Chapter 2

I typed: [But you still can't keep a cat, and you can't grow flowers either. Stay away from plush toys and things like that. You really do have asthma. Mom is worried about you.]

Before I hit send, I held my breath, nerves making me extra cautious. I checked every single word, afraid I might accidentally touch a nerve and upset Clara.

When I saw Clara read my message, I finally let out a deep sigh of relief.

Was there really any knot between a mother and daughter that couldn't be untied?

Clara was my little precious. Of course, she knew how much I cared about her.

After all that, I thought the storm had finally passed.

But just five minutes later, Clara sent another short video.

Since I always get notifications for her posts, I spotted the title instantly: [Calling it love, but it's just another kind of control.]

My hands trembled as I tapped to play it.

This time, Clara skipped the captions and just recorded herself talking, her face covered by a cartoon sticker.

In the video, she choked back sobs as she poured out her feelings.

She said, "Why does she even bother apologizing? It's just to make me feel guilty. She wants to use 'love' as a way to control me, to keep me under her thumb whenever she wants. And when she's old, she'll expect me to take care of her!"

She added, "She messed up, and instead of owning it, she just keeps making excuses. 'Oh, I'm a first-time mom.' So what? Just because it's her first time, does that mean I have to suffer for it? Seriously, do people like her even get what it means to be responsible, to be a parent?"

She kept ranting, but I couldn't take in any of it.

Tears poured down my face, totally out of control. All the hurt I'd been bottling up finally burst out, like a dam breaking.

The pain was so intense, my heart kept clenching over and over.

She could say anything she wanted about me, but calling me irresponsible was crossing the line.

Ever since Clara was diagnosed with asthma at just six months old, I put my business on hold and threw myself into taking care of her. I dragged her all over the country to see top doctors, and even flew overseas, burning through cash just to get her the best treatment.

But no matter where we went, the answer was always the same. Even if her asthma was under control now, it could come back at any moment.

Even now, the specialist's words still echo in my mind.

"This medicine is currently the most effective asthma control drug in the world, but it is very expensive. Ordinary families usually can't afford it. You should think it over."

I held Clara close, watching her tiny face go from red to purple as she fought for every breath. It felt like knives twisting in my chest. I didn't care how much money I needed to spend. If I could trade places with her, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Without hesitation, I signed the papers for the meds. "Doctor, I don't care how much it costs. I'll pay whatever it takes just to save her.

"I'd sell the house, pawn the pots and pans, whatever it takes to get Clara healthy again! Just tell me, if I give her this medicine, how long will it keep her safe?"

My voice trembled uncontrollably. I thought to myself that no matter how much money I had to spend, I'd give anything for that if Clara could just breathe freely like any other kid.

The specialist spoke seriously. "It's hard to say for sure. If you manage her condition well, she might go years without another attack. But if she's exposed to allergens, it could come back at any moment."

Hearing this, my heart trembled. I held my child tighter and tighter, silently swearing in my heart that I would protect my daughter and never let her illness relapse.

After that, I spent all my savings on Clara's medication. I only hoped she could breathe freely and live a good life.

Because of all this, my husband divorced me and vanished without a trace.

To make it easier to look after her, I found a laid-back job. The pay wasn't great, but I didn't mind.

Luckily, the medicine worked wonders for Clara. Even after she stopped taking it, she could live just like any other kid. She grew up in my arms, learning to walk, babbling away, and sometimes I'd just stare at her, almost in a daze.

It was like Clara was not sick at all. She looked so cute.

Her little face was so round and chubby, cheeks all rosy and soft. Sure, I did my best raising her, but really, it was Clara who was tough and determined. She grew up so well, way better than I ever did. She was going to be a real beauty.

But every time those thoughts crept in, it was like a warning siren blaring in my mind.

I told myself that I couldn't afford to be careless. What if her asthma flared up again? All those years of fighting for her would be wasted.

So as Clara grew up and started forming her own opinions, I became the killjoy parent, the one always raining on her parade.

She adored cats, but I just couldn't let her have one. Cat hair was a huge asthma trigger for her.