The Teacher’s Daughter

Mom held my hand and smiled. “You’re my little princess.”

Back then, she must have truly loved me.

I propped myself up and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair was jagged and uneven, my eyes red and swollen.

I thought of the whispers at school.

I was fully clothed, yet why did I feel completely exposed?

I was so tired.

A gust of wind swept past as I followed Mom out of school.

Her face still wore a smug smile.

I smiled too.

“Mom… the daughter who once loved is dead.”

…

Mom walked to the parking lot and opened the car door, ready to go home.

She took out her phone again and sent me a message.

[Evie, I’m home. Come back quickly.

[I made your favorite barbecue pork ribs. It’s still hot.

[If you don’t come back, I’ll call the police.]

Call the police?

I stared at the words and suddenly laughed.

Finally, she remembered to call the police.

Only after her award ceremony had ended.

And only after her class had maintained the highest average score in the grade.

Only three days after I had died.

By now, my body would be starting to stink…

I thought back to the day of the final exam.

The sky was heavy and gray, threatening rain.

I climbed out of bed and changed into clean clothes.

I walked to my desk and looked at our family photo.

In the picture, I was smiling brightly, Mom holding me, and Dad standing beside us.

It had been taken before he left us forever.

After that, Mom had changed.

I picked up a pen and wrote a will.

A very long one, so long that my hand shook as I wrote the final words.

The last line read: [Mom, I won’t disappoint you anymore.]

When I finished, I placed the will on the desk.

Then I went into the kitchen and turned on the gas.

…

The smell of the gas was awful.

I was terrified.

Mom’s mood hung over me like a storm cloud—I never knew when it would pour.

I didn’t know what my next punishment would be.

I was afraid of the whispers at school.

Afraid of being alone.

Afraid of the pitying looks from classmates.

Afraid of my teacher’s frustrated, disappointed expressions…

I lay on the cold floor, my consciousness fading.

I seemed to see my childhood again, Mom holding my hand as we ran through the park.

She laughed. “Evie, don’t run! I can’t catch up with you!”

I thought that, back then, Mom truly loved me.

It was only later that she fell in love with the title of Best Homeroom Teacher, a love stronger than her love for me.

I floated in the back seat of Mom’s car, watching her start the engine and drive home.

Her phone sat on the passenger seat, screen lit with a conversation between her and Mr. Fairfax.

[Evelyn didn’t show up for the final exam. Did something happen?]

[What could have happened? She’s probably just throwing a tantrum. She’s so stubborn. She’ll come around when she’s ready.]

A helpless smile curved the corner of Mom’s mouth.

She probably thought I was just acting out.

At a red light, Mom glanced at our conversation on her phone and thought about calling me.

Then suddenly, the phone rang.

It was the emergency hotline.

Mom frowned as she answered.

The moment she heard the words, the phone slipped from her hand, and her face went deathly pale.