Part 1Don’t You Believe Me Now

The only reason my mom ever needed to believe I was faking was the two sick days I’d taken. Two times was all it took for her to decide I loved playing hooky more than I feared failing.

When my temperature spiked again at school, the principal’s office called my mom. But all I heard was a cold snort from the receiver.

“Ms. Harrison, please don’t let her fool you. Willow is capable of anything to get out of class.”

Ms. Harrison’s voice was firm. “Lydia, Willow has a fever of 104 degrees. If it goes any higher, it could be life-threatening.”

Only then did my mother agree to come.

I waited in the nurse’s office for what felt like an eternity, but my mother never showed. I had to brace against the biting December wind and walk home alone.

The moment I managed to open the front door, Mom’s hand shot out and pressed against my forehead. Then, with a cold, cruel smirk, she shoved me back and slammed the door, locking me out.

“I knew you were faking it again! Your forehead is ice cold, where’s the fever? Willow, you are truly a disappointment. You’ll stop at nothing to get out of studying, will you?”

The wind outside intensified. My vision was swimming in black spots. As consciousness started to fade, I had one desperate, silent thought:

Mom, can you please believe me this one time?

* * *

The winter wind felt like a thousand tiny knives, scraping my face raw.

My body was radiating heat now, my brain slow and thick with fever. All my strength was leached away; I couldn’t even stand straight. My eyes rolled back, and the world tilted until I collapsed heavily onto the cold, unforgiving concrete path.

All I could hear was the howl of the wind and my own harsh, ragged breathing. Each breath seared my throat, like inhaling fire.

A primal instinct for survival flickered to life. I dragged myself toward the iron front door and used every ounce of remaining energy to pound on the metal.

“Mom… I’m not lying.”

“Mom… I feel so sick. I think… I think I’m going to pass out…”

I pressed my ear against the wood, and the sound of approaching footsteps sparked a tiny, desperate flame of hope.

Did she believe me? Is she feeling sorry for me? Is she finally going to let me inside?

The joy was suffocated the moment I heard her voice, ice-cold, from the other side of the door.

“It’s been two minutes, and you’re already making a scene about dying! Two minutes!”

“Why can’t you put this much effort into your grades? You’ll stay right there and think about what you’ve done!”

She let out a dramatic sigh.

“Willow, don’t blame your mother. I’m doing this for your own good.”

“If you don’t suffer through the pain of studying now, you’ll suffer through the pain of a worthless life later! You can have a good reflection out there!”

I wanted to plead, to explain, but her footsteps were already receding.

It had only been two minutes, but with the freezing wind whipping around me, it felt like an eternity.

A familiar rhythm of footsteps cut through my fading consciousness—Dad was home.

He spotted me curled by the door and his face immediately darkened. He rushed forward and knelt, pulling me into his arms.

“Willow! What are you doing out here? You’re freezing!”

“Get inside now! It’s too cold to leave a kid out in this!”

He lifted me onto his back, and the familiar warmth pulled me momentarily back from the edge of the void.

But as soon as he cracked the door open, Mom burst out. She slapped Dad’s arm away, her voice a sharp screech.

“Don’t you dare let her trick you! This girl is faking sick to skip school!”

“Look at her report card—she dropped ten points and two whole ranks! All her energy is spent on these cheap tricks!”

Dad frowned, looking at my ghostly pale face, his tone wavering.

“She doesn’t look like she’s faking, Lydia. What if she really is sick…?”

“And it’s freezing out here. She’s small. She can’t handle this.”

“Sick? What kind of sick?”

Mom grabbed Dad’s hand and forced it onto my forehead.

“Feel it yourself! She’s clammy and cold. Does she feel like she has a fever?!”

“She’s just putting on a show for sympathy so she doesn’t have to study!”

Dad’s hand touched my skin. I was so far gone that my body had broken out in a cold sweat. To his touch, I really didn’t feel hot.

He hesitated, and the worry on his face visibly softened.

Seeing this, Mom immediately cranked up her volume.

“See! What did I tell you! She’s an actress! So young, and already learning these rotten little ways!”

Dad knitted his brows. “Still, this punishment is a bit much.”

She roughly pushed me away from him.

“Locked out? So what? We go for walks longer than two hours in this weather! What could possibly happen in two hours?”

“If we don’t teach her a lesson today, she’ll try to fake sick again next week!”

Her eyes flickered over my purple-tipped fingers, but she hardened her heart and spoke to Dad.

“Grant! I am doing this for her future. What will she do if she doesn’t study now?”

“We won’t be here forever to protect her. She can eat a little suffering now, or a lifetime of it later. Can’t you see the difference?”

Dad seemed convinced. He carefully set me down by the door.

“Your mother is right. You need to think about what will happen to you if you don’t focus on your studies.”

With that, he followed Mom back inside.

Mom slammed the door again—a deafening thud—and the lock clicked into place.

The cold wind whipped dry leaves and ice flakes onto me. My whole body shuddered. My consciousness was receding again.

My body temperature was dropping, point by painful point. Life felt like it was draining slowly out of my fingertips.

I struggled to keep my heavy eyelids open, staring at the closed door, holding onto one final, hollow thought:

But Dad and Mom, do I even have a future to worry about anymore?