For months, I felt unwell after every meal. “Stop exaggerating,” Dad would say whenever I got sick.

But when my blood test results came back, my stepmother’s expression changed completely. Soon after, authorities arrived at the house…

The first time I got sick in the new kitchen, I apologized.

That was who I used to be. The kind of girl who said sorry even when her own body was struggling.

Dad barely glanced up from his newspaper as I leaned over the sink, gripping the faucet, my breakfast coming back up in waves of heat and discomfort.

“You’re just being dramatic again, Anna,” he muttered, as if my condition were just background noise in his routine.

Deanna stepped behind me, resting a light hand on my back. Her touch felt warm, almost caring, but it never lingered long enough to feel genuine. Her concern looked carefully arranged, like something rehearsed.

“Maybe you should stay home today,” she said softly. “I’ll make you my special tea. It always helps.”

The thought of drinking anything she made made my stomach turn again.

“No,” I said, forcing myself upright. My reflection in the metal faucet looked pale and unfocused. “I have a chemistry test.”

Her eyes tightened for just a moment—so subtle I might have missed it before. But now I noticed everything.