My eyes were so dry they burned, and my vision had started to blur.

I swallowed the emotions churning inside me and spoke, my voice hoarse：

“Mom, I dropped out after middle school.”

She froze for a second, then her expression darkened. She shot up from the couch：

“Thelma Hayward, your father and I both have master's degrees. How is it that you only have a middle school education?”

“Were you just goofing off in the countryside all those years?”

Beside her, Gwendolen let out a scornful laugh：

“Exactly, sis. All that slacking off just makes Mom and Dad look bad.”

I stood where I was, silent, staring at her with hollow eyes.

She had always been like this. Never once gave me a chance to explain before jumping straight to blame.

Just like the year I turned eight, when Dad's accident happened.

That day, there was so much blood on the ground, and I was falling apart inside, desperate to cry.

But my eyes ached so badly that the tears wouldn't come. All I could do was hold it in.

In her eyes, that made me a cold-blooded monster.

Now it was the same. She never asked why I dropped out. She'd already decided it was because I was lazy.

I drew a deep breath, pushed down the bitter ache in my chest, and spoke：

“The doctor said if I kept studying, I'd go blind.”

I remembered that day in class, the sudden dizziness, the way every word on the board dissolved into massive blotches of light.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The doctor said I had a congenital absence of tear glands. My eyes couldn't produce tears to keep themselves lubricated. Years of straining them, focusing on one spot for hours, had left my corneas dry and the surface tissue damaged. Any more, and I'd lose my sight completely.

The words had barely left my mouth when the anger drained from my mother's face：

“Go blind? What do you mean, go blind? Didn't your grandmother take you to a hospital? Why didn't you say something sooner?”

Before I could answer, Gwendolen cut in：

“Mom, don't fall for it. It can't possibly be that serious.”

“She's been wearing those sunglasses since she got here, putting on a whole performance. If you ask me, she's faking it so you'll feel guilty.”

The moment those words landed, my mother's face went rigid with fury.

“When I sent you to the countryside, it was so you'd toughen up and fix that attitude of yours. I never imagined you'd turn out like this.”

Her tone was pure disappointment, and she shook her head again and again：

“You both came from the same womb. Look at your sister, responsible and driven, never giving me a moment's worry. Then look at you, never putting your energy toward anything worthwhile, always scheming for the next excuse.”

The angrier she got, the more she couldn't stand it. She reached for my sunglasses：

“Quit the act!”

I flinched, turning my head away, both hands flying up to shield the frames.

My eyes were getting worse by the day. Even slightly bright light was more than I could bear.

Without the sunglasses, I couldn't keep my eyes open at all.

My voice came out thin, almost pleading：

“Mom, I'm telling the truth. Please, just believe me.”

She hesitated, something flickering across her face, before she finally spoke：

“Fine. If there's really a problem, we'll go to the hospital. But if I find out you've been faking this, you'll answer for it.”

Something stirred inside my chest. The doctor back in town had told me years ago that I'd waited too long, that recovery would be nearly impossible.

But now I was back in the city, where the best hospitals in the country were. A small, stubborn flicker of hope still lived somewhere inside me.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still a way.

Before I could say a word, Gwendolen spoke up：

“Mom, let's go to that hospital we've been to before. The eye doctor there is a friend of yours from school. Since we know her, we won't even have to wait in line. Super convenient.”

She leaned in slightly, her lips close to my ear, and whispered：

“I've known about your eye problem for a long time. Grandma used to call Mom all the time asking her to wire money for your treatment. Mom was always too busy, so she'd have me go to the bank to do the transfers. But I never sent you a single dollar. Not once.”

I stared at her, disbelief cracking through me as rage tore up my veins：

“Why would you do that?”

I'd had a chance to be cured. And my own sister had destroyed it with her bare hands.

I lost control. I lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

My mother rushed over and shoved me away：

“Thelma, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Your sister went out of her way to pull strings so you could skip the line and get seen today, and you turn around and attack her?”

I tried to explain：

“Mom, I didn't, she was the one who……”

Before I could finish, Gwendolen's face crumpled into a picture of wounded innocence：

“If I did something to upset you, I'm sorry, okay? Please don't be mad.”

I shook my head, opened my mouth to repeat what Gwendolen had just whispered to me, but the words died on my tongue because the doctor stepped out.

What she said next froze my mother in place.

“Nothing wrong with her eyes. Just a bit of strain from overuse. Spend less time staring at your phone and you'll be fine.”

The color drained from my mother's face, then flooded back dark and livid.

I stood there, stunned. But the very next second it hit me. Gwendolen had arranged this.

I turned to look at her. She curved her lips upward, triumph bright in her eyes.

Before I could react, my mother stormed forward and slapped me across the face.

The blow was vicious. It knocked my sunglasses clean off.

Light stabbed into my eyes like needles, and the pain forced them shut instantly.

I crouched down after a couple of seconds, hands sweeping blindly across the floor, desperate to find the glasses.

But before my fingers reached them, a sharp crack split the air.

My mother's voice came from above me：

“What are you looking for? You fake being sick and lie to your own family day after day, and now that you've been caught you still won't quit?”

“Thelma, I have never been more disappointed in you.”

Then came the sound of two sets of footsteps walking away.

I crumpled to the ground, too drained to hold myself up. My eyes burned. The ache in my chest was worse.

A stranger's hand found my arm and helped me upright, their voice gentle：

“Your mom and your sister already left. You should try to catch up and apologize.”

I said nothing. I clenched my teeth, braced my weight against the wall, and inched forward.

Afraid of falling, I could only take two steps before forcing my eyelids open just enough to check where I was. Each time I opened my eyes, the pain shook through my whole body.

Even with all that care, I still went down hard.

My palms scraped across the pavement, and a wide patch of skin tore away in an instant.

A passerby hurried over to help me up and asked for a family member's number.

I swallowed the pain and gave them my mother's phone number.

They called and explained that I'd fallen and was hurt.

All that came back through the phone was my mother's voice, thick with disgust：

“Putting on a show by herself wasn't enough, so now she's got someone else playing along? Thelma, you really are something.”

The line went dead.

The stranger stood there, at a loss for words, murmured a few things meant to comfort me, and left.

The street was empty again. Just me, alone.

I gritted my teeth and, clinging to the last scrap of memory in my head, dragged myself one step at a time back the way I'd come.

I forced my eyes open again and again, only to squeeze them shut each time as the pain tore through me. My whole body shook.

When I finally mustered the courage to try once more, the faint outlines I'd still been able to make out were gone. Everything had plunged into total darkness.

I ignored the searing agony in my eyes and kept trying, opening and closing them over and over.

No matter how many times I tried, there was nothing but black.

The last thread of resistance inside me snapped. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground.

A rough voice cut through the air：

“Are you blind? Standing in the middle of the road in broad daylight. You got a death wish or something? Move!”

A car horn blared right next to me, so loud my whole body locked up.

I scrambled to push myself off the ground, desperate to get to the side of the road.

But I couldn't tell which direction anything was anymore. I stumbled blindly, feet shuffling in no particular direction.

Before I could even steady myself, something massive slammed into me. Pain ripped through every inch of my body in a single, blinding instant.

Screams erupted around me：

“Someone got hit! Someone got hit!”

My mind went dim. Then dark. Then nothing at all.

When I opened my eyes again, I could see. Clearly. A traffic officer was stringing up caution tape along the roadside.

Joy surged through me. My eyes, they were better?

But the second I turned my head, I saw her. Me. Lying in a pool of blood on the asphalt.

The realization hit a beat too late. I was already dead.

I stood there, numb, watching the driver who'd hit me explain to the officer：

“It really wasn't my fault. She walked right into the road. I was driving normally.”

Several other drivers nearby chimed in：

“That's right. We all saw her wandering around in the middle of the street. Honestly, she might've done it on purpose for an insurance scam.”

“Yeah. There are cameras everywhere on this stretch. Just pull the footage.”

The officers pulled the surveillance footage soon after.

Every frame confirmed exactly what the witnesses had said.

I smiled bitterly. Dead was fine.

Dead meant I wouldn't have to suffer like this anymore. Dead meant I could see Grandma again.

Back in the living room, my mother kept glancing up at the clock on the wall, muttering：

“Your sister's been out forever. Why isn't she back yet?”

Gwendolen answered without looking up：

“She probably just wants to walk around. It's been a while since she's been back.”

My mother frowned, irritation tightening her face：

“She's the older sister and she can't even be considerate enough to come home for dinner? We're all sitting here waiting for her.”

Mid-sentence, her phone started buzzing nonstop. She picked it up. The neighborhood group chat was blowing up：

“Oh God, the scene was awful. Blood everywhere.”

“I know. They said she died on impact. Poor girl, she didn't even look twenty.”

My mother stared at her phone with a frown. Something about the messages seemed to remind her of how I hadn't shed a single tear when my father died in his accident. She let out a cold scoff：

“Forget about her. Let's eat.”

She had barely sat down when her phone rang again.

She answered. The voice on the other end carried a measured note of sympathy：

“Is this the mother of Thelma Hayward? Your daughter was involved in a traffic accident. I'm sorry to inform you that she has passed away.”