The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 10

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 10

For the final episode, the team had planned A Letter to My Family.

Lucas handed me the script, looking awkward. “You don’t have to follow this. Revise it however you

choose.”

I glanced at the draft: I thank my parents for their tough love… I thank this program for helping me

grow.

I set it down gently. “I want to speak in my own words.”

On livestream day, we returned to the same old courtyard.

A long table held pizza, roast chicken, beef stew, salad, tomato soup-and a wicker basket of

cornbread slices.

Lucas turned to me. “Does seeing cornbread again frighten you?”

I looked at the coarse grain. This time, no desperation, no recoil.

“No. The cornbread isn’t to blame. Neither am I. The fault lies with those who left me so starved

that every scrap felt like a lifeline.”

The courtyard fell quiet. Wind rustled the corn leaves along the wall.

Lucas asked again, “What would you like to say to everyone watching?”

I faced the lens directly. Thomas wasn’t here this time. No hand pressed warningly onto my

shoulder. No voice reminded me to watch my word.

“I once thought hunger was punishment for being troublesome,” I said. “I believed I spent too much, that I must never burden adults. So I stretched $300 to cover everything, counting each

cent.”

“But no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough-not because I failed to save, but because

someone took what was mine and told me I didn’t deserve it.”

I paused. “If someone always speaks for you-claiming your mother hates you, insisting your father acts out of care, calling your hunger attention-seeking-you must ask them yourself.”

“Check bank records with your own eyes. Hear the truth face-to-face. Never let anyone stand between you and your family, leaving you afraid to speak while wasting away in silence.”

Off-camera, Mom watched, eyes glistening but silent.

Lucas turned to her. “Ms. Sullivan, would you like to add anything?”

She stepped before the camera holding legal documents.

“Thomas has paid the first restitution installment. Seth’s condo is under asset recovery. All evidence of defamation and misappropriation has been submitted to our legal team.”

“From now on, every cent for Hazel’s life, education, and healthcare goes straight into her personal account.”

She glanced at me. “I don’t ask for gratitude. This is what I should have done long ago. If she chooses to rebuild our bond, that’s her choice. If she can’t forgive me yet, I accept the consequences I earned.”

After broadcast, the crew invited everyone to share the meal.

No one counted my cornbread this time. No one snickered.

Mom ladled soup and added quickly, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t feel like it.”

I noticed how cautiously she spoke, and my heart ached gently. “I’ll have it.”

The soup steamed warmly, light and simple. Perfect.

I sipped slowly, ate one slice of pizza and a slice of beef, taking my time.

I knew no one would snatch the food away.

After dinner, Mom drove me back to campus.

At the gate, she asked, “Dental follow-up tomorrow. Shall I pick you up at five?”

I thought for a moment. “Half past five. My classes finish at five.”

She nodded right away. “Of course, five-thirty.”

Before I climbed out, she called my name. “Hazel-in the future, tell me straight if you don’t want

to meet. Don’t force yourself to please me at the cost of your happiness.”

I studied her face for a few seconds. “Alright.”

Back in the dorm, Jenna tossed me candy from her desk. “Dessert after dinner.”

I peeled off the wrapper. Strawberry sweetness spread across my tongue, bright and genuine.

I opened a new notebook and wrote: Dental follow-up. Stomach medication. Treat Jenna to dinner.

On the final line, I wrote slowly: I have finally reclaimed the right to my own meals,

I closed the notebook once I finished writing,

Outside, streetlights glowed. Students hurried back with late-night snacks or books toward the library; someone called a friend’s name below.

An ordinary, lively evening. This quiet steadiness was no longer far away.

Hunger won’t vanish overnight; hurt won’t heal instantly,

But starting today, I oversee my own money, speak for myself, and will savor my life-one bite at a

time.