Chapter 5

That night, David and Helen slept right outside the bathroom door.

Watching them, my soul was crushed under the weight of guilt.

As the first light of dawn broke, soft noises came from the kitchen.

With bloodshot eyes, Helen stood by the stove, making creamy mushroom soup.

When I was little and got sick, she would always make this for me.

But ever since my diagnosis, she hadn't made it once.

She was cooking it so carefully, exactly the way I used to beg for it.

It smells so good. I want to taste it so badly... but I can't.

Helen carried the bowl to the bathroom door, her voice raspy.

"Maya, stop throwing a tantrum."

"I made your favorite mushroom soup. It's warm. Eat some, and then take your meds."

"I shouldn't have hit you yesterday. I shouldn't have said those things."

"Lily is waiting to play with you. Come out, okay? Let's fix this."

Nothing but absolute silence came from inside.

Helen's patience finally snapped. Her face hardened.

"Maya! Don't do this!"

"Do you think faking your death is going to make us feel sorry for you? Haven't we suffered enough for you?"

Still, there was no answer. Fuming, Helen slammed the bowl down on the floor, the soup splashing everywhere, and twisted the doorknob.

"Maya, did you actually die in there?!"