My Mother’s Scorecard: When My Points Hit Zero, I Chose To Die

Tags: Rebirth, Cutting Ties, Mother's Scorecard, Favoritism, Tearjerker, PostMortem Regret I Turned the Scorecard on My Mother During the gas leak explosion, Mom only carried my sleeping little sister out.

Left behind in the inferno, I suffered thirddegree burns across my entire body, clinging to life in the ICU.

To decide whether I was worth the hospital bills, Mom started a scorecard. A total of one hundred points. Can’t dress herself: minus one point.

Can only stare blankly: minus one point. Within three months, she deducted all one hundred points. With tears in her eyes, she signed the order and pulled the plug on my ventilator.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the days right after the blast. This time, I started a scorecard of my own. Mom saves all her smiles for Chloe: minus one point.

Mom snaps at me for no reason: minus another point. When my score hit zero, I clutched my notebook on the hospital bed and closed my eyes forever.

Only then did Mom break down, drowning in regret. On the day of the gas leak, Mom carried only Chloe out.

I was left beneath the collapsing debris, the skin on my face, hands, and chest melting in the blistering heat.

By the time the firefighters pulled me out from the rubble, my flesh was still smoking. When I finally woke up, I was already in the hospital. Bandages covered me from head to toe.

The only things I could move were my eyes. The elderly woman in the bed next to mine had visitors every single day. My bedside remained completely empty.

On the third day, Mom finally showed up, holding a crisp, brandnew notebook. "Maya." She said my name in a voice as flat as water.

Later during my recovery, I accidentally knocked the notebook over and saw the title penned on the first page: "Survival Viability Scorecard." Total: 100 points.

The handwriting beneath it was neat and cold. Can’t dress herself: minus 1 point. Can only stare blankly: minus 1 point. Incontinent: minus 2 points. Needs to be fed: minus 1 point.

Emotionally unstable: minus 3 points. With every line I read, my blood ran colder. I didn't know what the rubric was for back then.

All I knew was that I didn't have many points left. That night, my wounds developed a severe infection, and my fever spiked to a dangerous 104 degrees.

Delirious, I called out for Mom all night long. No one ever answered. The next morning, Mom walked in.

She completely ignored my raspy calls, flipped open her little notebook, and wrote: "Cried all night and disturbed other patients: minus 5 points." I was so weak from the burning fever that I couldn't even keep my eyes open. "Maya, if you don't even have the will to live, stop wasting my money." I shook my head frantically, tears soaking through the edges of my gauze. Mom, I want to live. I really want to live. Two months later, my score hit zero.

Mom stood outside my hospital room. The doctor said, "There's a targeted drug that could save her.

It's expensive, but if you're willing to try..." Mom held Chloe's hand, shaking her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. "No." "Doctor, we're just an ordinary family.

We can't afford it. Dying... dying is a relief for her." A searing spasm ripped through me, and I snapped my eyes open. Above me was the sterile, pale ceiling.

This was... the third day after the explosion. I had been reborn.

My right hand could barely move, but I remembered that a nurse had placed a pad of sticky notes and a pen in my bedside drawer two days ago.

Using every ounce of strength, I turned my body, tugged open the drawer, and gripped the paper and pen.

On the very first page, my trembling hand wrote: [Starting Score: 100 points] Mom walked into the room, exactly like in my past life.

She stood by my bed, staring down at me for a long time.

Didn't ask about my injuries: minus 1 point. "If only you were like your sister and gave me less trouble." Comparing me to my sister: minus 1 point. "I have no idea how much this treatment is going to cost.

Our household savings..." Implying I'm a financial burden: minus 2 points.

Just as I was about to keep writing, Mom said something she had never said in my previous life. "Maya, don't blame me for only grabbing Chloe. She's little.

You were old enough to run out on your own." My hand froze on the pen. You're the older sister; you have to look out for Chloe. I had heard that sentence for fourteen years.

So when it came to our only chance at survival, Mom didn't even bother to wake me up.

She could have easily shaken me awake. [Mom abandoned me to burn: minus 5 points.] Current score: 91 points. Seeing that I remained silent, Mom assumed I accepted her excuse.

She nodded in satisfaction. "All right, just rest up. I'm going over to check on Chloe." She turned to leave, but paused at the door and glanced back at me. That look.

I knew it all too well. In my last life, her scorecard had started with that exact same look.

Lying on the hospital bed, I added another note: [Mom is preparing to score me: minus 10 points.] Current score: 81 points.

Staring at the number, a strange calmness settled over my chest. In my past life, Mom used a hundred points to justify throwing me away.

In this life, I gave myself a hundred points. The day they hit zero, I would leave. Cleanly, quietly, without causing her any trouble at all.

On the fourth day after my rebirth, my tally began in earnest. I hid the notepad inside my pillowcase. Every time Mom visited, I scribbled beneath the sheets.

That afternoon, Mom brought Chloe to see me. Chloe had a small bandage wrapped around her head, but her face was completely untouched.

Mom held her securely in her arms while Chloe stared at me with wide, timid eyes. "Maya, does it hurt?" she asked in a tiny voice.

I wanted to say no, but my throat was too raw to make a sound, so I just shook my head. Tears welled up in Chloe's eyes. "Mom, Maya looks so miserable.

Can we stay and keep her company?" Mom pulled Chloe tighter against her chest, her tone turning sickeningly gentle. "Be good, Chloe. Maya needs her rest.

Let's not disturb her." Mom turned to scowl at me. "Maya, your sister is worried about you.

The least you could do is show some reaction." "Chloe's injuries are so much lighter, yet she cries every day.

Look at you, just sitting there like a wooden doll." If I cried, she would say I was weak. If I stayed quiet, she called me a wooden doll.

What did she actually want from me? [Mom called me a wooden doll: minus 2 points.] I lifted my chin and forced the corners of my mouth upward.

I was trying to smile, but my burned, blistered face couldn't form expressions anymore. The grimace must have looked horrific, but I was genuinely trying.

Mom clicked her tongue in disgust. "Never mind. Don't do that. You look creepy." [Mom was disgusted by my smile: minus 3 points.] Current score: 76 points.

That afternoon, the nurse came in to change my dressings. Changing burn dressings is pure agony.

The gauze fuses to the raw flesh, and peeling it away feels like skinning someone alive. I bit down hard on my lip, my entire body shaking, tears streaming silently down my cheeks.

The nurse whispered soothingly, "Hang in there, sweetheart. Almost done." I nodded, fighting with everything I had to keep from screaming. Right then, Mom pushed the door open.

She took one look at the bloody gauze peeling off my body, and her eyebrows immediately knitted together. I thought she might at least tell me to stay strong.

Instead, she snapped, "Stop crying.

You're so loud the whole floor can hear you." The nurse paused, visibly taken aback. "Ma'am, changing burn dressings is excruciatingly painful for a child..." Mom cut her off. "Chloe didn't make a single peep when they changed her bandages.

Maya is just being dramatic." [Mom called me dramatic: minus 5 points.] [Mom compared me to Chloe again: minus 2 points.] Current score: 69 points.

I didn't make a sound, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. Mom, I'm not being dramatic. It really, truly hurts. But the words couldn't escape my throat, and even if they did, she wouldn't have cared to listen.

Night fell, and the ward quieted down. Under the faint glow from the hallway light, I slipped the notebook out. Four days. Thirtyone points gone.

The deductions were piling up faster than I anticipated. As I drifted off to sleep, the door clicked open softly. Light footsteps approached my bed and stopped.

Mom stood there for a long time. Then came her voice, quiet and cold. "Maya, if only you were as sweet as Chloe." I opened my eyes and watched her shadow vanish into the corridor.

In the dark, I whispered to myself: Mom, I was sweet and obedient for fourteen years. Did you ever once see it? No.

You never did. I pulled out the notebook and added another line: [Mom said, "If only you were as sweet as Chloe": minus 5 points.] Current score: 64 points.

One step closer to zero.

Day five of my rebirth. My burns became infected. A fever of 102 degrees washed over me, making my skin feel like it was on fire all over again.

The nurse gave me an injection and swapped ice packs over my forehead throughout the night before the temperature finally came down. Mom had no idea.

She had spent the entire night in the adjacent room with Chloe. The next morning, Chloe skipped into my room holding a peeled orange. "Maya, look! Mom bought me oranges.

They're super sweet. Try a piece." She pressed a slice against my dry lips. I parted my mouth and took it. It was incredibly sweet—sweet enough to make my chest ache.

Chloe leaned against the guardrail, whispering, "Maya, please get better soon, okay? I want to play with you." I gave a slight nod.

She lowered her voice. "Mom hasn't smiled at all these past two days.

It scares me." Looking at her innocent face, my heart stung with bitterness. Chloe, Mom isn't frowning because of you.

It's because of me. It's because she doesn't want to pay for my treatment, but doesn't know how to abandon me yet. That afternoon, Mom finally came in.

She carried an insulated thermos. For a split second, my heart fluttered, thinking she had brought something for me.

Then she set it carelessly on my nightstand. "Chloe couldn't finish her chicken soup. It's a waste to throw it out, so you drink it." I stared at the thermos.

The lid wasn't even screwed on properly; greasy broth had trickled down the side. I didn't move. Mom's patience snapped instantly. "Are you going to drink it or not?

Chloe begged for seconds and I wouldn't give it to her.

Don't be ungrateful." [Gave me Chloe's cold leftovers: minus 5 points.] [Mom told me not to be ungrateful: minus 3 points.] Current score: 56 points.

I reached out with my trembling, bandaged hand, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip. The soup was barely lukewarm, coated in a thick layer of congealed fat. It tasted like nothing.

It wasn't that the broth lacked flavor; my taste buds were either ruined by the fever, or my heart had simply lost the ability to feel anything.

Seeing me swallow it, Mom nodded approvingly. "That's more like it. Stop acting so spoiled.

Chloe is younger than you, but she's far more sensible." [Mom said Chloe is more sensible: minus 2 points.] 54 points.

She turned to leave, but my hand shot out and caught the hem of her jacket.

Mom looked down, her forehead creased in irritation. "What is it now?" I locked eyes with her and forced a raspy whisper through my throat: "Mom... it hurts." I foolishly thought that if I admitted it, she might at least ask where it hurt.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. "Who isn't hurting? Chloe is hurting too! And I'm exhausted running between the two of you all day.

Can't you just stop causing me so much trouble?" [Mom said, "Can't you just stop causing me so much trouble": minus 5 points.] 49 points.

She yanked her jacket out of my grip so fast it was as if she had brushed against something filthy. Then she walked out without looking back.

I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, tears leaking into my hair. Mom, I didn't want to be trouble. I just wanted you to ask me where it hurt.

Just once. But you never did. Not even once. When the nurse came in to check my IV and saw me crying, she gasped softly. "What's wrong?

Are you in a lot of pain?" I shook my head. She sighed, gently blotting my tears with a tissue. "Your mom is probably just under a lot of stress.

Don't be too hard on her." I wasn't being hard on her. I just didn't love her anymore.

That evening, Mom came back. This time, she held a notebook in her hands—the exact same scorecard from my previous life.

She sat on the stool beside my bed and flipped to the first page, which read: "Maya's Survival Viability Scorecard." Just like before. "Maya, I need to keep track of your progress so we can see if you're actually going to recover." Her voice was chillingly casual, as if she were discussing the weather.

I stared at the pages. There was no anger left in me, no grief—only an eerie, hollow numbness. In my last life, this notebook had terrified me.

In this life, I had been waiting for it. "Can't dress yourself: minus one point," she read aloud.

I was wrapped like a mummy, unable to even lift my arms without tearing open my skin.

Deducted. "Can't feed yourself: minus one point." Deducted. "Incontinent: minus two points." Deducted. "Emotionally unstable: minus three points." She glanced up at me. "You've been crying nonstop these past few days, bothering the other patients.

Minus three." I didn't argue.

Beneath the thin hospital blanket, my fingers gripped my pen: [Mom brought out her scorecard: minus 10 points.] [For every point she deducts from me, I double it: minus 10 points.] Current score: 29 points.

Mom kept reciting, crossing off points one by one. I watched her lips part and close. Every word that tumbled from her mouth felt like a dull blade sawing through my chest.

Yet, strangely, it didn't hurt anymore. A heart can't hurt once it's already dead.

Finished with her deductions, Mom snapped the notebook shut and cast an indifferent glance my way. "Maya, you still have sixty points left.

Do your best and don't disappoint me." Sixty points? She left me sixty points on her rubric?

A hollow laugh caught in my throat. Mom, you think I have sixty points left, but on my score sheet, you only have twentynine. She walked out.

I pulled out my paper and traced the number "29" with a trembling finger. Just a few more days, and it would be zero. When that happened, I wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

When that happened, she could shower Chloe with all the love in the world.

She wouldn't have to look at my ruined face, wouldn't have to resent my existence, wouldn't have to waste another cent on my life. It was better this way.

I slid the paper back inside the pillow and closed my eyes. Through the quiet corridor, the sound of Mom and Chloe laughing drifted into my room.

Mom was reading her a bedtime story. Mom was laughing. Whenever she spoke to Chloe, her voice was warm and melodic, her eyes bright with pride.

Whenever she looked at me, there were only scowls and weary sighs. I scribbled one more entry: [Mom smiles at Chloe, but only ever scowls at me: minus 5 points.] 24 points.

Only twentyfour points left. Soon.