The Number on the Scale Is My Epitaph

I've always had a small appetite. I start feeling nauseated and throw up if I eat more than seven ounces of food in a meal. As a result, I'm 44 pounds lighter than my younger sister, Charlotte Lancaster, who is six years younger than me. Every time I watch Charlotte eat heartily, stuffing herself with all sorts of food and meat, I feel a secret thrill. I look at my slender wrists and prominent ribs, and I feel proud of myself. Sometimes, Mom cries and asks why I've become like this. Seeing how much my condition hurts her makes me feel satisfied. Dad runs himself ragged making appointments with specialists for me, working so hard that his hair turns white. Yet I feel strangely happy. When the psychologist, Dr. Folston, asks if there's some deep-seated emotional issue holding me back, I shake my head and tell her that I have always been favored and spoiled by my parents since I was little. How could I possibly have any emotional baggage? It isn't until Mom completely breaks down in the consultation room that she falls to her knees and begs at my feet. "Please, forgive us. Please stop putting yourself through this, okay?" Chapter 1 Dr. Folston, the psychologist, froze for a moment before hurrying over to help Mom up. But Mom stubbornly remained on her knees, refusing to get up. She groveled on the cold tiled floor, her voice trembling so badly that she could barely speak. "Evie, I was wrong. Will you stop torturing yourself like this, please?" Looking at her, I suddenly felt the urge to laugh. "Mom, what are you talking about? I've always had a small appetite. What does that have to do with any of you?" Dad stood to the side, his face pale. He had aged so much over the past few years. He was barely past 50, yet his hair had turned completely white at the temples. For my sake, he'd booked appointments with specialists at 3:00 am, and even gone to cathedrals to pray for me. All our relatives said they were the most loving parents in the world. And so did I. Every time Dr. Folston asked me how things were at home, I'd always answer earnestly, "It's great! My parents love me the most. Even my sister's jealous of me!" But whenever Mom heard those words, she would cry even harder. She sobbed so violently that she could barely catch her breath, pressing both hands tightly over her face. Dr. Folston froze with a tissue in her hand. "Did you just say that your sister's jealous of you?" I nodded. "Yeah. She's always had a healthy appetite and enjoys everything she eats. But that's not the case for me. I get full after just a little. Mom and Dad hover over me all day, so of course she's jealous." Mom suddenly looked up, her lips quivering. "No... That's not... That's not how it is..." I smiled. "Well, then what is it?" She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. I continued, "I know Mom and Dad favor me, and it probably makes Lottie feel neglected. But there's nothing I can do about it." I lowered my head, pretending to feel remorseful, but I couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The consultation room fell deathly silent. After a long while, Dad finally spoke, his voice unbelievably hoarse. "As long as you get better, your mom and I will do anything." I lowered my eyes to my wrists. The bones protruded beneath my skin, and I could easily wrap one hand around them. I actually liked them this way—small and slender, making me look so fragile and pitiful. A strange sense of happiness enveloped me, but my thoughts drifted involuntarily back to my childhood. Whenever my sister, Charlotte Lancaster, cried, everyone in the family would say, "She's still young and doesn't know any better. Just give her whatever she wants." Back then, I wanted to be coaxed like that, too. But Mom would say, "You're her older sister." And Dad would say, "You're older than her. Be sensible, will you?" Now, no one said that anymore. Dr. Folston suddenly asked, "So, when did you start restricting how much you ate?" I shook my head. "I wasn't restricting myself. I've just always had a small appetite and throw up if I eat too much." Mom murmured, "No... You weren't like this before." She braced herself against the wall and slowly sank into a trembling crouch. Dr. Folston stared at her and asked, each word deliberate, "What did you do the first time she made herself throw up after eating?" Dad opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Mom blurted out, "Lottie had gone missing that day, and all Evie could think about was moaning about how hungry she was..." Chapter 2 Mom abruptly clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish, and Dad's expression changed too. I still remembered that day. It was my 12th birthday. Dad had promised to take me to the restaurant I'd been wanting to try for ages, and Mom had said that since I was the birthday girl, we would do whatever I wanted. But as soon as we entered the mall, Charlotte wrapped her arms around Mom's leg and begged to go to the children's playground upstairs. Mom looked at me apologetically. "She's still young. We'll let her play for a while, then we'll go. You're her older sister. Surely you can wait a bit? It will be just a little while." I nodded. But that little while turned into two hours. By the time Charlotte had finally had enough, we rushed to the restaurant, only to find that our reservation had been canceled. Dad said it was fine and that we could just go somewhere else, but Charlotte started crying, demanding that we buy her a toy. Then, she broke free of Mom's hand and ran into the crowd. We lost sight of her within minutes. Mom and Dad completely lost it. They made announcements over the mall's PA system, called the police, and went from store to store checking surveillance footage. Mom cried so hard she could barely stand, while Dad was so frantic that he slapped himself twice across the face. No one remembered that I hadn't had a single bite of food since that morning. By evening, I was starting to feel faint. As we passed a bakery, I picked up a little sample bun. But the moment I put it in my mouth, Mom slapped my hand away and asked loudly, "You're still thinking about eating when Lottie is missing?" Everyone around us turned to stare. I covered my face and whispered, "But I'm hungry." Mom had been crying all afternoon, and she was already at her breaking point. She grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. "She's only six years old! She must be terrified out there all alone! How can you not be worried about her at all?" I told her I'd been helping look for Charlotte too. I'd followed them around all afternoon, running until the soles of my shoes had worn through and my heels were covered in blood. But Mom acted as though she hadn't heard a word. "Do you hate us for only caring about Lottie and not celebrating your birthday? But you won't die just because you skipped a meal! Why are you such a glutton?" I stared at her blankly. The moment she finished speaking, she regretted her words and reached out to hug me. But just then, an announcement came over the mall's PA system—Charlotte had been found. Mom immediately shoved me aside and rushed toward the information desk like a madwoman. Dad followed right behind her. Neither of them looked back. I stood alone outside the bakery and picked up the bun that had fallen on the ground. It was all covered in dirt, so I didn't eat it. But I remembered Mom's words—going hungry for a little while wouldn't hurt me. Charlotte was more important. Dr. Folston asked quietly, "Was that when you stopped eating?" I shook my head. "At first, I just wanted to see what would happen." The first meal I skipped, no one noticed. The second meal I skipped, Mom praised me for being sensible and gave my fried chicken to Charlotte. On the third day, I fainted at school. Dad dropped everything at work and rushed to the hospital, and Mom held me in her arms and cried all night. When I woke up, I felt for the first time that I'd won. I looked at Mom and said softly, "Mom, now I understand. Skipping a few meals really won't kill me." Back in the consultation room, Mom collapsed onto the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn't make a sound. Dr. Folston, however, furrowed her brows. "Where exactly was Charlotte found that day?" Dad answered hoarsely, "In the emergency stairwell behind the children's playground. She said she'd gotten lost." I smiled. "But what you didn't know was that I went back to the mall later and checked the surveillance footage. She hadn't gotten lost at all." In the footage, Charlotte had been hiding behind the railing on the second floor the entire time. She watched as Mom and Dad searched frantically for her. She also watched Mom slap the bun out of my hand. And at the very moment I was struck, she leaned over the railing and laughed. Chapter 3 Dad finally managed to force out a few words. "Lottie was only six years old back then." Mom hurriedly nodded. "She was probably just scared and didn't dare come out. And that laugh... she might not have been laughing at you." I wasn't angry at all. They were just too kind. Even after seeing Charlotte lie with their own eyes, they still couldn't bring themselves to think badly of her. Dr. Folston looked at me. "Your parents misunderstood you and hurt you so badly, but not only do you not hate them, you're even making excuses for them now. Why?" I froze for a moment. "Because they love me more than anything." After I fainted at 12, Mom stayed awake watching over me for three whole days, while Dad put all his work aside and stayed by my hospital bed, repeatedly asking the doctors why I refused to eat. Then, Charlotte cried and accused me of doing it on purpose. She said I'd deliberately fainted on her birthday so that our parents would scold her, that I was deliberately getting back at her. For the first time, Dad lost his temper with her. "Evie's hospitalized, and all you can think about is yourself?" Charlotte ran out crying, but Mom didn't go after her. Instead, she sat by my bed and fed me soup. That was the first time they'd ever let Charlotte leave without chasing after her. I'd never forget that day. I was still groggy, but for the first time, I felt warm all over. From then on, whenever I ate a little less, Mom would grow anxious. If I went a day without eating, she'd keep asking me about it. If I went two days, she'd stay by my side and cry. By the third day, Dad would even skip Charlotte's parent-teacher meeting to take me to the hospital. When I was 14, Charlotte entered a dance competition. Mom and Dad had both promised they would go and watch. Before we left, I ate half a sandwich. Then, all of a sudden, my stomach churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up everything I'd just eaten. Mom immediately took off her coat. "We're not going anymore. We're taking Evie to the hospital." Charlotte stood by the door in her performance costume, her eyes instantly reddening. "But it's the finals today." Dad frowned. "Evie's throwing up like this, and all you can think about is your competition?" In the end, Charlotte went to the dance competition alone. Meanwhile, I lay in a hospital bed, holding Dad's hand in my left and Mom's in my right. Charlotte won first prize in the competition and placed her trophy in the most prominent spot in the living room, but Mom and Dad never even looked at it. They were too busy studying my medical reports. I ended up becoming the most precious child in the family, so naturally, I loved them the most, too. Dr. Folston suddenly asked, "If they really love you more than anything, why do you have to be sick to receive all their attention?" The smile on my face stiffened. "What do you mean?" Dr. Folston took my hand and asked in return, "When you were healthy, what did they ever give up for your sake?" I opened my mouth, but my mind went completely blank. Mom suddenly burst into tears. "Please stop asking her. She can't take the stress." I hurriedly nodded. "See? My mom cares about me so much. She can't even bear to let me hear a single harsh word." Dr. Folston studied me for a long time before finally deciding not to press further. She reopened my medical file. "The patient, Evelyn Lancaster, has repeatedly said that she vomits whenever she eats more than seven ounces. But the human stomach can't precisely detect seven ounces." She turned to Mom. "That number wasn't something she came up with herself." Mom recoiled sharply. But I smiled and said, "Mom set that limit. She even bought the kitchen scale for me herself—the one she used to weigh every meal I ate." Chapter 4 Mom hurriedly tried to explain. "I bought the scale to take care of you. You've always been having issues with your stomach, so I just wanted to keep track of how much you ate every day." I shook my head. "No. You bought it to punish me." The color drained from Mom's face instantly. The day after Charlotte was found, she cried in front of all our relatives, claiming that I hadn't been worried about her at all. "Evie kept saying she was hungry. Even when I was missing, she was sneaking buns behind everyone's backs." The way our relatives looked at me changed completely, and Mom felt like she'd been publicly humiliated. That very afternoon, she bought a kitchen scale and locked all the snacks, bread, and milk in the house inside a cabinet. Then, she placed my plate on the scale. It showed 7.1 ounces. Mom dumped the entire plate of food into the trash right in front of me. "If you take more than seven ounces, you won't be allowed to eat even a single bite." I burst into tears. "But Mom, I'm hungry." She pointed at Charlotte, who was sitting on the couch with a slice of cake, and screamed at me, "When Lottie went missing, all you cared about was being hungry! So I'll make sure you remember exactly what hunger feels like!" Dad, who stood nearby, tried to intervene several times. But every time Charlotte started crying, he fell silent again. Mom taped a punishment chart on the refrigerator. I was limited to only seven ounces per meal. If I took anything more than that, the entire meal would be thrown away. If I sneaked a bite, I wouldn't get dinner the next day. And if I dared to complain of hunger again, I'd have to stand beside the dining table and watch Charlotte finish her meal. On the first evening, Charlotte deliberately put a piece of spare rib onto my plate. The number on the scale jumped to 8.1 ounces. Before I could even pick it out, she quickly shouted, "Mom! Evie's sneaking food again!" Mom rushed over and swept everything, plate and all, into the trash. "You love food so much, don't you? Well, you won't be getting a single bite tonight!" I stood by the dining table, my stomach cramping with hunger. Sitting in my seat, Charlotte bit into a chicken drumstick and asked, "Evie, are you still hungry?" I didn't dare answer. If I said yes, I knew I'd be punished again the next day. The following day, I learned to weigh my food. If there was an extra piece of pasta, I'd pick it out. If there was one extra leaf in my salad, I'd put it back. But while I wasn't looking, Charlotte sneakily poured a spoonful of soup onto my plate. The number went over seven ounces, and Mom threw my food away again. By the third day, I was so hungry that I couldn't even keep water down. That night, I fell out of bed and struck my forehead, leaving it bleeding. Mom finally panicked. She held me in her arms and cried, telling me the punishment was over and that from then on, I could eat as much as I wanted. The punishment chart was quickly torn down, and the lock on the snack cabinet was removed too. Everyone thought the whole thing was over. But I didn't stop, because I'd finally understood that if I went hungry enough, Mom would hold me. If I got so thin that I fainted, Dad would leave Charlotte behind to come help me. It dawned on me that the scale wasn't a punishment. It was my way back into Mom's and Dad's hearts. Dr. Folston's eyes reddened. "So seven ounces wasn't the limit your stomach could handle. It was the limit your mother set for the punishment back then." Mom collapsed onto the floor, shaking her head frantically. "I only punished you for three days! I just wanted to scare you, to make you understand that Charlotte was more important than food." I lifted my head and looked at Mom, smiling sweetly. There wasn't a trace of hatred in my eyes, only gratitude. "It's okay, Mom. I like that kitchen scale. After you bought it, I finally won back your love. How could it have been a punishment? It was the best gift you ever gave me!" Looking at my contented smile, everyone in the consultation room went quiet. The silence was so strange it felt almost eerie. Then Mom's phone rang. It was Charlotte. The moment the call connected, Charlotte's sobs came through the phone. "Mom, I fell down the stairs. It hurts so much..." Mom immediately stood up. I grabbed her desperately. "She's faking it! She knows you're here with me, so she's deliberately making up an excuse to lure you away." Dad said nothing, but Mom had already picked up her bag. "Evie, I'm just going back to check on her. As soon as I know Lottie's okay, I'll come straight back and stay with you. It'll be just a little while." Just a little while. Those were her exact words on my 12th birthday, too. But her hand had already slipped out of mine. As I watched her hurry toward the door, I suddenly understood something—I still wasn't thin enough, and I wasn't pitiful enough either. At least, I wasn't yet so pitiful that they would keep their eyes on me forever. I turned and walked toward the window. Dr. Folston was the first to realize something was wrong. "Evelyn, what are you doing?" Mom finally turned around. I climbed onto the windowsill and smiled at her. "Mom, who will you save first this time?" The color drained from her face instantly, and she lunged at me like a madwoman. But she was still one step too late. I let go.