Chapter 1

On my sister's birthday, I smashed her eight-tiered cake onto the floor.

She wasn't angry. Instead, she pulled out a pointer right there on the spot.

She aimed it at my face and started giving a live lesson.

"Everyone, take a good look. This is histrionic personality disorder."

"They act out to show off in front of others just to grab the world's attention."

"The best treatment is to ignore her."

I stood there frozen, trying to explain that someone had smeared lubricant all over the stairs.

But the moment I opened my mouth, my furious mother slapped me so hard my ears rang.

From that day on, I became invisible in my own home.

When I stood on tiptoe to reach the top box and it hit me on the head, my mother walked right past me without any expression.

When I bent down to tie my shoelaces while we were out shopping, my sister had already left me behind and briskly crossed the next intersection.

Even at the proposal I so carefully prepared, my childhood sweetheart kept his head down playing on his phone and didn't spare me a single glance from start to finish.

I knelt in front of him, holding up the ring.

My presence counted for less than a puff of air.

I glanced at the backdrop I had set up with my own hands, and suddenly felt exhausted to the bone.

I didn't want to keep playing this one-woman show.

1.

My arm holding up the ring ached, and I'd already repeated my proposal vows for the sixth time.

Curt stood over me, his fingers tapping away at his screen.

This wasn't the first time he'd ignored me like this.

But today was special, and I thought he would be different.

He tapped open a chat, and a string of voice messages spilled out.

"Curt, you're not actually paying attention to her, are you?"

There was a tension in the voice trying to sound relaxed.

It was my younger sister, Kate.

Curt replied crisply, just two words.

No.

The other side seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"She's just trying to control you with this trick. If you react to her, she'll only try harder next time."

I lowered my eyes, stood up, and brushed the dust off my knees.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Curt's phone screen.

It was a group chat with only three people in it.

Mom, my sister, and him.

The group was called Beating the Severe Histrionic Personality Patient.

Every message in it was them sharing their victories.

Mom said:

"She told me this morning she had a headache, but I ignored her. I think she just saw me buy Kate a gift last night and was hinting that I should get her one too."

My sister said:

"Yesterday when we were out shopping, the light turned green, but of course she had to crouch down to tie her shoelaces right then."

"I didn't indulge her. I just walked off on my own."

"Later I found a coffee shop and watched her look for me for half an hour under the blazing sun."

Seeing me stand up, Curt finally spoke his first words to me all day.

"Done acting?"

So all my needs had only ever been an act in their eyes.

I nodded, my voice soft but firm.

"Done acting. I've had enough of it."

I didn't want to go through another round of the deliberate ignoring and mockery of the past six months.

He reached out and patted my head, his voice gentle.

"You've made progress today. You finally admit everything you did was a performance."

"But Kate says the treatment has to continue. We can't let our guard down completely just because of one success."

He held his hand out in front of me and gave a soft laugh.

"But as a reward for your progress, I'll let you slip that prop ring from the dollar store onto my finger."

It felt like a wad of cotton had been stuffed into my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I looked down at the men's ring in my hand.

To buy it, I'd worked part-time for a whole year.

I scrimped and saved, didn't even buy myself a single extra piece of clothing.

We'd been together for three years; naturally our relationship needed to take a step forward.

I figured, since Curt wouldn't say it, then I would.

But now it felt like a silent mockery.

I closed the ring box and put it back in my backpack.

"Never mind. I'm going to return it."

Curt's smile froze on his lips, a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

"Then hurry up and pack your things and go. Stop taking up a space someone else paid to book."

I wanted to say I wouldn't be taking it up.

Every inch of this place I had arranged with my own hands.

The bouquet used Curt's favorite roses; my hands were pricked bloody while I trimmed the thorns.

The venue was painted in his favorite blue, every brushstroke of paint applied by my own hand.

But he'd noticed none of it.

It didn't matter anymore.

I sent a message to the person who rented me the venue.

"All the decorations here are yours to keep. I'll transfer the rest of the venue fee to you now."

The reply came back fast.

"Over so soon? You must have nailed it on the first try, right?"

I swallowed down the bitterness in my mouth.

"No. I'm planning to break up."