Chapter 1

1

The cleanest lie in the world is a person looking into a mirror and pretending they cannot see themselves.

I managed to keep that lie going for six months.

I didn’t stop until I finally uncovered the truth.

Chapter 1：The Light in the Dark

The day I suddenly regained my sight was a Wednesday morning.

There were no dramatic signs or warnings.

The day before, I had been completely blind―not the blurry kind of blindness, but a total, crushing void.

It was as if someone had unscrewed all the lightbulbs inside my eyeballs.

Then, at six in the morning, I woke up to a sliver of light leaking through the gap in the curtains.

It hit the right side of my face, and I could feel the warmth on my eyelids.

I opened my eyes.

I saw the ceiling.

It was an old, slightly yellowed white, with a tiny crack in the top left corner.

That crack had been there since six months ago, but I hadn’t known because I couldn’t see it.

I stared at that crack for a long time, until my neck grew stiff.

Suddenly, a voice echoed in my head.

It wasn’t my own thought. It was a real voice, as if someone had pressed their lips against my ear.

The person wasn’t in the room, but the voice was right there.

It wasn't loud, but it was crystal clear, like a studio recording with zero static.

It said：

“Don’t tell a soul.”

I didn’t find it strange at the time.

Perhaps after six months of total darkness, I had learned to stop being surprised by anything.

Blindness had made my days so monotonous that I simply didn’t have the energy for shock.

I closed my eyes and pretended nothing had changed.

My mother brought breakfast in a few minutes later.

By the time she pushed the door open, I had already resumed my act.

My face was turned toward the window, but my gaze was empty and hollow.

“Caleb, honey, time to eat.”

My mother always called me by my first name. My full name is Caleb Sterling. I’m fourteen years old, the youngest son of the family.

Or at least, I used to think I was.

She placed the breakfast tray on my nightstand. It was oatmeal, some toast, and a small side of fruit.

She adjusted my pillows and helped me sit up.

She guided my hand to the bowl so I could feel the rim.

“It’s hot,” she whispered. “Wait a moment.”

I kept my head down, pretending my eyes were open but useless.

But I could see.

I saw a dried cut on the back of her hand.

It looked like a knife wound―not deep, but the line was too straight to be an accident.

“Mom, what happened to your hand?” I asked, pretending to be casual.

Her hand flinched before she pulled it back.

“I just slipped while cutting vegetables. It’s nothing.”

She didn’t look at me when she said it.

I knew she was lying.

I didn’t need a superpower to know that; I just knew my mother.

She always looked away when she was hiding something. It had been that way since I was a kid.

I didn’t push her for the truth.

I just picked up my spoon and started eating.

The room was silent for a while. Then, a heavy thud echoed from the floor above, like something substantial hitting the ground.

My mother stood up instantly. Her footsteps were hurried as she left and clicked my door shut.

I heard her racing up the stairs.

Then came my sister’s voice, sounding lazy and half-asleep.

“Mom, I knocked over that lamp last night. Get me a new one.”

My mother answered immediately. “Of course, honey. I’ll go buy one right now.”

“I want the cool white bulb. Not the warm light. Warm light is annoying.”

“Okay, cool white it is.”

I sat on my bed, taking one bite after another.

My sister’s name is Elena.

She’s six years older than me, twenty years old, and incredibly beautiful.

My mother paid for her nose job, my father bought her the latest phone, and her room upstairs is twice the size of mine.

She was the one who blinded me six months ago on a Friday evening.

She had called me into her room, claiming she needed help moving books to organize her shelf.

I went in to help.

I bent down to reach the bottom shelf, my back turned to her.

That was when she poured a bottle of something corrosive directly into my eyes from behind.

I screamed. I screamed so loud as I collapsed, clutching my face, feeling like my eyeballs were melting out of my skull.

She didn't call 911.

Instead, she ran to the door and yelled, “Mom! Caleb was messing with my chemistry supplies and spilled them in his eyes!”

My mother rushed in, grabbed me, and dragged me to the bathroom to flush my eyes with water.

She rinsed them for a long, long time.

In the end, I was blind.

The hospital’s conclusion was “chemical burns, optic nerve damage, unlikely to recover in the short term.”

My father asked what kind of chemicals they were.

My mother said they were waste fluids from a lab that Elena had brought home for disposal.

Elena stood by my hospital bed. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel her staring.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb,” she said. “I didn't think you'd touch those.”

There was no apology in her voice.

Instead, there was a strange, faint sense of relief.

I knew right then.

She did it on purpose.

But I couldn't say anything. I had no proof, and I was blind. What could I possibly do?

Since then, the family has been very kind to me.

My father bought me specialized equipment for the blind. My mother hand-fed me every day.

Elena would occasionally come to my room and ask if I was feeling better in a voice so sweet it made my skin crawl.

I told her I was fine.

But I didn't feel fine at all.

Then, six months later, on a Wednesday morning, the light leaked through the curtains.

I could see again.

And that voice told me：Don't tell a soul.

I finished my breakfast, put the bowl back, and lay down.

I closed my eyes.

Fine.

I’ll keep my mouth shut.