I lay in bed, the suffocating heat of my fever wrapped around me like a blanket, but it felt nothing like comfort. My body was a battlefield—aching muscles, a throat so raw it felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper, and a pounding headache that seemed to split my skull in two. The thermometer had shown 39.5°C, but it didn’t even matter anymore. The fever had its claws deep in me, and I was too exhausted to do anything about it.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, praying for a little bit of rest. Sleep seemed like my only refuge from the relentless pain, but my mind kept drifting between the foggy edges of half-formed dreams and reality. Every time I closed my eyes, I was stuck in an endless loop of bizarre nightmares—wading through thick, sticky mud, unable to move, while invisible hands tugged at me from behind. It was exhausting.
Suddenly, a splash of cold water hit my face. I gasped, my body jerking awake, my eyes flying open with a start. A chill ran through me, the water freezing against my feverish skin. I barely registered the blurry figure above me before I heard the sharp, unforgiving voice cut through the haze of my exhaustion.
“Still sleeping?!” My mother-in-law’s voice pierced the air, shrill and demanding.
I squinted up at her, still disoriented, trying to make sense of what was happening. She stood over me, her face a stony mask of disapproval. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like a soldier preparing for battle. She looked absolutely furious.
“Get up!” she barked, her words like daggers. “The guests will be here in an hour! The house needs to shine, the table needs to be set! Get to work, lazy!”
I was too weak to respond. My body felt like it was made of lead, every movement an effort, and the ache in my throat made it impossible to speak. I barely had the strength to lift my head. Still, I managed to croak out a weak protest.
“Mom… I have a fever of 39.5. I can’t even… move.” My voice was little more than a rasp, the words barely escaping my dry lips.
But she didn’t even flinch. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively, her eyes narrowing with frustration.
“Oh, stop with the whining,” she snapped. “Everyone gets sick, it’s nothing new. When I was your age, I was sick all the time, but I still did everything. You think you’re the first person to catch a cold? Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of the guests.”
I felt a rush of anger rise within me, cutting through the fog of sickness. Her words weren’t just callous—they were cruel in their indifference. There was no sympathy, no understanding, just this icy, almost hostile tone that made my blood run cold. And in that moment, something inside me snapped.
I had taken enough. The years of biting my tongue, of quietly enduring her constant criticism and disregard for my well-being, all came rushing to the surface. I couldn’t stand it anymore. My body was screaming at me to rest, to heal, but her relentless demand for perfection, her need for everything to be flawless no matter the cost, had pushed me to the edge.
Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I did something that shocked even me.
I sat up, swiping the cold water off my face in frustration, and then—without warning—I hurled the empty glass she had used to splash me with, across the room. It hit the wall with a loud crash, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor. My mother-in-law flinched, her eyes wide in disbelief as she looked at me.
“How dare you!” she shrieked, her voice trembling with shock and fury.
I didn’t care. I was done. “I’m not your maid. I’m not your servant. I’m a human being. And you’ve been treating me like dirt for years.”
I stood up, feeling my knees buckle beneath me from the dizziness, but I was too angry to sit back down. My vision blurred from the fever, but my heart pounded with a newfound strength. “You think you can just bully me into doing everything, no matter what? You think I don’t matter? Well, I’m not going to let you run my life anymore.”
Her face turned pale. For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. But I didn’t stop. “I’m sick! You know I’m sick! And you still expect me to jump up and clean the house, serve your guests, and pretend everything’s fine? I can’t do it anymore, and I won’t. So, you can either help me, or you can deal with the mess yourself.”
My mother-in-law opened her mouth, but no words came out. She looked as though she were about to say something, but instead, her face twisted into a mask of panic. “Please,” she stammered. “Please don’t do this. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
But I was already walking away, too tired, too angry to hear any more excuses. “Sorry isn’t enough,” I said quietly, my voice filled with finality. “I’ve had enough of your behavior. I’m not your punching bag.”
I left her standing there, speechless, as I shuffled back to my bed. My legs wobbled, and every part of me screamed in exhaustion, but I didn’t care anymore. For the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of something more powerful than my fever—freedom.
As I lay back down, pulling the covers over me, my mind raced, but it was no longer clouded with self-doubt. I was sick, yes, but I had just taken control of my life in a way I had never done before. No longer would I let anyone treat me like I was less than I deserved.
The fever might have still been burning inside me, but in that moment, I felt stronger than ever before. And as I closed my eyes to rest, I knew things were about to change. I would not let anyone walk over me again.