Mom's voice went colder.
"A truly excellent person keeps even her own body under control."
"If you really want to come home, you should learn to overcome these useless weaknesses instead of using them as excuses to fish for sympathy."
Dad pushed that piece of shrimp toward me again.
"Eat it."
I looked at their eyes, eyes that left no room for refusal, and my throat felt like it was blocked by a stone.
I picked up the shrimp and slowly put it in my mouth.
Susan's tears turned to smiles, and the dinner table filled with laughter and chatter again.
But no one noticed the wide patches of red rash spreading across my skin.
My head swam and my stomach churned. I bolted to the bathroom, gripped the edge of the sink, and threw up for a long time, until I didn't even have the strength to stand.
When Mom pushed the door open, I was slumped against the toilet, gasping for breath.
She saw the rash covering me, and her first reaction wasn't worry. It was a frown.
"Your sister just cried for ages, saying she shouldn't have given you that shrimp, that it was all her fault you got sick. Are you satisfied now?"
I closed my eyes and couldn't get out a single word.
Mom looked down at me, her eyes full of displeasure.
"We're strict with you because you're our biological daughter."
"It's precisely because our blood runs in your veins that we want you to be good enough, worthy of this family."
"But Susan is different. She isn't ours by blood, and she already feels insecure enough. If we were harsh with her too, outsiders would only call us cruel, say we couldn't make room for one adopted daughter."
I suddenly wanted to laugh, but my throat was so swollen that even laughing was hard.
Mom thought I'd taken it to heart, and her tone finally softened a little.
"All right, stop throwing this tantrum."
"As long as you work hard next year, we'll make the exam a little easier and let you come home for a year. Isn't that enough?"
Next year.
Next year again.
All these years, they'd used those two words to fool me over and over.
But this time, I gave a slight shake of my head.
I lifted my eyes to her, my vision blurred from the fever.
"I'm not testing anymore."
"This family. I don't want it."
Mom's face turned completely cold.
"Is something wrong with you?"
"You're really going to make a scene over one lobster?"
My throat was so swollen it felt like something was clogging every breath.
But my silence seemed to enrage her, and her voice shot up all at once.
"Test or don't, I don't care!"
"If you're so unhappy with this family, then you can stay in that facility for the rest of your life!"
With that, she spun around and slammed the bathroom door so hard the whole room shook.
Shut in there, my vision went dark in waves, the itching burrowing almost into the cracks between my bones.
The medicine cabinet was right outside.
Back when I used to get allergic reactions, Mom found me such a nuisance that she once bought a box of medicine on a whim, then left it tossed in the living room drawer ever since.
I braced against the sink and waited a long while before I could barely push the door open, meaning to go find a pill to take.
But the moment I reached the doorway, I heard Mom's lowered voice.
"She's getting more and more out of line. She actually said she wants nothing to do with us from now on."
Dad was quiet for a moment, then said coldly.
"If she doesn't want to test, then she doesn't test. Saves us the trouble year after year."
Mom seemed to finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"Honestly, this works out better."
"If she hadn't kept bullying Susan after she came back, scaring her by saying we were going to send her away, Susan never would have gotten depressed, and we never would have come up with this testing method in the first place."
My hand gripping the doorframe went rigid.
Dad let out a sigh: "When it comes down to it, she has no one to blame but her own foolishness."
