After I Die, My Mom Goes Crazy

Chapter 5

I followed my mom around, watching her every day as she took care of my brother. My stepfather hadn't come home in days.

Mom didn't seem to care at all as if she had grown accustomed to it.

I couldn't see her smile. She always looked busy.

She was so busy that she couldn't spare even a single moment to check on me.

My monthly phone calls received only a few dismissive words before she hurriedly hung up.

If she could just take a little time for me, maybe I wouldn't die.

If she could answer my calls, perhaps I could hold on a little longer.

When I first entered that school, someone discovered my enrollment records and shared the fact that I had been named the campus belle.

"Hey, the campus belle from Commonwealth School, what are you doing here?"

That comment led to a month of cleaning the bathrooms.

Once my mom didn't show up after a month, things only got worse.

I became their maid, washing, drying, and folding their clothes. On top of that, I had to hand-copy 32 extra academic assignments after finishing my own.

The teacher knew I was being bullied, but she just smiled at me and never intervened.

My meals were reduced to just one a day. They told me, "Servants earn their food through work, and you only deserve this one meal."

I tried to fight back, but it only ended with me getting beaten up, leaving me bruised and struggling to see.

I wasn't afraid of dying, but I didn't want to die here.

I wanted to leave. I yearned for it so much.

I looked forward to each day passing quickly. Once a year had gone by, I could finally escape this place.

But why, Mom? Why didn't you come to get me?

I enrolled on September 10, 2020, and I had been waiting, hoping for 2021 when September 10 would finally come.

But they told me they had all been left behind. Some had been stuck here for over three years without their parents showing up for them.

I started to feel hopeless and numb.

Honestly, dying here didn't seem too bad.

November 12, 2021 was my birthday, and it turned out to be the day I died.

Isn't that ironic?

My brother and I were born on the same day, but since he was born, I hadn't celebrated a birthday again.

I thought my mom would at least remember, but she didn't.

Now, my birthday became my death anniversary. Would she even remember?