I Only Had to Die for Mom to Stop Pretending

"On your marks…" Coach Miller, the PE teacher, called out, raising the starter pistol.

I stared at Mom's profile. Her face was a mask of ice.

She had already turned away, fussing over Quiana's collar with a smile that was both warm and graceful.

In that moment, the ache in my heart drowned out the physical pain wracking my body.

I let go of the paper in my pocket. In the end, I couldn't bring myself to pull out the diagnostic report.

What would be the point, anyway?

She would only tear it to shreds in front of the entire class and accuse me of forging medical records to dodge the run. She would tell the world that I was the spitting image of my deadbeat, pathological liar of a father.

A shot rang out.

Like a wind-up doll, I began to move my legs mechanically.

…

The wind howled in my ears, slicing against my face like a blade.

Every breath tore through my lungs like razors. My heart clenched, hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it would burst right out of my chest.

My vision began to blur. The track beneath my feet twisted and warped.

Still, I ran. I had to. Mom had told me that unless I dropped dead on that track, I had to finish.

I didn't want to disappoint her again. I didn't want her to see me as nothing but an embarrassment.

The finish line was right there, and just beyond it, I saw her.

She stood with her back to the track, carefully unscrewing a bottle of water and handing it to Quiana with tender care.

The smile on her face held a tenderness I had never once received. She didn't even glance my way.

I ran until the last shred of my strength was spent, crossing the white line on pure momentum.

A metallic sweetness flooded my throat. I collapsed hard onto the ground, the impact rattling every bone in my body.

In the final moment before my consciousness slipped away, I saw Mom finally walking toward me.

She stood over me, her brow furrowed in a deep, contemptuous scowl.

Then, she prodded my arm with the toe of her shoe, her voice dripping with cold annoyance. "Stop playing dead. Get up."

Those were the last words I ever heard.

My body felt weightless, as if I were drifting upward.

I looked down and saw "me" lying on the grass. My face was a mottled bluish-purple, my lips drained of color, my body completely still.

So this was what dying felt like.

The pain in my chest was gone. I could finally breathe.

But as I gazed down at Mom, a hollow ache bloomed where my heart used to be—deeper and more devastating than anything I had felt while alive.

The disgust on her face was barely contained. She kicked my body again, her patience wearing thin. "Get up already! You're blocking the track for the next group!"

I remained still.

The other students crowded around, and a few let out hushed, startled gasps.

"Ms. Wright, something's… wrong with Yvonne. Her face has gone completely white."

"Yeah, should we call the school clinic?"

Mom's expression darkened instantly.

"Stop making such a fuss!" she barked, her voice ringing with cold authority. "She's just faking a sugar crash. It's not like this is the first time."

She snapped her gaze toward the crowd. "Are you all just hoping something goes wrong in our class? If word gets out that someone fainted during a half-mile run, it'll be a disgrace to this entire class!"

One of the braver students pulled out his phone, his voice shaking. "Ms. Wright, we really should call 911. Yvonne doesn't look right—"

"Put that phone away!" Mom hissed.

She snatched the phone right out of his hand, her gaze icy. "No one is calling anyone! If you do, I'll treat it as a deliberate breach of discipline. You can forget about any honors or awards this year!"

The field fell deathly silent. No one dared utter another word.

Mom pointed at two boys standing nearby and issued a sharp command. "You two, move her off to the side. Just leave her there. She'll come around on her own in half an hour."

The boys exchanged uneasy glances but didn't dare disobey.

They hoisted my limp body and dragged me to the edge of the field. My head knocked against the grass with a dull thud, but no one cared.

I hovered in the air, watching Mom return to Quiana's side as if nothing had happened. She asked, with genuine concern, if Quiana wanted some warm honey water.

Envy swelled in my chest. I couldn't remember when it started, but under the guise of avoiding favoritism, even calling her "Mom" had become a luxury I could no longer afford.

Sunlight spilled over my body as it grew colder and colder.

I whispered into the void, "Mom, I'm so cold. Won't you please just come hold me?"

But all I could do was watch, unable to make a single sound.

A breeze drifted past, and my spirit wavered with it.

…

Coach Miller's whistle shrieked again, signaling the start of the next heat.

That practiced, graceful smile returned to Mom's face. She clapped her hands, cheering on the runners with a voice that rang out loud and full of enthusiasm.