The more the “other me” spoke, the more she justified her actions.

She began recounting all the sacrifices she had made for me, painting the picture of a daughter who, in her eyes, had become an ungrateful monster—just because she refused to eat cucumbers.

At that moment, her face twisted into something monstrous.

I gritted my teeth, forcing down my discomfort. I kept telling myself that I was doing this for Madeline, that I was acting in her best interest. Swallowing the cucumbers piece by piece, I fought back the nausea.

Afterward, she looked strangely satisfied, her face glowing with a sense of triumph—as though forcing me to eat something I disliked was a victory.

When we arrived at school, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of relief, though I didn’t understand why.

It had been years since I’d been back to a classroom.

As a high school dropout, I had a deep obsession with education, always feeling that I had somehow missed out.

Given how tormenting the morning had been, I found myself oddly eager to experience school again, hoping it would offer some kind of escape.

But the moment I walked into the classroom, someone poured a bucket of water over me.

The ice-cold water shocked me as its chill sank deep into my bones. The winter air made it worse, and I shivered uncontrollably.

Laughter erupted from the classroom, so loud that some students nearly knocked their desks over in amusement. A few girls stood by the door, grinning smugly. They were clearly the ones responsible for the prank.

I recognized them—they were the daughters of my business partners.

In my memory, they were sweet and well-behaved, which was why I always encouraged Madeline to befriend them.

Yet she always hesitated and spoke about them in whispers. She had even claimed that they bullied her.

I’d made a special trip to the school, hoping to sort things out.

The girls seemed so polite and apologized with perfect manners, claiming it was just a harmless joke. They made it sound like Madeline was the one being petty.

At the time, I couldn’t believe Madeline’s claims. How could a whole group of girls be responsible for what she accused them of?

I assumed that as the girls were also attending a prestigious school, surely they had proper upbringing and manners.

I even scolded Madeline, convinced that she was being overly sensitive. After that, whenever she brought it up, I dismissed her completely.

But now, as I stood there, shocked and confused, the girl at the front, Bella Cole, spoke up.

Her tone was dripping with disdain.

“Well, look who decided to show up. Is the wench here for class?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I never imagined I would hear such vile words come from the mouth of a young girl, full of youth and promise.

I trembled with rage and without thinking, I snapped back, “Who are you calling that? You owe me an apology!”

It was as if I’d said something outrageous. Bella slowly walked toward me, and before I could react, I felt a tug on my scalp.

She yanked my hair and slammed my head onto the desk.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been home nursing your illness and now you think you can act out like a spoiled brat?”

I struggled desperately, only to realize how weak I was in Madeline’s body.

I also noticed how thin her wrists were. Compared to the already slender Bella, Madeline looked even smaller.

The other students watched, laughing at my pitiful attempts to break free. Someone called out to Bella mockingly.

“Ha, looks like your dog doesn’t listen too well, does it, Bella?”

In the chaos, someone shoved me. I crashed into the desk, knocking it over. Books were scattered everywhere, and I felt a sharp pain as my knee hit the floor.

Bella watched me with amusement, an evil smile on her lips. “This one doesn’t listen, huh? Looks like it’ll need more training later.”

Just then, the bell rang, signaling the start of class.

The door opened and in walked Madeline’s homeroom teacher, Mr. Christopher Bradshaw. I had always thought highly of him—he was responsible and diligent.

I thought to myself that finally, my salvation had arrived.

Little did I know, things were about to take a drastic turn for the worse.

Mr. Bradshaw simply glanced at me, before he addressed Bella.

“I’ve told you before, stay away from people like her,” he said coldly.

Then he turned to me. “You’ve knocked over the desk. You’re always causing trouble, aren’t you? Of course, coming from a family like yours, I shouldn’t expect any better.”

I stumbled to my feet, disbelief flooding my mind.

I hadn’t expected him to stand by and say nothing only to ridicule me after.

Madeline had mentioned him before.

When I’d talked to him about her, he’d spoken kindly, acknowledging her rebellious phase and promising to look out for her.

But now, reflecting on his words, I realized he had only ever spoken about Madeline’s faults.

And I had foolishly believed him.

Unable to hold back, I tried to defend myself. “They started it! They poured this all over me, and—”

Mr. Bradshaw cut me off sharply.

“Stop making excuses. If you’re not the problem then why is it that you always get picked on? And now you’re arguing with me? You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?”

I fell silent, unable to find a response.

Deep down, I even found myself blaming Madeline. She couldn’t handle her social life, let alone defend herself at school.

Reluctantly, I trudged toward the door with Mr. Bradshaw’s voice trailing after me.

“So class, avoid talking to girls from unrefined families like hers. People like that have small minds…”

His words dripped with disdain for my family.

To be honest, our situation at home wasn’t that bad.

My husband passed away a few years ago and I had no choice but to leave my two children with their grandmother while I went out to work.

By sheer luck, I had secured startup funding and ran my own company. While I couldn’t compare to the wealth of the ultra-privileged, I was still well-off.

Having worked alone for so long, I’d faced unfair treatment from many sources and had to swallow my pride and push through the challenges.

Unfortunately, the people I crossed paths with were ones I couldn’t afford to offend.

When I went home, all I wanted was for my children to understand my struggles. But I never imagined Madeline would be ridiculed at school because of our background.

I felt lost.

It was a chilly winter day, and though I wore a puffer jacket, I still felt cold. On top of that, my body was soaked.

Madeline’s classroom was on the terrace where the wind blew relentlessly.

I stood there, shivering. My knees and private parts burned with pain.

We had four classes that morning, and not a single teacher seemed interested in calling me inside.

I endured the cold all morning, and by lunchtime, I thought I might finally get a break.

I fumbled for Madeline’s meal card.

When it came to my children’s necessities, I had always been unwilling to hold back so the card was loaded with money.

As soon as I entered the cafeteria, however, someone snatched the card right out of my hand.

“Well, well, look who’s here—the little cash cow,” a voice jeered.

I instinctively reached for my card, but my body trembled uncontrollably, as though my actions were driven by some primal response to trauma.

I recalled how I had been surrounded and bullied earlier in the day, and the impulse to snatch the card back was suddenly smothered.

I let them take the card and swipe it for several expensive meals.

I had once criticized Madeline for eating too much, accusing her of not valuing my hard work.

Now I realized she had never had a chance to enjoy good food.

A heavy sadness came over me.