Chapter 5: Justice and New Beginnings

The doctor’s voice was calm, but the words hit me like a punch. I stared at the ceiling, numb.

The doctor’s voice was calm, but the words hit me like a punch. I stared at the ceiling, numb.

The police called my dad, and that day I learned the truth my mother had lied to me about for fifteen years. My uncle didn’t die because I wanted to eat berries, but because my mother, while pregnant with me, wanted to eat berries, and my uncle died in a car accident while buying them for her. It was an accident, and had nothing to do with me at all.

Fifteen years of shame and silence, all because my mother couldn’t bear her own guilt. I felt hollow, angry, and strangely free, all at once.

But that was fifteen years—a whole fifteen years!

I pressed my face into the pillow, tears streaming down my cheeks. Fifteen years. I would never get them back.

That day, in the police station, I glared at my mother with hatred for the first time. How I wished she could taste all the injustice I’d suffered for fifteen years.

My hands clenched into fists. I stared her down, daring her to look away. She couldn’t meet my eyes.

The next day, he took me to school to fill out the application. The school notice said the application period was June 3rd to 5th, and today was the last day.

I roughly understood what was going on. It turned out I scored first in the county, so the school prepared a reward plaque and a $3,000 bonus. The teacher called my mother yesterday, but she didn’t tell anyone, and rushed to school alone to get the money.

She’d tried to claim my prize for herself, her greed on full display. The teachers, though, stood their ground. For once, the system worked in my favor.

Maybe my dad looked too fierce. Even though the police held him back, my mother and Hailey shrank back in fear. Turns out, they could be scared too.

I watched them, a strange sense of justice settling in my chest. Maybe, finally, things would change.

After leaving the police station, I never wanted to return to that place I barely called home, but the question was where to live.

The thought of going back made my skin crawl. I wanted somewhere safe, somewhere I could breathe.

My dad wanted me to go with him, but I said I wanted to stay with my grandma. He asked why not go with him, and I asked, "Did you ask Aunt Melissa if I could?"

His face fell, and I saw the guilt flicker in his eyes. Aunt Melissa’s dislike was an open secret.

My dad took out a paper with four schools written on it, a bit silly as he said, "Quinn, I always thought your grades were bad, so I only looked at vocational schools for you. After I found out your score yesterday, I quickly picked these. See if they’re okay."

He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. I scanned the list, recognizing the names of my dream schools. My heart swelled. He tried. That meant something.

I was terrified and couldn’t sleep for days. Desperate, I secretly used Mrs. Patterson’s phone to call my dad, hoping to stay at grandma’s for a few days, but Aunt Melissa answered. Her voice was cold as she asked what I wanted. Even though I was very young, I could feel Aunt Melissa’s dislike, so I mumbled it was nothing. Aunt Melissa bluntly warned me, "Your dad has to take care of your brother now, he has no energy for you. Don’t call if it’s nothing."

Her words were sharp, final. I hung up the phone, tears streaming down my face. After that, I stopped calling.

After that, my relationship with my dad was completely cut off.

"Quinn, who are you giving that $3,000 to?" my mother suddenly spoke up on my left, her voice buzzing so I could barely hear with my right ear. I ignored her, just filled out the application with my dad, then the teacher came in to take me to the auditorium for the award ceremony.

Her words barely registered. I focused on my dad, on the forms, on the future that finally felt possible.

"Quinn, who are you giving that $3,000 to?" my mother suddenly spoke up on my left, her voice buzzing so I could barely hear with my left ear. I ignored her, just filled out the application with my dad, then the teacher came in to take me to the auditorium for the award ceremony.

I held the red award plaque, took photos with the teacher, the principal, and all the school leaders.

The auditorium lights were bright, the applause warm. For a moment, I felt like I belonged, like I was more than the sum of my scars. I belonged.

But I didn’t expect to see my mother in the teachers’ office, apparently arguing with a teacher. When the teacher saw me, he immediately stood up and said, "Who said Quinn Delaney couldn’t come? Here she is!"

My mother’s face twisted when she saw me. The teacher’s relief was obvious, his smile warm and genuine. I felt a flicker of pride.

I roughly understood what was going on. It turned out I scored first in the county, so the school prepared a reward plaque and a $3,000 bonus. The teacher called my mother yesterday, but she didn’t tell anyone, and rushed to school alone to get the money.

She’d tried to claim my prize for herself, her greed on full display. The teachers, though, stood their ground. For once, the system worked in my favor.

But luckily, she had never attended a parent meeting, so the teachers didn’t recognize her. Even with my birth certificate to prove she was my mother, the teacher refused to give her the money, insisting on following procedure because there would be an award ceremony, and I had to be there to receive it and take photos. My mother, seeing the $3,000 so close yet unreachable, was anxious and started arguing with the teacher.

Her voice was shrill, echoing down the hallway. The other parents stared, whispering behind their hands. I kept my head down, embarrassed but strangely satisfied.

My dad said that after learning I got first in the county, he told Aunt Melissa and grandma, wanting to celebrate with a family meal. He hadn’t done much for me over the years, so today was a reunion. I nodded and sat with him.

Aunt Melissa slid a plate of fries in front of me, her eyes soft. My brothers grinned, raising their sodas in a toast. I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the warmth.

During the meal, Aunt Melissa had my brothers bring sodas to toast me, teaching them to say, "Congratulations to sis for getting first in the county." I clinked glasses with them and took two hundred-dollar bills from my bonus, giving one to each brother.

He looked sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. I scanned the list, recognizing the names of my dream schools. My heart swelled. He tried. That meant something.

I took the paper and saw that it included three of the schools I had planned to apply to, which warmed my heart. He really put effort into choosing schools for me. He even said that even if my grades were bad, he would have let me go to vocational school.

For the first time, I felt like maybe he saw me—not as a burden, but as his daughter. I smiled, blinking back tears.

"Quinn, who are you giving that $3,000 to?" my mother suddenly spoke up on my left, her voice buzzing so I could barely hear with my right ear. I ignored her, just filled out the application with my dad, then the teacher came in to take me to the auditorium for the award ceremony.

Her words barely registered. I focused on my dad, on the forms, on the future that finally felt possible.

I held the red award plaque, took photos with the teacher, the principal, and all the school leaders.

The auditorium lights were bright, the applause warm. For a moment, I felt like I belonged, like I was more than the sum of my scars. I belonged.

Two days later, I received two packages: one was the acceptance letter from Silver Hollow High School, the other was a matching white-and-pink phone case from Aunt Melissa.

I tore open the envelope, my hands shaking. The letterhead was crisp, the words official. I was in. The phone case was soft, decorated with tiny hearts. I slipped it on, smiling. I made it.

That same day, the local news came to interview me. During the interview, my grandma kept complaining about my misfortune.

Soon, the interview feature about me began to circulate on all local news platforms. With the middle school exam already a hot topic, and the story of the county’s top scorer being forced to jump off a building so sensational, my story went viral, and soon the whole country knew I had an inhuman mother.

My phone buzzed with notifications, strangers sending messages of support. For once, the world saw me—not as a victim, but as a survivor. I was seen.

Soon, the interview feature about me began to circulate on all local news platforms. With the middle school exam already a hot topic, and the story of the county’s top student being forced to jump off a building so sensational, my story went viral, and soon the whole country knew I had an inhuman mother.