The tension in Mary's chest tightened as Uncle John handed back the test results in class. His brows furrowed as he scanned the list, and Mary didn't have to look to know where she stood. Fifteenth out of thirty.
Once an exceptional student, her slip in performance had become too glaring to ignore. She felt the weight of Uncle John's gaze as he approached her desk during break.
"Mary," he said, his tone calm but laced with concern. "What's going on? This isn't like you."
Mary stared down at the paper on her desk, the bright red score at the top burning into her vision. She wanted to explain, to tell him about the nights spent tossing and turning, about the endless weight of her thoughts, and the growing pressure at home. But the words wouldn't come.
"I…I don't know," she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the floor.
Uncle John crouched beside her, lowering his voice so the other students wouldn't hear. "You can talk to me, Mary. Whatever it is, we can work through it together."
But Mary only nodded stiffly, knowing that nothing could change the reality waiting for her at home.
The walk back from school felt endless. She gripped the test paper tightly in her hand, crumpling the edges as anxiety gnawed at her. She could already hear her parents' voices in her head—disappointed, sharp, and accusing.
When she entered the house, her mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. Her father sat at the small dining table, his face tired and lined with frustration.
"Mary, how was school?" her mother asked without looking up.
Mary hesitated, clutching the paper behind her back. "It was okay."
Her father's head snapped up. "Just okay? Let me see your results."
Mary reluctantly handed over the paper, her hands trembling. Her mother stopped chopping, her gaze shifting to her husband as he scanned the page.
"Fifteenth? Out of thirty?" he barked. "Is this a joke, Mary? You're supposed to be at the top!"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Sorry doesn't fix anything!" her mother snapped, joining in. "Do you know how hard we're working to keep this family afloat? The least you can do is focus on your studies!"
Mary's father slammed the paper onto the table. "Your brother was sent back home from college, and you are here struggling with your grades. You can't afford to be a failure, Mary."
The word failure echoed in her mind, twisting like a knife. She felt tears prickling at her eyes but refused to let them fall. Instead, she nodded and muttered another apology before retreating to her room.
---
Behind the closed door, Mary sank onto her bed, her shoulders shaking as she fought back the sobs. She reached for the small pin she kept hidden in the corner of her drawer, her mind spiraling with guilt and frustration.
Why couldn't I be better? Why couldn't I make them proud?
As she pressed the sharp tip against her skin, the pain cut through the chaos in her head, offering a brief, bitter relief.
But the relief was fleeting, and the despair lingered.
She stared at the test paper lying crumpled on her desk, the bright red score a painful reminder of her shortcomings. Uncle John's concern, her parents' anger—it all weighed down on her like a storm she couldn't escape.
Deep down, she wished for someone to understand, to pull her out of the darkness. But the walls she had built around herself only grew taller, and she couldn't see a way out.