Chapter 5: Running From My Own Family

I packed my things and moved back to the dorm that night.

The dorm room was small and cluttered, but it was mine. I collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the radiator. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

During that time, I went to class by day and devoured books in the library at night.

The library became my sanctuary. I’d lose myself in textbooks, scribbling notes until my hand cramped. The quiet was soothing, a balm for my frayed nerves.

Dad always thought Lila was the smart one, but he never noticed—I’ve got almost a photographic memory.

I could remember entire pages after just one read. I’d ace quizzes without even trying, but no one ever seemed to notice. I kept it to myself, my own little secret.

Anything I wanted to learn, I just had to read it once or twice, and it stuck.

I breezed through chapters, absorbing information like a sponge. It was the one thing I could control, the one thing that was truly mine.

Mom called me several times—first trying to persuade me gently, then accusing me of being ungrateful.

Her voicemails piled up—soft at first, then sharp, her words twisting into guilt trips and accusations. I stopped answering, letting her voice fade into static.

I just don’t get it. I only want to live. We’re both their daughters, but because Lila died, they feel guilty and want to make it up to her—even if it means sacrificing me.

It didn’t seem fair. I wanted to scream at them, to make them see me. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. Their minds were made up.