Chapter 2

The driver ignored Rachel and just took me straight to the hospital.

After they got that glue off my face, my stomach pain flared up again—just my luck.

The doctor saw how pale I looked and suggested I go next door for a checkup.

That check turned out to be serious—I had a tumor in my belly. It was benign, thank God, and they only needed to remove it with surgery.

Rachel wasn't happy about that. After I got sick, I couldn't cook for her anymore; instead, she had to take care of me.

She had planned to ignore me.

But Eric wouldn't stand for it. He was miles away and couldn't get back because of work, so he called Rachel a dozen times late into the night. Finally, she came to the hospital reluctantly.

She didn't bring any of my spare clothes. Instead, she filled a bag with food and things for herself.

She sat on the bed beside me, legs folded, chewing on a big drumstick. With her mouth full, she said, "Sick people should eat bland food. You can't eat greasy stuff like this."

The smell of grease hanging in the air almost made me puke.

When the doctor came by to check on me, he told Rachel to take care of my health and emotions—and to stop eating all that greasy food in the room.

Rachel's eyes went wide, and she pointed at the doctor. "What, I'm supposed to starve myself just because I'm taking care of her?"

I waved the doctor off. "Let her eat, seriously. Might as well let her enjoy it while she still can."

The doctor looked at me with pity and shook his head.

On the day of my surgery, after they pushed me into the operating room, Rachel disappeared.

Even when the nurses came out looking for her to handle my admission papers, she was still nowhere to be found.

When I woke up back in the ward, Rachel strolled in like she had all the time in the world.

I asked where she had been. She smiled secretively and said, "You'll soon find out."

For the three days after surgery I was hungry every day.

Since I couldn't count on Rachel, I decided to use my phone to hire a care worker.

But every time I tried to pick up my phone, Rachel would snatch it right out of my hands.

"Why waste money on that?" she said. "All that money is Eric's hard work."

To keep me quiet, she bought a whole box of chips—all spicy.

She shoved a bag of chips toward me. "Eat," she said. "Or you'll complain I left you hungry again."

Late at night, Rachel was snoring on the cot beside me.

I woke up needing the bathroom, but no matter how much I called, she wouldn't get up.

Left with no choice, I braced myself and, fighting the pain, held onto the wall to drag myself to the bathroom.

Thanks to Rachel's round-the-clock "care," it was only a matter of time before my surgery incision got infected.

I lay in bed with a burning fever when Rachel walked in, beaming, phone in hand.

She said proudly, "Sophia, guess what? I got another SIM card. Now I have a new account."

No wonder she'd been out so much these past few days.

She had been looking for a way to get another number.

With her brand new account, Rachel was glued to her phone, snapping videos of everything around her.

And suddenly, she aimed the camera right at me lying on the bed.

I was burning up with fever, barely able to keep my mind clear.

Trying to cool off, I was half-dressed, hair all messy, drenched in sweat.

But Rachel didn't care. She kept the camera on me, her smug smile showing at the edge of the screen.

She said, "Look, this is karma.

"My daughter-in-law who tortured me finally landed in the hospital."

I struggled to grab her phone, but Rachel darted aside before I could reach it.

She looked at me and sneered, "Seriously? In this state and you're still trying to come at me?"

Then she stopped recording and uploaded the video right away.

This time, it was on her fresh new account, so a whole different crowd saw it.

In the video, I was pale with fever, sleeves rolled up, collar slipping below my collarbone.

A pack of creeps showed up instantly. They backed Rachel while throwing filthy comments about me.

I demanded she delete that video, but Rachel just doubled down.

She not only refused but even echoed the perverts. "What, are they wrong? You're half-naked in broad daylight. What else does that make you but cheap?"

"A bitch will always be a bitch—even lying in a hospital bed, you still can't behave yourself," she added.

I was fuming, but there was nothing I could do about it.

*****

After posting that video, Rachel acted like she had found the secret to online fame.

That single clip got more likes than all her singing and dancing videos combined.

From then on, she kept filming me whenever I wasn't watching, catching me at my worst.

If I caught her, she played innocent. And when I shouted her down, she stormed off from the hospital in anger.