When the half-mile sprint test is about to begin, Quiana Sullivan, the class president, and I have applied to be exempted from it.

My own mother, who's the homeroom teacher of my class, approves Quiana's application with a smile. But she then throws mine to the floor.

"You're having a chest pain, you say? I can't believe you're able to come up with such lies just to avoid the half-mile sprint! I'd have known if you had a heart condition!

"Quiana is weak by nature, not to mention she's on her period right now, so she can't handle the agony. What about you, hmm? You've always been perfectly healthy, yet now you're telling me that you're suffering from heart pain?

"Don't go around embarrassing me just because you want to slack off! I don't want others claiming that I'm being biased toward my own child! As long as you're still alive and kicking, you must finish the half-mile course no matter what!"

Left without a choice, I can only return to the field.

The cold wind makes me feel even dizzier now. My heart keeps contracting uncontrollably against my will. Suddenly, it just stops pumping.

The next thing I know, I collapse onto the grassy field heavily.

When my consciousness is about to flicker to darkness, my mom finally walks over to me. But she merely kicks my arm with a frown on her face, and her tone remains glacial.

"Stop playing dead. Get up right now."

She doesn't realize that I can never open my eyes ever again.

Isn't this great, Mom? No one will ever claim that you're biased toward your own child.

I've used my life to prove how fair and just you are. You must be happy now, right?

A gust of icy wind swept past, and my chest tightened. Every breath felt like shards of glass in my lungs.

I clutched my chest, my knuckles turning white as I looked at my mom with pleading eyes.

"Mom—I mean, Ms. Wright." I quickly corrected myself, my voice shaking so hard I could hardly get the words out. "My chest hurts so much. Can I please sit this one out?"

The woman standing before me was my mom, Jennifer Wright, who also happened to be my homeroom teacher.

At that moment, she was busy signing an excuse slip for my class president, Quiana Sullivan.

Quiana's cheeks were rosy with health as she pouted. "Ms. Wright, it's that time of the month, and my back is just killing me. I don't think I can handle the run."

"Of course, dear. You need to take care of yourself during your cycle."

Mom offered her a warm, doting smile as she scribbled her signature on the slip. She even reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of candy, and pressed it into Quiana's palm. "Go rest on the sidelines. And don't let yourself catch a cold."

But the moment she turned to me, her warm smile vanished, replaced by an icy stare.

She glanced at the excuse slip I held out but didn't take it. Instead, she let out a derisive snort and swiped her hand, knocking the paper straight to the ground. "Your chest hurts?"

Mom looked down at me, her eyes brimming with pure disgust. "You'd actually lie just to get out of a half-mile run? Do you really think I wouldn't know if my own daughter had a heart condition?

"Quiana has a delicate constitution, and she's on her period. That's why she can't handle this kind of physical strain. But you? You've had a clean bill of health since you were a toddler, and now you're telling me your chest hurts?"

"I'm not—"

I tried to lean down to pick up the slip, but a sharp spike of pain in my chest made me stumble. "I'm really not feeling well, and I…"

My hand instinctively went to my pocket, fingering a crumpled piece of paper—the diagnostic report I had picked up from the hospital yesterday.

The doctor's voice echoed in my head, grim and serious. "It's acute myocarditis. While it's not critical yet, you need rest. Absolutely no strenuous exercise, or you're at risk of sudden cardiac arrest."

Just as I was about to pull the report out to show her, Mom's sharp bark cut me off.

"Yvonne Simpson! Take your hands out of your pockets! Stand up straight! And stop calling me 'Mom' at school! It's precisely because you're my daughter that I have to be even stricter to avoid any appearance of favoritism!"

My classmates were all staring, their whispers closing in around me like a suffocating fog.

"There goes Yvonne again, faking it. She thinks she can slack off just because her mom's the teacher."

"Exactly. She's usually as healthy as a horse. There's no way she's actually sick."

Mom's frown deepened as she caught the comments. "Hear that? Even your classmates can see right through your little act."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a lethal whisper meant only for my ears.

"Quiana's dad is a high-ranking official from the Board of Education. I need his support if I want to win the 'Teacher of the Year' award at the end of the year. But what about you? What do you bring to the table? Besides being an utter embarrassment, what are you even good for?"

My hand froze around the paper in my pocket. My fingernails dug into the thin diagnostic sheet, nearly tearing through it.

So that was it.

It wasn't because I wasn't good enough or didn't work hard enough. It was simply because I didn't have a father in a position of power.

"Yvonne, I've taken you on morning jogs since you were a child. How could you possibly have a heart condition?"

Mom straightened up and raised her voice so the whole class could hear. "Don't embarrass me with your laziness! I won't have people saying I go easy on my own child!"

She enunciated every word, cold and merciless. "Unless you drop dead on that track today, you are finishing the race!"

"On your marks…" Coach Miller, the PE teacher, called out, raising the starter pistol.

I stared at Mom's profile. Her face was a mask of ice.

She had already turned away, fussing over Quiana's collar with a smile that was both warm and graceful.

In that moment, the ache in my heart drowned out the physical pain wracking my body.

I let go of the paper in my pocket. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to pull out the diagnostic report.

What would be the point, anyway?

She would only tear it to shreds in front of the entire class and accuse me of forging medical records to dodge the run. She would tell the world that I was the spitting image of my deadbeat, pathological liar of a father.

A shot rang out.

Like a wind-up doll, I began to move my legs mechanically.

…

The wind howled in my ears, slicing against my face like a blade.

Every breath tore through my lungs like razors. My heart clenched, hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it would burst right out of my chest.

My vision began to blur. The track beneath my feet twisted and warped.

Still, I ran. I had to. Mom had told me that unless I dropped dead on that track, I had to finish.

I didn't want to disappoint her again. I didn't want her to see me as nothing but an embarrassment.

The finish line was right there, and just beyond it, I saw her.

She stood with her back to the track, carefully unscrewing a bottle of water and handing it to Quiana with tender care.

The smile on her face held a tenderness I had never once received. She didn't even glance my way.

I ran until the last shred of my strength was spent, crossing the white line on pure momentum.

A metallic sweetness flooded my throat. I collapsed hard onto the ground, the impact rattling every bone in my body.

In the final moment before my consciousness slipped away, I saw Mom finally walking toward me.

She stood over me, her brow furrowed in a deep, contemptuous scowl.

Then, she prodded my arm with the toe of her shoe, her voice dripping with cold annoyance. "Stop playing dead. Get up."

Those were the last words I ever heard.

My body felt weightless, as if I were drifting upward.

I looked down and saw "me" lying on the grass. My face was a mottled bluish-purple, my lips drained of color, my body completely still.

So this was what dying felt like.

The pain in my chest was gone. I could finally breathe.

But as I gazed down at Mom, a hollow ache bloomed where my heart used to be—deeper and more devastating than anything I had felt while alive.

The disgust on her face was barely contained. She kicked my body again, her patience wearing thin. "Get up already! You're blocking the track for the next group!"

I remained still.

The other students crowded around, and a few let out hushed, startled gasps.

"Ms. Wright, something's… wrong with Yvonne. Her face has gone completely white."

"Yeah, should we call the school clinic?"

Mom's expression darkened instantly.

"Stop making such a fuss!" she barked, her voice ringing with cold authority. "She's just faking a sugar crash. It's not like this is the first time."

She snapped her gaze toward the crowd. "Are you all just hoping something goes wrong in our class? If word gets out that someone fainted during a half-mile run, it'll be a disgrace to this entire class!"

One of the braver students pulled out his phone, his voice shaking. "Ms. Wright, we really should call 911. Yvonne doesn't look right—"

"Put that phone away!" Mom hissed.

She snatched the phone right out of his hand, her gaze icy. "No one is calling anyone! If you do, I'll treat it as a deliberate breach of discipline. You can forget about any honors or awards this year!"

The field fell deathly silent. No one dared utter another word.

Mom pointed at two boys standing nearby and issued a sharp command. "You two, move her off to the side. Just leave her there. She'll come around on her own in half an hour."

The boys exchanged uneasy glances but didn't dare disobey.

They hoisted my limp body and dragged me to the edge of the field. My head knocked against the grass with a dull thud, but no one cared.

I hovered in the air, watching Mom return to Quiana's side as if nothing had happened. She asked, with genuine concern, if Quiana wanted some warm honey water.

Envy swelled in my chest. I couldn't remember when it started, but under the guise of avoiding favoritism, even calling her "Mom" had become a luxury I could no longer afford.

Sunlight spilled over my body as it grew colder and colder.

I whispered into the void, "Mom, I'm so cold. Won't you please just come hold me?"

But all I could do was watch, unable to make a single sound.

A breeze drifted past, and my spirit wavered with it.

…

Coach Miller's whistle shrieked again, signaling the start of the next heat.

That practiced, graceful smile returned to Mom's face. She clapped her hands, cheering on the runners with a voice that rang out loud and full of enthusiasm.

Quiana stood beside Mom, daintily sipping her honey water with a faint smirk playing on her lips.

She cast a glance toward where I lay, her eyes gleaming with undisguised mockery.

A few bugs crawled across my face. I wanted so desperately to reach up and brush them away, but my body remained leaden and motionless.

Finally, the physical fitness test came to an end.

Mom dismissed the class, her face lighting up as she beckoned Quiana and the other student leaders over. "Come on, everyone worked hard today! Lunch is on me at the cafeteria to celebrate everyone finishing the fitness test!"

A boisterous group of students surrounded her as they headed off toward the cafeteria.

Not a single soul spared me a second glance. I was simply forgotten, left alone in the corner of the field.

I drifted along behind them.

Inside the cafeteria, the air was thick with the savory aroma of food.

Mom picked out the largest piece of braised pork and dropped it into Quiana's bowl.

"Quiana is such a thoughtful girl," Mom praised. "Not like some people who have no sense of the bigger picture and only know how to stir up trouble."

Quiana gave a sugary-sweet smile. "Thank you, Ms. Wright. But Yvonne… she probably just wasn't feeling well. Please don't be mad at her."

"Me? Mad at her?" Mom scoffed. "Why would I waste my breath? She's been spoiled rotten by that deadbeat father of hers. She's all drama and does nothing but embarrass me day in and day out!"

Just then, the phone in her pocket rang.

She answered it with an annoyed huff, only to find it was the school clinic.

"Ms. Wright, has the student who fainted been brought in yet? We've been waiting for her."

"No, and don't bother!" Mom snapped. "She fainted from low blood sugar and is lying out on the field. She's not going to die. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill."

With that, she hung up.

I stared at the glistening plate of braised pork on the table. It used to be my absolute favorite.

I reached out, trying to grab just one piece, but my fingers passed straight through it.

I couldn't touch anything. I couldn't feel anything.

Mom was still venting. "Honestly, how did I end up giving birth to someone like her? She's nothing but a headache. If she were even half as well-behaved as Quiana, I'd be laughing in my sleep."

The meal ended amid cheerful laughter.

…

When school let out that afternoon, Mom walked out of the building with a few other teachers, handbag in tow.

As she reached the edge of the track, she finally seemed to remember something.

She frowned, making her way toward me with obvious reluctance.

"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. "Still sleeping? Just wait until we get home. I'm going to give her a piece of my mind!"

She walked up to me and gave my leg a sharp kick. "Stop playing dead! Get up! We're going home!"

My body didn't budge. It had settled into a strange, eerie rigidity against the grass.

Her annoyance flared. She leaned down and reached for my arm to yank me up. "I'm telling you—"

Her voice cut off the instant her fingers brushed my skin. It was a coldness and stiffness that didn't belong to the living.

She froze. Then, trembling, she held her fingers beneath my nose.

No breath.

In the next heartbeat, all the strength drained from her body, and she collapsed onto the ground.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, and the school doctor nearby came rushing over.

He knelt, peeled back my eyelids, checked my carotid pulse, and finally shook his head in defeat.

"Her pupils are fully dilated. It's too late."

He paused, his voice heavy. "Judging by the degree of rigor mortis, she's been dead for at least four hours."

"No!" Mom shrieked like a madwoman. "That's impossible! She's perfectly healthy! She's faking it! She's just trying to trick me!"

She threw herself onto me, frantically performing CPR. She pumped my cold chest with desperate force, but my body remained a hollow vessel.

"Yvonne! Get up right now! Do you hear me? Stop trying to scare me!"

A crowd of students who hadn't left yet began to gather, whispering in shock.

"Oh my god… She's actually dead."

"I knew something was wrong at noon, but her mom wouldn't even let us call 911."

"Her own mother literally drove her to death."

The piercing wail of sirens grew louder as police cars and ambulances approached.

The police set up a cordon, separating me from Mom's hysterical grief, as if we now belonged to two different worlds.

The medical examiner handed her a crumpled slip of paper, the indignation in his eyes barely contained.

"We found this in your daughter's pocket," he said grimly.