Mom I Was Never Lying Novel by AvaXox25 _ Novel





Mom I Was Never Lying Chapter 01

Mom was the best doctor in the city, and yet ever since I was little, I'd been terrified of getting sick.
Any time I fell ill, she'd accuse me of faking it—saying I did it just to spite her, as though my illness were an insult to her medical expertise.
When I was little, I told her I had a cold. She called me a liar, then threw me into ice water and left me there until I ended up with pneumonia.
When I told her I'd eaten something bad and had diarrhea, she still didn't believe me. She cursed me out for lying again, then forced an entire carton of milk down my throat even though I was lactose intolerant. I ended up with acute gastroenteritis.
Later, I developed depression. When I told her about it, her face was filled with contempt. She hung me upside down over the staircase and forced me to admit I was pretending.
The hospital report proved it, but it only made her angrier. She pointed at me and yelled, "I'm a doctor, yet my daughter is mentally ill. What will people think of me?"
I looked into Mom's eyes, blazing with fury, and gave a faint smile.
It was okay, Mom.
As long as I was dead, I'd never get sick again.
***
Holding the psychological evaluation report, I stepped out of the hospital into the rain.
Raindrops struck the paper, blurring the words "moderate depression" into a smear of ink.
Two weeks earlier, I'd finally worked up the courage to tell Mom, "Mom, the school counselor said I might need to see a doctor."
As soon as I finished, her face darkened.
"You're starting this again, aren't you?
"Sabrina, I know the symptoms of depression better than you do.
"You're only trying to spite me and avoid doing anything!"
"I'm not—" I tried to explain.
"You're not?" She shot to her feet, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me toward the stairwell. "Looks to me like you need to be taught a lesson!"
She hung me upside down from the stair railing, and blood rushed to my head.
The world flipped, and my eyes went bloodshot.
Her hand clamped around my ankle, and her cold voice came down. "Take it back! Say you're not sick! Say you're faking it for attention!"
I was shaking all over from the pain, but I didn't dare cry out loud. I could only grit my teeth and endure it.
After that, I never dared say the word "sick" in front of Mom again.
But the misery didn't ease at all. If anything, it only got worse.
I wanted to cry every day. I couldn't focus on anything in class. At night, I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep.
In class, I kept staring out the window, the thought of jumping off flickering through my mind again and again.
If I jumped, would the pain stop?
I wasn't happy anymore.
I knew, with absolute clarity, that I was sick.
But I didn't dare tell Mom. I knew exactly how she would react.
When another overwhelming urge to end it all came over me, I decided I couldn't keep living like this.
So I secretly saved up my allowance and went to a private hospital, far from Mom's hospital, for a psychological evaluation.
The report came back.
The doctor pointed to the score and the written assessment and said softly, "Honey, you really do need help."
As I looked at the diagnosis, my very first thought actually was, "Mom, I really wasn't pretending."
But the next second, fear closed around my heart.
I absolutely couldn't let Mom see it.
The moment I walked out of the hospital, I tore the report into pieces and threw it in the trash.
Then I tucked the small bottle of medication the doctor had prescribed at the very bottom of my backpack.
At home, I took the pills in secret every day whenever Mom wasn't looking, thinking I could keep it hidden from her.
But just two days later, she found out.
That day, Mom came home from work and stormed straight into my bedroom.
She yanked open the drawers and tore through the desk, frantic and violent.
"Did you go to the hospital?"
I froze in terror.
Then she roared, "Victor was there this afternoon for a consultation. He saw you—in the line for Psychiatry!
"Sabrina, are you pretending to be sick again?"
Crying, I shook my head and tried to explain, my words tumbling over each other. "I'm not pretending to be sick... Mom, I really don't feel well..."
But Mom wouldn't listen. She ripped open my backpack and found the bottle of pills hidden at the bottom.
She twisted off the cap and dumped every last pill onto the floor.
Then she lifted her foot and ground them under her heel.
I rushed over like I'd lost my mind, trying to stop her. Dropping to my knees on the floor, I cried and screamed, "Don't! Mom, don't step on them! That's my medicine! I'm really sick!
"Why won't you believe me? Why am I not allowed to be sick?"
My sobbing only made Mom angrier.
She kicked me away, then pointed at me. "Shut up!" she bellowed, her voice stern.
"Sabrina, how many times do I have to tell you?! It is absolutely impossible for you to be ill!
"Look at everything you have. I hand-picked it all for you!
"I've planned your schedule, picked out your meals, even chosen your friends, all so your whole life stays as healthy and science-based as possible.
"How dare you claim to be sick under my watch?
"You're faking it! You're trying to get under my skin!"
I looked at Mom, teetering on the edge of madness, and the very last bit of hope in me vanished.
She was right. How could I possibly be sick?
I ate the balanced meals she designed, and I lived by the healthy routine she laid out.
I was the product of her scientific parenting.
How could a perfect creation have flaws?
How could I possibly be sick?
To her, it only meant that all her hard work had been for nothing.
I pressed my forehead to the floor, tears falling into the dust, and cried in a hoarse, broken voice, "I'm sorry, Mom... I'm sorry... I was pretending. I'm not sick..."

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