The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 09

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 09

Mom took me to the hospital.

This was far from a casual “Are you alright?”

She booked appointments with a gastroenterologist, a nutrition specialist, and a dentist, plus blood

work and micronutrient panels.

The doctor’s frown deepened as he scanned my results: chronic insufficient intake, anemia,

repeated hypoglycemia, moderate gastritis, and a long-untreated dental infection requiring staged procedures.

Mom stood beside him, jotting down every note. “Can we start aggressive nutritional support

immediately?”

The doctor glanced at me. “Not yet. Her stomach can’t handle sudden large meals. Small, regular

portions first-consistent nourishment matters more than any single feast.”

Mom nodded. “I understand. I’ll follow your instructions.”

Outside the exam room, she handed me warm milk. “The doctor said you can have a little now.

Drink slowly.”

I held the cup without sipping. Its gentle heat felt strange, unfamiliar.

Mom sat beside me. Silence stretched before she spoke: “Hazel, I’m so sorry.”

My throat tightened.

She continued, “I should never have handed money to your father and called it enough. Never

believed his stories of reckless spending without question. Worst of all, I should never have sent

you onto that show to endure public humiliation.”

“You have every right to resent me. I won’t demand instant forgiveness.”

I watched steam curl from the milk. “I do resent you, honestly.”

She nodded quietly. “I know.”

“Every time you asked if I had enough money and I said yes, you took my word,” I said. “You never

checked what I actually received, what I ate, why I kept growing thinner. You questioned my

spending while I stayed silent, terrified of becoming a burden-or worse, being abandoned.”

Tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks.

She offered no excuses, only promised.

“From now on, I won’t just ask if you have enough-I’ll confirm the money reaches you. I’ll ask what you ate, where you hurt, if you want to see me. You don’t have to answer. You can stay angry. But I will keep asking.”

My nose stung. After a pause, I whispered, “Then please stop listening to others’ versions of me.”

She wiped her tears. “I won’t. From now on, I’ll hear your side first. Check records myself. Listen directly to your voice.”

After appointments, Mom drove me back to campus.

Jenna waited outside the dorm clutching a grocery bag-oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, stomach meds.

Her eyes watered when she saw me. “Hazel, you scared me half to death.”

I smiled faintly. “I’m okay.”

“Call this okay?” She pressed the bag into my arms. “Starting today, I’m your official food police.”

I said, “I’ll pay you back everything I borrowed.”

Jenna glared at me. “Don’t you dare try.”

I murmured, “How about I treat you to dinner then? Your pick.”

She brightened at once. “Three meals, minimum.”

“Deal.”

Mom stood nearby, a soft smile touching her lips.

She didn’t interrupt, only handed me a bank card and account summary.

“Living funds go straight to your account now. Tuition and medical are separate. Change the PIN to whatever you want. I won’t hold your money anymore.”

I took the card. It felt light in my palm, yet I held it firmly.

That evening, I went to the cafeteria to purchase dinner using my bank card.

A notification popped up on the banking app showing my updated balance.

I stared at the figure for a long while.

No more scraping by on double digits. No more counting every cent. A sum large enough to let me

eat without constant panic.

I ordered a steak, along with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.

When I sat down at the table, I didn’t wolf the food down frantically.

I cut into the steak slowly. The meat was soft and juicy.

I took a bite, and sudden tears threatened to spill over.

Meals didn’t have to be fought over. No hiding food. No splitting mouthfuls into tomorrow’s

budget.

I could finish dinner today-and trust there’d be another meal tomorrow.

Mom took me to the hospital.

This was far from a casual “Are you alright?”

She booked appointments with a gastroenterologist, a nutrition specialist, and a dentist, plus blood

work and micronutrient panels.

The doctor’s frown deepened as he scanned my results: chronic insufficient intake, anemia,

repeated hypoglycemia, moderate gastritis, and a long-untreated dental infection requiring staged procedures.

Mom stood beside him, jotting down every note. “Can we start aggressive nutritional support

immediately?”

The doctor glanced at me. “Not yet. Her stomach can’t handle sudden large meals. Small, regular

portions first-consistent nourishment matters more than any single feast.”

Mom nodded. “I understand. I’ll follow your instructions.”

Outside the exam room, she handed me warm milk. “The doctor said you can have a little now.

Drink slowly.”

I held the cup without sipping. Its gentle heat felt strange, unfamiliar.

Mom sat beside me. Silence stretched before she spoke: “Hazel, I’m so sorry.”

My throat tightened.

She continued, “I should never have handed money to your father and called it enough. Never

believed his stories of reckless spending without question. Worst of all, I should never have sent

you onto that show to endure public humiliation.”

“You have every right to resent me. I won’t demand instant forgiveness.”

I watched steam curl from the milk. “I do resent you, honestly.”

She nodded quietly. “I know.”

“Every time you asked if I had enough money and I said yes, you took my word,” I said. “You never

checked what I actually received, what I ate, why I kept growing thinner. You questioned my

spending while I stayed silent, terrified of becoming a burden-or worse, being abandoned.”

Tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks.

She offered no excuses, only promised.

“From now on, I won’t just ask if you have enough-I’ll confirm the money reaches you. I’ll ask what you ate, where you hurt, if you want to see me. You don’t have to answer. You can stay angry. But I will keep asking.”

My nose stung. After a pause, I whispered, “Then please stop listening to others’ versions of me.”

She wiped her tears. “I won’t. From now on, I’ll hear your side first. Check records myself. Listen directly to your voice.”

After appointments, Mom drove me back to campus.

Jenna waited outside the dorm clutching a grocery bag-oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, stomach meds.

Her eyes watered when she saw me. “Hazel, you scared me half to death.”

I smiled faintly. “I’m okay.”

“Call this okay?” She pressed the bag into my arms. “Starting today, I’m your official food police.”

I said, “I’ll pay you back everything I borrowed.”

Jenna glared at me. “Don’t you dare try.”

I murmured, “How about I treat you to dinner then? Your pick.”

She brightened at once. “Three meals, minimum.”

“Deal.”

Mom stood nearby, a soft smile touching her lips.

She didn’t interrupt, only handed me a bank card and account summary.

“Living funds go straight to your account now. Tuition and medical are separate. Change the PIN to whatever you want. I won’t hold your money anymore.”

I took the card. It felt light in my palm, yet I held it firmly.

That evening, I went to the cafeteria to purchase dinner using my bank card.

A notification popped up on the banking app showing my updated balance.

I stared at the figure for a long while.

No more scraping by on double digits. No more counting every cent. A sum large enough to let me

eat without constant panic.

I ordered a steak, along with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.

When I sat down at the table, I didn’t wolf the food down frantically.

I cut into the steak slowly. The meat was soft and juicy.

I took a bite, and sudden tears threatened to spill over.

Meals didn’t have to be fought over. No hiding food. No splitting mouthfuls into tomorrow’s

budget.

I could finish dinner today-and trust there’d be another meal tomorrow.