Chapter 1Escaping The Woman Who Birthed Me

Ever since the divorce, my mother had become a stranger.

For three agonizing months, she had been playing a relentless, twisted game, putting my love for her through one bizarre stress test after another.

The first time, she faked food poisoning during my lunch period, sending me into a blind panic just to drag me home.

The second time, right in the middle of gym class, she called sobbing, claiming she’d been mugged and beaten on the street.

And this time—right in the middle of my AP Calculus midterm—she claimed she’d been in a horrific car crash. She told me she was hanging by a thread.

I sprinted through the pouring rain, my lungs burning, running through every catastrophic scenario in my head.

But when I finally threw open the front door, gasping for air, I found her sitting on the sofa, popping fresh cherries into her mouth and binge-watching a Netflix show.

I stood there, my face drained of color, my lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. "So. Your legs aren't crushed after all."

* * *

The hand lifting a cherry to her mouth froze. Instantly, her face twisted into a mask of pure indignation.

"What kind of nonsense is that? Why would my legs be crushed? I'm warning you, Harper, don't you dare curse me!"

She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, shouting, but then she paused, taking in the sight of my mud-splattered clothes and dripping hair.

"Why do you look like a drowned rat? You didn't even bring an umbrella."

Then, she gasped. "You got my soup all wet!"

She snatched the plastic takeout container of butternut squash soup from my trembling hands, her face etched with exaggerated heartache, muttering a string of complaints about my carelessness.

I stood rooted to the spot. Frozen.

After a long moment, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. "Mom. I walked out of my midterm for this. I ran the whole way. Why..."

Why would you lie to me?

For a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. But it vanished just as quickly. When she looked back up, she was the victim. She slammed the container of soup onto the hardwood floor.

It burst open, orange liquid splattering everywhere.

"What's more important? Your little test, or me?"

"Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Now I’m so upset I’m going to skip dinner entirely! If I get an ulcer from starving, it’ll be your fault!"

"You just don't care about me enough! If your father were still here, he’d never treat me like this!"

As she screamed at me, the phantom text began to materialize in the air in front of me again, scrolling like a live-stream chat only I could see.

[She just loves you too much. She’s terrified of losing you. Look at her hands shaking—go hug her and apologize.]

[It’s not easy being a single mom. Even if you're hurting, she's hurting more. If your dad hadn't cheated and left, she wouldn't have to carry this burden all alone.]

I collapsed to the floor, my knees hitting the wet wood, and sobbed uncontrollably. Even the simple luxury of getting angry had been stolen from me.

My parents' marriage had shattered without warning. I had spent my sophomore year living at a boarding school, and the weekend I came back, my dad abruptly packed his bags.

I still didn't understand the logistics of what had happened. All I knew was my mother shoving me toward the door, hitting my back over and over, begging me to be the one to fix it.

"You’re his daughter!" she had shrieked. "He won't abandon you! Go stop him!"

So I cried. I begged. I wrapped my arms around his waist.

It didn't work.

Right before he walked out, he knelt down and looked me in the eye. "Harper, I can't do this with your mother anymore. It’s not a sudden choice. I've wanted to leave for years."

That night, my mother held me, weeping until she was hoarse.

"He doesn't want us anymore. It’s just you and me now, Harper, do you hear me? He let some homewrecker sink her claws into him, and he threw us away."

"You're all I have left!"

From that day on, I became my mother's new husband.

I was required, hour by hour, day by day, to patch up her bottomless insecurities with a suffocating, breathless brand of love.

Today was the final day of midterms. Halfway through the test, Mr. Harrison had pulled me into the hallway.

"Harper, your mother called. She said she was in a terrible pile-up on the North Bridge... she said it’s life or death. Her legs are broken. You need to go, right now!"

I hadn't even stopped to think. I grabbed my hall pass and ran.

By the time I reached the bridge, sweating and hyperventilating, there was no sign of her. No ambulances. No shattered glass. Nothing.

Dizzy and disoriented, I dialed her number with shaking fingers.

Over the line, her voice came out muffled and childishly stubborn. "Harper, I want butternut squash soup from that place downtown. Go get it, or I'm not telling you what hospital I'm at."

The woman had scoffed, playing hard to get.

I had scrounged the last crumpled five-dollar bill from my backpack, ran another two miles, and finally bought the soup. When I called her back, she casually laughed and said she was just at home.

These were her obedience tests. They wrapped around my throat like ivy, tightening every day. And she loved every second of it.

Whenever a spark of rebellion flared in my chest, those floating phantom comments would appear, flashing across my vision, condemning me for being an ungrateful, unfilial daughter.