After I Died, They All Felt Sorry For Me

In senior year, every moment counted, and as the most prestigious school in the county, extra classes were given.

Out of the seven days in a week, we only got half a day off on Sundays.

That half-day was a precious commodity.

My injuries had healed significantly. As a teenage girl, I was just as concerned with my appearance as anyone else.

On that Sunday afternoon, I wore a long dress.

"Mom, I'm going out to buy something. I might be back a bit late tonight," I said.

She looked up from her work and firmly responded, "No, you're staying home. After your exam results, you have no business going out. Stay home and study."

"But I've made plans with Lucy. She's waiting for me."

"That's even more reason not to go. I've told you her grades are slipping. You shouldn't hang out with her. You need to focus on your own studies. Now, be a good girl and go back to your room to do your homework."

I wanted to argue, but her piercing glare silenced me.

"Don't make me call your dad. I'm only doing this to make sure you get into a good college."

My eyes stung with tears.

It was always like this—her way was always the right way, controlling me for my own good.

I could only slump back to my room, where my favorite stuffed bear, Strawberry Bear, brightened my mood a little.

A while later, instead of knocking, she barged into my room.

I had asked before for some privacy and requested they knock before entering, but their disdainful looks said it all.

"You're my daughter. What's with the need for privacy? Back in my day, we all shared one room, mixed genders and all. You should be grateful."

Times had changed, but I couldn't argue with her.

Even if I was right, I had no room to defend myself.

Ashley came in with a tray of fruit and milk. Seeing me studying diligently, she looked pleased. "Here, have a snack before you continue."

"Just put it down. I'll drink it later," I said, looking at the walnut milk—a flavor I hated.

"I heard heating it makes it more nutritious, so I warmed it up for you. Drink up."

"I don't want it right now…"

She cut me off immediately. "This carton cost over eighty dollars. Do you have any idea how expensive that is? I bought it to help with your brain function. With your dad being the sole breadwinner, money doesn't grow on trees. I can't work while I'm taking care of you, so don't throw a tantrum. Drink it now."

Ah, so she thinks I'm upset about not being allowed out.

But that wasn't it—I just really disliked the taste.

Under her watchful gaze, I forced myself to drink the nasty milk in one big gulp.

Satisfied, she finally left the room.