The Girl Who Couldn't Cry,A Mother's Unforgivable Betrayal

My eyes were so dry they burned, and my vision had started to blur.

I swallowed the emotions churning inside me and spoke, my voice hoarse：

“Mom, I dropped out after middle school.”

She froze for a second, then her expression darkened. She shot up from the couch：

“Thelma Hayward, your father and I both have master's degrees. How is it that you only have a middle school education?”

“Were you just goofing off in the countryside all those years?”

Beside her, Gwendolen let out a scornful laugh：

“Exactly, sis. All that slacking off just makes Mom and Dad look bad.”

I stood where I was, silent, staring at her with hollow eyes.

She had always been like this. Never once gave me a chance to explain before jumping straight to blame.

Just like the year I turned eight, when Dad's accident happened.

That day, there was so much blood on the ground, and I was falling apart inside, desperate to cry.

But my eyes ached so badly that the tears wouldn't come. All I could do was hold it in.

In her eyes, that made me a cold-blooded monster.

Now it was the same. She never asked why I dropped out. She'd already decided it was because I was lazy.

I drew a deep breath, pushed down the bitter ache in my chest, and spoke：

“The doctor said if I kept studying, I'd go blind.”

I remembered that day in class, the sudden dizziness, the way every word on the board dissolved into massive blotches of light.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The doctor said I had a congenital absence of tear glands. My eyes couldn't produce tears to keep themselves lubricated. Years of straining them, focusing on one spot for hours, had left my corneas dry and the surface tissue damaged. Any more, and I'd lose my sight completely.

The words had barely left my mouth when the anger drained from my mother's face：

“Go blind? What do you mean, go blind? Didn't your grandmother take you to a hospital? Why didn't you say something sooner?”

Before I could answer, Gwendolen cut in：

“Mom, don't fall for it. It can't possibly be that serious.”

“She's been wearing those sunglasses since she got here, putting on a whole performance. If you ask me, she's faking it so you'll feel guilty.”

The moment those words landed, my mother's face went rigid with fury.

“When I sent you to the countryside, it was so you'd toughen up and fix that attitude of yours. I never imagined you'd turn out like this.”

Her tone was pure disappointment, and she shook her head again and again：

“You both came from the same womb. Look at your sister, responsible and driven, never giving me a moment's worry. Then look at you, never putting your energy toward anything worthwhile, always scheming for the next excuse.”

The angrier she got, the more she couldn't stand it. She reached for my sunglasses：

“Quit the act!”

I flinched, turning my head away, both hands flying up to shield the frames.

My eyes were getting worse by the day. Even slightly bright light was more than I could bear.

Without the sunglasses, I couldn't keep my eyes open at all.

My voice came out thin, almost pleading：

“Mom, I'm telling the truth. Please, just believe me.”

She hesitated, something flickering across her face, before she finally spoke：

“Fine. If there's really a problem, we'll go to the hospital. But if I find out you've been faking this, you'll answer for it.”

Something stirred inside my chest. The doctor back in town had told me years ago that I'd waited too long, that recovery would be nearly impossible.

But now I was back in the city, where the best hospitals in the country were. A small, stubborn flicker of hope still lived somewhere inside me.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still a way.

Before I could say a word, Gwendolen spoke up：

“Mom, let's go to that hospital we've been to before. The eye doctor there is a friend of yours from school. Since we know her, we won't even have to wait in line. Super convenient.”