Chapter 1

Before my A-Levels, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer—because I was starving.

When I told my mum, she thought I was lying and cut my allowance even more.

She said that when she was my age, she only had £60 a month, and here I was, getting £100. I should consider myself lucky.

She wanted me to learn the virtue of thrift.

Later, she and my dad went on holiday and left me with no money.

I ended up starving to death.

She held my body, crying uncontrollably.

"Mum, why are you crying?"

"Now that I'm dead, you won't have to spend any more money on me. Isn't that something to be happy about?"

After finishing my check-up at St. Thomas' Hospital, I went home with the late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis in my hand.

As soon as I walked in, my mum was on her phone. She glanced at me and said, “Starting next month, your allowance will go from £300 to £100.”

I froze, the test result still in my hand, thinking about how to give it to her.

She continued, “You’ve got it so good now. When I was your age, I had £60 a month. £100 is more than enough for you.”

I bit my lip gently, hesitated, and then said, “Mum… it’s not really enough. Could you give me a bit more? I’m… sick.”

I slowly pulled the diagnosis out of my pocket and handed it to her, still hoping that despite everything, she was my mother and would care.

But in the next second, she knocked the paper out of my hand.

“Since when did you learn to lie like this? When I didn’t lower your allowance, you were fine. The moment I cut it, you suddenly have all these problems?”

Her voice was sharp, her eyes filled with anger, as if I was her worst enemy.

Timidly, I stepped forward and mumbled, “Mum, I’m not lying…”

But she only got angrier, pointing at me and shouting, “Oh, now you’re talking back, are you? You ungrateful little pest!” She grabbed a feather duster from the sofa and hit me with it.

At that moment, my dad, who was outside hanging up the laundry, came over, pushing me gently towards my room.

He smiled at her and said, “Come on, love, no need to hit her…”

“She’s gone rotten! All I wanted was for her to learn the value of money, and now she’s lying about being ill! I just watched a video—some student made millions in their first year at uni, supporting their family. Why should I still have to support her?”

“She’s such a burden—always sulking. It would be better if she were dead…”

I closed my bedroom door quietly, my heart being sliced to pieces by each word.

Maybe it would be better if I were dead…

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard her say that. But it hurt every single time.

Mum, do you really wish I were dead?

When I die, I’m sure you’ll be happy.

The doctor said I wouldn’t live more than three months. By then, I’m sure you’ll be relieved.

But Chloe doesn’t want to give up…