Chapter 1
When I was born, a palm-sized, purplish-red birthmark covered the left side of my face, stretching from the corner of my eye down to my jaw.
My mom, Dr. Evelyn Shaw, was the Chief Physician of dermatology at St. James General Hospital, but she never took me for laser treatment, not even once.
"What's there to treat? Your real problem is your weak mind," she'd say.
She shredded all my masks and threw them in the trash.
Starting when I was twelve, she made me stand in the middle of the lecture hall at St. James Medical College.
One hundred and twenty students held up their phones, aiming them at my face.
She held a laser pointer, calmly aiming it at my birthmark.
"This is a classic case of a port-wine stain, covering about eighteen percent of the face," she explained.
With a hundred and twenty pairs of eyes locked on me, I cried myself silent, but she never even glanced at me.
"Cut it out. You're only making the students think this condition is something serious," she said.
When I was fifteen, I secretly learned to play the handpan. It meant I didn't have to face a crowd or worry about anyone seeing my left side.
All I had to do was bow my head, press my palms to the steel, and the whole world faded away, just me and the resonance.
One of my improvisation videos got picked by the Alpine Sound Festival, and the invitation landed right at our doorstep.
My mom opened the letter and read it for three seconds.
Then she walked into my room, smashed the handpan I'd spent two years saving my allowance for, and tossed it in the trash.
"If you have time to mess around with that metal drum, maybe you should focus on not embarrassing me in class," she said.
I stood there quietly, staring at the dented handpan.
Mom, don't worry. I won't embarrass you ever again,' I thought.
My mom pulled out a wet wipe and wiped her fingers one by one.
"There's a department welcome dinner tonight. Put on something decent," she said.
"Stop dressing like you're some rat hiding from the world," she added.
She tossed the wipe into the trash. And it landed right on top of my broken handpan.
The white tissue picked up the rust from the steel surface.
I stayed silent, just staring at the rim of the trash can.
"Did you hear me?" she asked.
She frowned, her voice a little sharper.
"Yes," I replied.
She turned and walked out, her heels clicking crisply and evenly on the floor.
At seven that evening, we were at a private restaurant in the city center.
The private room was huge, with three full tables of people.
My mom sat at the head of the main table.
I chose the seat in the farthest corner by the door, kept my head down, and angled my left side toward the wall.
"Dr. Shaw, is this your daughter?" a young man asked.
A young man sitting next to my mom stood up.
His name was Michael Grant, my mom's favorite grad student this year.
He was recognized as the department's top young talent.
My mom smiled and picked up her coffee cup.
"Yes, that's her. Mia, come here and say hello to Michael," she said.
All thirty-plus pairs of eyes in the room turned to me at once.
My stomach twisted into knots.
I didn't move.
"Mia Shaw," my mom called out.
Her voice turned cold and sharp.
"Stop dawdling. Do you have any manners at all?" she snapped.
I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked toward the main table.
With every step, the birthmark on my left cheek felt like it was burning under everyone's gaze.
"Mr. Michael," I said softly in a low voice.
Michael looked me up and down.
His gaze lingered on my left cheek for three seconds.
I knew that look all too well.
It wasn't sympathy or surprise, just that cold, analytical stare, like I was some specimen under a microscope.
"Looks like Mia's a bit shy around strangers," Michael said, flashing a smile as he glanced at Dr. Shaw.
"From a psychological standpoint, this is a textbook case of defensive social withdrawal," he said, sounding like he was giving a lecture.
"A slight facial imperfection has triggered excessive somatic anxiety." he added, as if I wasn't even there.
He tossed out all the clinical terms, making it obvious he saw me as nothing more than a case study.