Mom, Just Believe Me Once

A compulsive liar. That’s the label my mother gave me.

She was a firm believer in ‘evidence-based discipline.’ So, from the moment my twin sister Chloe Anderson and I took our first breaths, she fastened honesty monitors onto our wrists.

These bands would glow a violent crimson at the slightest untruth. With a press of a button on her controller, the punishment would follow—a sharp, jolting shock.

Chloe’s monitor remained a serene, steady green. She once shredded Mom’s prized silk blouse and pinned it on the dog, and the band just pulsed, undisturbed.

For me, even uttering “Mom, I’m tired” would make the device flare a warning red. The electric sting would hit my nerves before I could finish the sentence.

I attempted to defend myself. A single time. Mom cut me off.

“The monitor doesn’t make mistakes. Pain is the only teacher you’ll understand. I’m doing this for your own good, because I love you.”

Shock after relentless shock, I began to internalize it. Perhaps I really was fundamentally flawed.

When New Year’s Eve arrived, Mom was taking Chloe to the city square to see the light show.

A searing, twisting agony erupted in my abdomen. I folded onto the hardwood floor, my voice breaking. “Mom, please… my stomach… it’s really bad.”

The band on my wrist ignited into a frantic, pulsating red.

Mom looked down, her eyes tracing the sweat beading on my forehead and dampening my shirt. Her thumb moved to the dial on her remote, turning it to its maximum setting.

“Faking an illness just to get your way? For heaven’s sake, Amelia, when will you ever learn?”

She took Chloe’s hand and strode out. The heavy front door thudded shut, the sound final.

Maybe Mom was correct. The monitor was red, so the pain couldn’t be real. I was lying again, just seeking sympathy like I always did.

I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe in another lifetime, I’ll be born truthful.

“It hurts… oh God, it hurts.”

The pain came in nauseating waves. My fingernails dug into the floorboards, leaving faint, desperate scratches.

The doorknob rattled, then turned.

A fragile spark of hope ignited in my chest. Mom had come back.

She was a surgeon. She must have realized. She was here to save me.

“Are you finished with this pathetic act? The show begins in ten minutes, and Chloe is waiting in the car.”

“Mom.” My voice was a frayed whisper. I stretched a trembling hand toward her. “Mom, please. It feels like… something is ripping me apart inside.”

Her gaze dropped to my wrist, where the band throbbed its accusatory red.

She knelt, her fingers gripping my chin with a cold, clinical pressure. Her words, when they came, were laced with pure contempt.

“How long do you intend to keep this charade going, Amelia?”

“Christ, you truly are a compulsive liar. Stay here and reflect on your behavior.”

Dad’s hesitant voice echoed from the hallway. “Victoria, we should leave. They’re starting soon. If Amelia’s staying behind… shouldn’t we at least leave her something to eat?”

Mom stood up, briskly wiping her hands on her skirt as if brushing off grime.

“Why would I bother?”

“She has that hidden supply in her closet. The things she bought with the money she took. She’ll manage.”

“Lock the door on your way out. She doesn’t step a foot outside until that monitor shows green.”

“But…” Dad’s protest died in his throat.

“But what? You coddle her. Look at Chloe’s monitor. Always green. Amelia is corrupted. If we don’t correct this now, we’ve lost her for good.”

My closet was barren. Chloe took the cash. Chloe devoured all the treats.

All Chloe ever did was stand there, her monitor glowing a pristine green, and utter, “It wasn’t me.”

And Mom believed her.

Whenever I tried to speak the truth, the band flashed crimson, and the shock would silence me.

I watched her walk away.

Chloe leaned back into the doorway, a smug, mocking smile on her face as she stuck out her tongue.

“Bye-bye, Amelia. We’re going to see the beautiful lights now.”

Her monitor shone a perfect, untroubled green.

The door slammed. The deadbolt clicked into place. The house descended into a hollow silence.

It was just me and the rending agony in my gut. God, the pain was unbearable.

Mom was right. The monitor didn’t lie. It was red. That meant I was the liar. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t. I chanted it to myself, a broken mantra. Hot tears still streamed down my cheeks.