Once I Played the Good Girl, My Family Went Insane

Six years after being cast out of Shaw Manor, mistaken for the wrong daughter, I was selling blood to survive. Just as I pocketed a few bills, a bodyguards kick buckled my knees. I collapsed, and a shrill voice shrieked, Ungrateful wretch! Are you trying to kill my Elara? A slap cracked across my faceit was my mother, desperate to secure blood for her precious daughter.
My brother Harry, standing beside her, ordered the guards to throw me out. He glanced at the money in my hand and sneered, Still vain, selling blood for a few hundred bucks? He lowered his voice. Elara graduates in two weeks and studies abroad. She wont be the focus anymoreyou wont bully her then. Ill explain everything to our parents and bring you home. Youll still be the family princess.
Home? A princess? A weak laugh escaped me. My ALS was progressing fast; I wouldnt last a month. Besides, the moment he believed Elara and called me an impostor, I had already lost my home.
My fingers were too weak to hold on. A sudden gust of wind snatched the bills from my grasp.
Instinct took over. I dragged my unresponsive legs, shuffling after the money. The stares of the people around me were like daggers, their eyes branding me a monster.
But I didn't care.
All I knew was that if I lost that money, the specialty medication I'd been planning for so long to buy would be out of reach again. My entire focus was on that single, fluttering bill, so much so that I didn't even hear the ugly insults being hurled at me by passersby.
The chorus of disgust darkened Harrys face. He couldn't stand it any longer.
"Lia!" he roared, his voice laced with fury. "Are you so desperate for my pity that you've thrown away all your damn pride?"
"So what if we sent you away for a while? That family wasn't poor. Who are you trying to fool with this disgusting act?"
His familiar voice struck my heart like a hammer. His casual "so what" was a hell I never wanted to revisit. A bitter taste flooded my mouth, but in the end, I just paused, gathered what little strength I had, and took another shuffling step.
The strangeness of my gait must have finally registered. Harrys expression softened slightly, his eyes narrowing as he realized something was truly wrong. He strode towards me, his mouth opening to ask a question.
Just then, Elara appeared, her hand flying to her mouth in feigned shock.
"Oh, Lia, honey. It's one thing to have the hospital forge a diagnosis for ALS, but now you're faking the symptoms with your body, too?"
With a flourish, she handed my actual diagnosis report to Harry, her voice trembling with manufactured sorrow.
"Brother, I know Lia is just doing this to come home sooner. It's my fault I've damaged your relationship. Maybe maybe you should just send me abroad early!"
Harry stared at the medical report. Fueled by Elaras performance, his fists clenched, his teeth grinding together.
"I almost fell for it," he seethed. "Lia, after all these years, have you learned nothing but how to lie? Now you're faking illnesses?"
"Be careful you don't 'act' yourself into an early grave before you even make it home!"
He flung the report at my chest, then turned decisively, taking Elara's arm and leading her away.
I only snapped out of my daze when Elara glanced back over her shoulder, flashing me a triumphant peace sign.
A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. So what if she was his true, blood-related sister? When it came to Elara, everything was my fault. I was always the liar.
But none of that mattered anymore. I just wanted my medicine. I just wanted the pain to stop.
I picked up my money and boarded a bus to the hospital.
We were stuck in traffic for a while. A long line of trucks, all bearing banners with the Shaw family name, was holding everything up. A quick glance at my phone told me it was a convoy of medical supplies Harry was donating to a rural mountain region.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my doctor. He sighed, his voice full of regret.
"Miss Shaw, don't bother coming. Mr. Harry Shaw issued an order. He said you're faking your illness, and no hospital is to waste medication on you."
But he knew. He knew about my condition. He had promised to save a dose for me.
No matter how much I begged, he wouldn't budge. He finally just hung up.
I stared blankly out the window at the Shaw family charity banners. The irony was suffocating. Harry could throw away millions for Elara, could be the city's top philanthropist year after year, but the pittance I wanted to spend on my own medicine was, in his eyes, a waste.
My last sliver of hope was gone. I got off the bus at a random stop.
I had no control over my legs. With a thud, I collapsed to my knees on the sidewalk. The helplessness was crushing. I felt like nothing, a worthless piece of trash.
The dam of my emotions finally broke. I started sobbing, pounding my useless legs again and again.
A moment later, a young woman with a camera gently took my arm and helped me to a nearby bench. She handed me a tissue, her voice soft. "Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?"
My entire body went rigid.
All these years, the care and concern I had craved had never come from my family. It came from a complete stranger.
Six years ago, my brothers heart went out to the impoverished scholarship student, Elara. He had a fake DNA test done and presented it to our parents.
"Elara is your real daughter," he'd declared. "My real sister."
The truth struck me like lightning. I cried hysterically, begging him to tell our parents the real story. His answer was a heavy slap across my face.
"Can't you be more considerate? Elara is an orphan! She'll be eaten alive! People at school will only leave her alone if they know she has a family!" he had yelled. "You've had Mom, Dad, and me doting on you your whole life. What's the big deal about letting her borrow your identity for a while?"
The day Elara was welcomed home, she began to frame me for everything. She claimed I called her a country bumpkin, that I flaunted my money to humiliate her. My brother would punish me, while my parents simply turned a blind eye.
The breaking point came when Elara returned from school one day, her clothes nearly torn off, shameful words branded onto her skin. She threw herself to her knees in front of me, banging her head on the floor.
"I was wrong, Lia! I'm sorry! I'm a hillbilly who shouldn't have stolen your parents! I deserve to die! I'll go die right now!"
She then ran and threw herself into the swimming pool. The whole family exploded in fury.
My brother, especially. He paid a couple to pose as my birth parents and had me thrown out of the house.
"Don't think you're so high and mighty," he'd sneered. "Go get a taste of the real world. Maybe it'll knock some of the cruelty out of you. When you learn how to stop torturing Elara, maybe we'll let you come back."
And so began my life in hell.
The couple ran a small restaurant, and they forced me to do the work of ten people. The skin on my hands was perpetually raw and broken. Whenever the man got drunk and violent, the woman would shove me in front of him as a human shield. The slaps, the punches, the beer bottlesthey always landed on me. Several times, I was beaten nearly to death.
Gradually, they noticed something was wrong with my movements. My speech became slurred, I couldn't hold chopsticks steady, and I stumbled when I walked.
When I was diagnosed with ALS, they threw me out like a piece of trash.
Unable to work, I sold my blood to afford food.
And now, the medicine I had yearned for, the medicine that was finally within reach, had been snatched away by Harry.
By the time I finished my story, the young woman was covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes held nothing but pure, unadulterated sympathy.
She wiped her eyes and spoke. "I'm a content creator, just starting out. I help strangers achieve their wishes. Do you have a wish?"
A wish?
I looked up at the stars and thought for a long, serious moment.
"I want a coffin."
Living was already so painful. I wanted a peaceful place to rest when it was over.
The girl immediately agreed.
Later, after asking for my permission, she posted my story online. Looking at the screen, at my sallow, gaunt face and ragged clothes, I barely recognized the girl who used to love dressing up.
A thought popped into my head: I wanted to be beautiful when I died.
I counted the money in my hand. I was still a few dozen dollars short of a proper burial dress. I could make that much by collecting empty bottles.
My muscles had atrophied so much that walking was nearly impossible. I managed to drag myself to the entrance of a shopping mall, where I asked a kind passerby to write a few words on a piece of cardboard for me.
CAN YOU SPARE YOUR EMPTY PLASTIC BOTTLES? THANK YOU!
There were so many kind people. By the end of the day, my bag was overflowing. I made over ten dollars.
I never expected the video the girl posted to go viral, drawing a wave of pity and attention. The next day, I had barely arrived at the mall before my bag was full. As I struggled to lift it, a foot shot out and kicked it violently, sending bottles scattering across the pavement.
"Lia! What the hell was that video you posted online? A sob story to turn the public against Elara? To drive her to a mental breakdown?"
It was Harry.
"Take it down, now! And tell everyone the truth!"
I let out a derisive snort.
"The truth? Isn't this the truth?" I managed, each word a struggle. I couldn't control my facial muscles.
Harrys brow furrowed in disgust, as if he were witnessing the most pathetic joke in the world. He scoffed. "Do you find this amusing? Making such a scene just to get me to bring you home early?"
"Fine," he said, nodding with a grim understanding, his eyes dark and unreadable. "If you can't even wait two weeks and insist on fighting me, then let's see what happens."
After Harry left, I paid him no mind and continued collecting my bottles. A few more bags, I calculated, and I'd have enough for my dress.
But that afternoon, the blogger called me, her voice choked with sobs and apologies.
"I'm so sorry, I don't think I can grant your wish anymore. My social media accounts have been shut down, my house was vandalized, and the shock sent my grandmother to the ICU. I have to borrow money for her medical bills."
She sounded like she was on the verge of a complete breakdown.
"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know why everything was going so well, and then in the space of an hour, it all fell apart"

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