Chapter 1: The “Health Concerns”

Part 1

🪚 **My dad claimed I was too sick for my dream program to protect his reputation — then he called *me* delusional when I asked why.**

My dad always told me he wanted me to succeed more than anyone. I’d just handed him my application for the prestigious Summer Innovator program, feeling so excited.

Three weeks later, I received a cold rejection email, citing my voluntary withdrawal due to “health concerns.” It was a lie.

My mother, Diana Finch, furious and confused, took me to Ms. Evelyn Reed, the guidance counselor. Ms. Reed pulled up my file, looking bewildered herself, saying my father, Arthur Finch, had come in five weeks prior.

He had claimed I was too stressed and requested my application be put on hold indefinitely. He’d forbidden me from telling Mom anything, saying it would only worry her, but now, it wasn’t just my future at stake.

After the counselor’s revelation, I went home, my stomach tight. I found my father, Arthur Finch, in his study, flipping through a magazine. His usual confident smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Dad,” I began, trying to keep my voice even. “Ms. Reed said you told them I was too stressed for the Summer Innovator program. You put my application on hold.”

He looked up slowly, a practiced calm on his face.

“Elara, we discussed this, didn’t we? It was for your own good.”

“You’ve been working so hard.”

“No, we didn’t discuss it,” I countered, my voice rising slightly. “You told me not to tell Mom, saying it would worry her. But you didn’t say you’d withdraw me.”

He sighed, setting the magazine down.

“Honestly, Elara, you’re becoming a bit much. So dramatic lately.”

“Dramatic?” I asked, disbelief flooding me. “My future is on the line!”

Arthur leaned back, a patronizing look in his eyes.

“You tend to get a little… overly sensitive, sweetheart.”

“Prone to these stress-induced delusions when things don’t go exactly your way.”

He paused, letting the words hang in the air, his gaze unwavering.

“Sometimes your imagination just runs wild, doesn’t it?”

A cold dread settled over me. His casual tone, the way he twisted my confusion into a flaw, made my blood run cold. He was making me question my own sanity, making me doubt what I knew to be true. Was I really imagining all of this?

Part 2

The feeling of confusion lingered, amplified by my father’s calm dismissal. Was I truly losing my mind? My mother, however, saw the fear in my eyes, the tremor in my hands.

“That’s enough, Elara,” Mom said, her voice firm. “We’re going back to see Ms. Reed.”

She didn’t wait for a response, just took my hand and led me out the door. The drive to Northwood High was silent, Mom’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. Her jaw was set.

Ms. Reed looked up, surprised, when we re-entered her office a few minutes later. Her expression shifted to concern as she took in Mom’s determined stance and my own pale face.

“Diana, Elara, is everything alright?” Ms. Reed asked, gesturing for us to sit.

My mother bypassed the chairs, standing directly in front of the desk. “No, Evelyn, it’s not. Something isn’t right with Elara’s application.”

Ms. Reed nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. She pulled up my digital file again, scrolling through the entries with a growing look of bewilderment.

She clicked on a tab and then paused, her eyes widening slightly. “This is… unexpected.”

She typed something into her computer, then leaned back, a puzzled expression on her face. “It seems there was an official withdrawal form submitted for Elara.”

My mother gripped my arm tightly. “A withdrawal form? But Arthur told you he just wanted to put it on hold.”

“That’s what I was initially told verbally,” Ms. Reed confirmed. “But then this form came through shortly after.”

She clicked a few more times, her gaze fixed on the screen. “It’s dated five weeks ago, just before the application deadline.”

“It details a medical reason for withdrawal.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. Medical reason? What was she talking about?

“This form states that Elara was experiencing significant, debilitating anxiety.”

“It says she required immediate withdrawal from all competitive programs for her mental health.”

Ms. Reed looked from the screen to my mother, then to me, clearly troubled. “This raised a red flag, naturally. Given the severity, the program decided not to simply ‘hold’ the application, but to issue a full rejection.”

She then clicked a button, and a document slid out of the printer on her desk. She picked it up, her expression grave, and turned it towards us.

“And it was signed.”

“By both parents, as required for a medical withdrawal for a minor.”

My eyes scanned the paper, landing on the bottom line. My mother’s name was written there, clearly printed: Diana Finch.

But it wasn’t her handwriting. It was a perfect, unmistakable forgery.