sharp screech.

“Don’t you dare let her trick you! This girl is faking sick to skip school!”

“Look at her report card—she dropped ten points and two whole ranks! All her energy is spent on these cheap tricks!”

Dad frowned, looking at my ghostly pale face, his tone wavering.

“She doesn’t look like she’s faking, Lydia. What if she really is sick…?”

“And it’s freezing out here. She’s small. She can’t handle this.”

“Sick? What kind of sick?”

Mom grabbed Dad’s hand and forced it onto my forehead.

“Feel it yourself! She’s clammy and cold. Does she feel like she has a fever?!”

“She’s just putting on a show for sympathy so she doesn’t have to study!”

Dad’s hand touched my skin. I was so far gone that my body had broken out in a cold sweat. To his touch, I really didn’t feel hot.

He hesitated, and the worry on his face visibly softened.

Seeing this, Mom immediately cranked up her volume.

“See! What did I tell you! She’s an actress! So young, and already learning these rotten little ways!”

Dad knitted his brows. “Still, this punishment is a bit much.”

She roughly pushed me away from him.

“Locked out? So what? We go for walks longer than two hours in this weather! What could possibly happen in two hours?”

“If we don’t teach her a lesson today, she’ll try to fake sick again next week!”

Her eyes flickered over my purple-tipped fingers, but she hardened her heart and spoke to Dad.

“Grant! I am doing this for her future. What will she do if she doesn’t study now?”

“We won’t be here forever to protect her. She can eat a little suffering now, or a lifetime of it later. Can’t you see the difference?”

Dad seemed convinced. He carefully set me down by the door.

“Your mother is right. You need to think about what will happen to you if you don’t focus on your studies.”

With that, he followed Mom back inside.

Mom slammed the door again—a deafening thud—and the lock clicked into place.

The cold wind whipped dry leaves and ice flakes onto me. My whole body shuddered. My consciousness was receding again.

My body temperature was dropping, point by painful point. Life felt like it was draining slowly out of my fingertips.

I struggled to keep my heavy eyelids open, staring at the closed door, holding onto one final, hollow thought:

But Dad and Mom, do I even have a future to worry about anymore?

2

I don’t know how much time passed, but miraculously, a strange warmth began to bloom inside me.

My mind cleared slightly, and I couldn’t help but laugh at myself, a dry, bitter sound.

Mom was right. I’m a stubborn fool. Even this isn’t enough to kill me.

“Willow, it’s been an hour already. She must have learned her lesson.”

Dad sighed, watching Mom continuously glance toward the door. “Lydia, what are you proving by going head-to-head with the kid?”

“Who said I care about her! I just want to see how much backbone she has!”

“An hour, and she still hasn’t admitted she was wrong. She still thinks she’s right, doesn’t she!”

“She’s still fighting me! Fine, we’ll see how long she can hold out!”

Mom’s shrill voice pierced the howling wind and burrowed into my ears.

I offered a weak, desolate smile. It had always been this way. Why did I keep clinging to the vain hope that it would change?

The sharp, mean-spirited insults continued from inside the house.

Every word was a needle dipped in ice, pricking my heart over and over, making my whole body tremble.

“What a wretched child! A dead weight! She’ll do anything sleazy just to avoid studying!”

“That time she missed her period for three months—she tried to lie and say it was stress!”

“Stress? She’s a teenager with a roof over her head and food on the table! What stress could she possibly have?”

“She was fooling around with some boy, got knocked up, and had her head turned! No wonder she couldn’t focus on her books!”

“Lydia! The doctor said she wasn’t pregnant!” Dad’s voice rose in protest.

“Not pregnant? She was throwing up and missed three months! How is that possible?”

“And I found birth control pills hidden in her nightstand!”

“She probably didn’t want me to know, so she sneaked out, bought the pills, and took care of it herself!”

Those words were like a rusted key, violently twisting the lock on a deep-seated, forbidden memory.

The crushing fear and humiliation from that time surged up, an icy tide threatening to drown me.

It was after the first round of exams in my junior year. My rank had only dropped five places.

I had barely handed the report card to Mom before her open palm cracked across my face.

She dragged me by the arm and forced me down onto the cold, unforgiving tile of the living room floor, making me kneel.

Hands on her hips, she paced in front of me, her eyes burning with a hatred that felt like it could strip the skin from my bones.

“You’re a failure! You worthless piece of nothing! With this level of competence, why even bother with school?”

“If you don’t get your rank back up next time, you’re done! You can roll out of here and get a job—screwing bolts in a factory or wiping tables! Be a nobody for the rest of your life!”

“Other girls your age are already married! Who else is still coddling you with books?”

“If I hadn’t made you study, you’d already be carrying one baby and pregnant with another!”

“If you get this score again, forget school. Find a husband while you’re still young enough to catch a good one.”

I lay on the floor, my knees aching on the hard tile, tears of shame mixing with the cold sweat, but I didn’t dare make a sound.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, engraving her words into my memory.

I was terrified. Terrified of being thrown out, terrified of having nowhere to go, terrified of being forced to marry a stranger.

I did remember a time, though. Back in middle school, when I won the top spot in the whole grade. Mom secretly bought me the fountain pen I wanted.

She even left a note: Keep going, Willow. You are your mother’s hope.

Another time, when I had a fever, she stayed up all night, wiping my face, holding me, and whispering, “Willow, get better soon.”

But somewhere along the way, she stopped seeing me. All she saw were my scores. The gentleness vanished.

I studied myself sick, just wanting to see her smile at me again, even once.

But that smile never came back.

From that moment on, I became a wind-up toy, sleeping only two hours a night.

I was at my desk before dawn, reviewing notes. When my eyelids got too heavy, I splashed cold water on my face. Late at night, the only light in the house came from my bedroom. I worked problems until my fingers were stiff and my eyes burned, my nerves stretched taut, like a string about to snap.

The constant stress finally broke my body. My period became irregular, then the flow dwindled, and then it stopped completely for three months.

I hid it, terrified to tell her, but she found out anyway.

She didn’t ask. She didn’t scream hysterically. She simply grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the house toward the school.

And that quiet, cold demeanor frightened me more than any rage.

3

I had no idea what she planned to do, I just stumbled along, her grip like iron on my arm.

As soon as we reached the school, she turned and glowered at me.

“Today, we’re going to find that boy who led you astray! The whole school is going to see what you’ve done!”

The main entrance was full of students. Their eyes felt like needles piercing my skin.

I hung my head, my arm feeling dislocated, the tears clogging my throat as I pleaded over and over.

“Mom, I didn’t. It’s stress, it’s really just stress…”

She wouldn’t listen. She kicked open the door to the main academic building, pulling me down the hallway, yelling at anyone in sight.

“Listen up, everyone! She’s three months from her final exams! I work myself ragged to pay for her education, and she’s out here sleeping around and ruining her future!”

“The boy who did this to her—show yourself! If my daughter doesn’t get into a good college, her life is over! Can you pay for that?!”

I bit down hard on my lip, my nails digging into my palm, my face burning with shame.

Ms. Harrison, my class advisor, rushed over when she heard the commotion, quickly trying to pull my mother away.

“Lydia, please calm down. Willow is still a minor. Let’s discuss this quietly.”

“Quietly?”

Mom violently shook off the teacher’s hand, then raised her own and slapped me again, the impact leaving my ears ringing.

“Don’t you know that education is your only way out?! You do this now, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”

“You don’t understand the sacrifices I’ve made! You don’t know what I’ve given up so you can have a decent future!”

I clutched my face, the tears finally bursting free. I choked out the words, screaming at her.

“I didn’t do anything! Why do you never, ever believe a single word I say!”

Ms. Harrison could no longer stand by. She pulled me behind her and spoke to my mother with a grave authority.

“Lydia, making a scene like this is damaging Willow too much.”

“I’m taking Willow to the doctor right now. When the results come back, we’ll know the truth.”

Mom jutted out her chin, refusing to back down, but couldn’t withstand the teacher’s insistence. She only glared at me with pure venom.

“Fine, let’s go! I want to see how long you can keep up this little performance!”

At the clinic, the doctor finished the checkup and looked at my mother with a weary expression.

“Ma’am, your daughter is not pregnant. She has severe hormonal imbalance due to chronic stress. She just needs rest and adjustment.”

“Adjustment?”

Mom sneered, pointing her finger at my face.

“Not pregnant doesn’t mean she hasn’t done filthy things! She was probably fooling around with some boy, which messed up her body and her grades!”

“I saw the birth control pills in her drawer! If she’s not doing anything ‘filthy,’ why would she have those dirty things?”

Ms. Harrison’s usual calm finally broke. She frowned and spoke with cold authority.

“Lydia, the birth control pills were my advice.”

“They can be used to delay a period. I told the girls who are under severe pressure to have them on hand and speak to a doctor about managing their cycle for high-stakes exams.”

Mom was momentarily stunned, but immediately pivoted, pointing a finger at me again.

“Then who wrote you that love letter?! That boy in front of you? Why are you so shameless?”

I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. The years of pent-up humiliation and anger finally exploded.

I stared at her, my voice trembling but stubborn.

“Even if someone else wrote me a love letter, you would still find a way to make it my fault!”

“I haven’t done anything wrong! Not a single thing!”

It was the first time I had ever truly fought back. Mom was first shocked, then her face went crimson with rage. She raised her hand to strike me again.

“Oh, you dare talk back now! That boy has turned your head completely!”

“You little tramp! You’re just a slut in the making! You should quit school and go sell yourself instead!”

“Lydia!”

Ms. Harrison stepped in front of me, her body shielding mine.

“Willow’s grades are excellent! If she maintains this, she has a real shot at a top university!”

Mom’s furious expression froze. She abruptly changed tack, moving as if to touch my head, but I flinched away.

She didn’t get angry, a rare response. Instead, she offered a brittle, forced smile.

“Well, in that case, why aren’t you hurrying back to class with your teacher?”

“Your teacher says you’re doing so well. You must study hard. You are our last hope, Willow.”

Ms. Harrison looked at Mom, said nothing, and simply took my hand, leading me back toward the school.

But walking back, a new wave of terror washed over me. I couldn’t face the other students. I was afraid of their pity, their mockery, their staring eyes…