My mother branded me a "born liar".
Obsessed with 'scientific parenting,' she shackled us in 'Honesty Bracelets.'
My sister lies, and her light glows green; I scream in pain, and a frantic red light triggers a piercing electric shock.
New Year’s Eve. Ruptured appendix, blinding pain—but Mom just smiles. She turns the shock to the limit: "Still playing sick for the fireworks? You never learn!"
She turned her back, locked the door, and took my sister to the show—leaving me to rot in the dark.
Heart shattered, I wrote "Mom, I love you" and died alone.
Soul detached, I watched her seal the room against my rot—until she opened it to find my cold, dark corpse.
The red light wasn't a lie; it was my pain. Now she’s begging, wearing my blood-stained bracelet.
"Ten years of shocks. One 'sorry' doesn't even break even".
Late apologies are worthless. I’m gone. We are finished—in this life and the next!
