Chapter 5

Close to midnight, a sharp pain knifed through my belly. I doubled over, sweating, and white as paper.

In recent years the stomach pain had come more and more often. I thought it was just some stomach problems. Yesterday I nearly fainted and finally went to the hospital. The tests told a different story—worse than “serious.”

I pounded the balcony door, crying for my mother…

In pain and despair, we all call for “Mom”—for the one who once shared our blood and flesh.

The night was so quiet—just the wind and my sobbing.

“Grace…” Right before I passed out, someone called my name. It was our neighbor, a grandma.

When Mom locked me out—or threw me out—Grandma always took me in.

We live on the first floor of an old complex. The balcony wasn’t enclosed, but the railing was over a meter high. I couldn’t imagine how an eighty years old lady managed to pull me over it and into her home.

When I woke, it was morning. The pain had eased. My heart… didn’t hurt either.

Mom had promised the police she’d call if she saw me come back, so “that poor girl’s parents would have justice.”

Neighbors whispered and pointed. Some defended me loudly: “We watched Grace grow up. She’s a good kid. She’d never do something like this!”

The police ignored them. A red coat in my room matched the witness’s description exactly. There was a torn corner on the hem; fibers from it were found clenched in the dead girl’s hand. All evidence pointed at me.

After the police left, our neighbors rounded on my mother. “You’ve ruined Grace. You don’t deserve to be her mom.”

Their condemnation only made Mom angrier. She cursed Dad for dying young and wailed about how hard it’s been to drag along a burden like me.

Ever since Megan framed me for that stair fall, the neighbors had given Mom and those two nothing but cold looks. She had few friends left. She blamed me, called me her debtor, the reason her life had become so wretched.

“Don’t be sad, Mom. You still have me and Dad,” Megan crooned, hugging her, but her eyes cut toward Grandma ’s door—sharp, triumphant. She knew I was behind it.

“You’re right,” Mom sniffed. “As long as I have you and George, I’m content. As for that little curse I birthed, let her die out there. I don’t have a daughter anymore.”

She hugged Megan, both in tears. The neighbors left, shaking their heads. Mom slammed our door—rage with nowhere to go, and a warning meant to wring guilt out of me.

Relatives from my grandma’s side had begged Mom to divorce George. When she refused, they stopped being kind to her. Mom pinned it all on me: Look at what you did—I’m hated by everyone because of you.