Chapter 4: Home Truths and Silent Suffering

Mr. Peterson tagged my mom in the class group chat, shaming me for using my phone during homework hour. My mom read the message in silence while she made dinner, the shame settling over our tiny apartment like a heavy blanket.

She watched me eat, voice gentle but tense. “June, you should be studying, not messing with your phone. After homework, review for tomorrow’s lessons, check your mistakes. You used to be in the top ten at your old school—why did your grades drop this time? Don’t stare at your phone all night.”

Her words piled up, each one digging a little deeper. I wanted to explain, but I just shoveled another forkful of mac and cheese into my mouth. She slid the Pyrex casserole dish across the table, the smell of baked mac and cheese filling our tiny kitchen.

“Mom’s supporting you alone,” she said, voice trembling. “Don’t let your dad’s problems drag you down…”

She kept talking, but I couldn’t stop the tears. I chewed faster, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

My mom worked so hard—up before dawn, home late, every penny counted. She took shifts in the cafeteria at the factory, folding uniforms, washing trays. Her hands were red and cracked, but she always smiled for me.

She left at six in the morning, came home at three, left again at five, and didn’t return until after nine at night. Two thousand dollars a month, every cent earned with sweat.

When she saw me cry, she hurried over, wrapping her arm around me. “I didn’t mean to blame you, honey. I’m not stopping you from using your phone. Just eat, okay? It’s my fault for bringing it up.”

Afraid she’d upset me, she hid in the kitchen, banging dishes a little too loud. I heard her sniffle, wiping her eyes with a dish towel. We both cried quietly, pretending not to notice each other.

I didn’t dare tell her about the bullying. She couldn’t help—and if she tried, it would only make things worse. I pictured her, timid and nervous, standing in the principal’s office, struggling to defend me. I couldn’t let that happen.

So I locked myself in my room all weekend, blinds shut, curled under my quilt. I forced myself to study, hoping that if I worked hard enough, I could leave all this behind. But the anxiety followed me everywhere, a shadow I couldn’t shake.