Chapter 3

It had always been like this.

The state math olympiad training in middle school.

The Harvard summer program in high school.

Every time she heard I'd earned one of those opportunities, she'd be happy for me on the surface.

Whenever we were alone, she'd deliberately take extra painkillers right in front of me.

She made sure I saw her exhaust herself trying to scrape together the program fees, only to be humiliated and turned away at every turn.

And eventually the guilt would drown me.

So I'd give those opportunities up myself.

That was how she kept me tethered to her.

She had never once done that to Ellie.

When Ellie first moved into the dorms, my mother called her every single night.

She worried Ellie didn't have enough spending money, so she kept wiring her more.

She worried Ellie would be slighted at school, so she donated seven hundred thousand dollars to the university.

Before every major competition, she spared no expense securing Ellie a spot, just to pad her résumé.

I was her biological daughter.

Why would she do this to me?

I opened my mouth to demand an answer.

And only then noticed the call had ended long ago.

From the balcony, my mother's voice came again.

"Tell Professor Jennings to push harder. He needs to make a wreck of Bella's life so she can't graduate on schedule."

"By then, she shouldn't even have had the energy to hold down a job."

Carter Jennings.

The thesis advisor who had been harassing me for a solid year.

No wonder nothing came of it no matter how many complaints I filed with student affairs.

Even a formal complaint to the administration changed nothing.

Because my own mother had arranged all of it.

And I'd endured it like an idiot, not daring to breathe a word of it to anyone.

I collapsed onto the ground, tears and snot running down my face.

I sat there until every light in that hotel went out and the building closed for the night.

Only then did I get to my feet. I'd cried enough.

And I finally knew what I was going to do.

In my academic advisor Raffaele Carbone's office, I set the application form down in front of him.

"I want to enter the National Collegiate Physics Competition."

He stopped short.

Then he smiled and took the form.

"Bella. You finally changed your mind."

The competition was co-hosted by ten of the top universities in the country.

Placing in the competition would mean substantial prize money and a chance to study at Stanford as an exchange student.

I'd always hesitated before, because I could never stop worrying about my mother.

This time, I wasn't giving it up for anyone.

I threw myself into preparation, studying around the clock.

And right then, my mother, who hadn't contacted me in ages, suddenly called.

"Bella, how are things at school?"

"I heard you're representing the university at a competition. Is that true?"

I murmured, “Yeah.”

Her voice filled with excitement immediately, and she sounded genuinely happy for me.

"My daughter is amazing! Just do your best, don't put too much pressure on yourself. Getting into a competition at that level already proves how talented you are."

"Do you have enough money? Let me send you some. Make sure you dress properly on the day. You can't embarrass the university."

And then she covered her mouth and started coughing hard enough to bring up a lung.

The next second I heard a neighbor's voice on her end:

"Bella, your mother's cough has been getting worse. She's coughing up blood now. You should come home and take her to a doctor."

My mother snapped at her instantly:

"Don't talk nonsense. I'm perfectly fine."

Then she came back to the phone, gentle again:

"Bella, don't listen to her. I'm fine. You just focus on your competition."

"Don't worry about me."

But the coughing continued.

Cough after cough, more deliberate and more violent each time.

Listening to it, I knew exactly what she was doing.

She was applying pressure, waiting for me to cave.

Waiting for me to give up the competition and rush home to take her to the hospital.

"Mom, I'm not giving this up."

The line went silent instantly.

It was a long while before her gentle voice came back.

"Bella, I know you'll win."

For the next several days I poured everything into studying.

On the day of the mock exam, my faculty advisor hurried over with last year's competition questions.

"Bella! Do you know what you scored?"

"Eighty-nine. That's ten points higher than the winning score last year."

"At this rate, you've got a real shot at winning."

I stared at that red number on the page, my heart going fast.

And finally, competition day arrived.

I got to the campus plaza early to board the shuttle to the venue.

But Ellie was standing in front of it.

She looked at me with a small, knowing smile.

A powerful sense of dread rose in me.

The next second, my advisor stepped off the bus and looked at me with a complicated expression.