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

She leaned in slightly, her lips close to my ear, and whispered：

“I've known about your eye problem for a long time. Grandma used to call Mom all the time asking her to wire money for your treatment. Mom was always too busy, so she'd have me go to the bank to do the transfers. But I never sent you a single dollar. Not once.”

I stared at her, disbelief cracking through me as rage tore up my veins：

“Why would you do that?”

I'd had a chance to be cured. And my own sister had destroyed it with her bare hands.

I lost control. I lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

My mother rushed over and shoved me away：

“Thelma, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Your sister went out of her way to pull strings so you could skip the line and get seen today, and you turn around and attack her?”

I tried to explain：

“Mom, I didn't, she was the one who……”

Before I could finish, Gwendolen's face crumpled into a picture of wounded innocence：

“If I did something to upset you, I'm sorry, okay? Please don't be mad.”

I shook my head, opened my mouth to repeat what Gwendolen had just whispered to me, but the words died on my tongue because the doctor stepped out.

What she said next froze my mother in place.

“Nothing wrong with her eyes. Just a bit of strain from overuse. Spend less time staring at your phone and you'll be fine.”

The color drained from my mother's face, then flooded back dark and livid.

I stood there, stunned. But the very next second it hit me. Gwendolen had arranged this.

I turned to look at her. She curved her lips upward, triumph bright in her eyes.

Before I could react, my mother stormed forward and slapped me across the face.

The blow was vicious. It knocked my sunglasses clean off.

Light stabbed into my eyes like needles, and the pain forced them shut instantly.

I crouched down after a couple of seconds, hands sweeping blindly across the floor, desperate to find the glasses.

But before my fingers reached them, a sharp crack split the air.

My mother's voice came from above me：

“What are you looking for? You fake being sick and lie to your own family day after day, and now that you've been caught you still won't quit?”

“Thelma, I have never been more disappointed in you.”

Then came the sound of two sets of footsteps walking away.

I crumpled to the ground, too drained to hold myself up. My eyes burned. The ache in my chest was worse.

A stranger's hand found my arm and helped me upright, their voice gentle：

“Your mom and your sister already left. You should try to catch up and apologize.”

I said nothing. I clenched my teeth, braced my weight against the wall, and inched forward.

Afraid of falling, I could only take two steps before forcing my eyelids open just enough to check where I was. Each time I opened my eyes, the pain shook through my whole body.

Even with all that care, I still went down hard.

My palms scraped across the pavement, and a wide patch of skin tore away in an instant.

A passerby hurried over to help me up and asked for a family member's number.

I swallowed the pain and gave them my mother's phone number.

They called and explained that I'd fallen and was hurt.

All that came back through the phone was my mother's voice, thick with disgust：

“Putting on a show by herself wasn't enough, so now she's got someone else playing along? Thelma, you really are something.”

The line went dead.

The stranger stood there, at a loss for words, murmured a few things meant to comfort me, and left.

The street was empty again. Just me, alone.

I gritted my teeth and, clinging to the last scrap of memory in my head, dragged myself one step at a time back the way I'd come.