In the pale light of early morning, Isabelle sat by the window of the rehabilitation clinic, watching snow settle on the hedges outside. For weeks she had measured her days in visiting hours, slipping in and out of the ward where her younger sister, Aurelia, lay recovering. The machines no longer beeped frantically, and the doctors spoke with cautious optimism, but Aurelia’s spirit was fragile, still tethered to the chains their mother had wrapped around her.

When Aurelia finally stirred after days of silence, Isabelle leaned close, hoping for a word of comfort. Aurelia’s whisper came out cracked, almost inaudible. “Is Mother coming?”

The question pierced Isabelle’s heart. Even now, even after poison disguised as medicine and years of suffocating control, Aurelia still sought their mother’s approval.

“No,” Isabelle said softly. “She cannot come anymore.”

Aurelia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Did I do something wrong? Did I gain too much weight?”

Their father, Leonard, sat on the other side of the bed. His voice broke as he answered, “You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. Your mother is unwell. She hurt you. But we are here now, and we will take care of you.”

The doctors warned that the road ahead would be long. Aurelia had to learn how to eat again, to untangle nourishment from fear. It would take months of therapy and steady encouragement. The clinic was strict but gentle, enforcing routines designed to rebuild trust with food and with herself. At first, Aurelia resisted, begging to go home, but gradually she began to listen.

While Aurelia’s body fought to heal, the outside world shifted. Their mother, Marianne, was no longer the polished figure who had charmed neighbors and manipulated friends.

After her arrest, reports revealed the expired concoctions she had forced onto her daughters, the secret stockpiles of banned supplements, and the forged records granting her authority over every medical decision. Without her mask, she appeared not tragic but dangerous, obsessed with thinness to the point of cruelty.

Letters arrived from jail, full of rambling justifications. Marianne insisted she was the victim of a conspiracy, abandoned by the diet industry for “telling the truth.” The words were fevered, stripped of coherence. Even her most loyal acquaintances began to drift away, shaken by her lack of remorse.

For Isabelle, returning to university felt hollow. Professors offered extensions and classmates avoided awkward questions, but her thoughts never left the clinic. She spent weekends commuting back, sometimes sleeping on a fold-out chair in Aurelia’s room.

Their father worked double shifts to cover the staggering costs, his savings and Isabelle’s education fund drained. Support came unexpectedly from an aunt long estranged from the family, Helena, who had lived through the same cruelty in her youth. She shared old diaries that documented how their grandmother had forced starvation diets on her daughters, turning them against each other in competitions no one could win.

For the first time, Isabelle understood the cycle that had shaped her mother’s obsession.

One evening, during family therapy, Aurelia’s voice trembled as she admitted, “I knew the pills were making me sick. But I kept taking them because when I was sick, she noticed me. She looked at me.”

The room fell silent. Leonard wept openly, Isabelle gripping her sister’s hand as if to anchor her to the present. The therapist reminded them that recovery was not linear, that relapses would come, but also that honesty was the first step out of the shadows.

Months passed. Aurelia gained strength slowly, her hair regaining its luster, her cheeks filling with color. She laughed occasionally, the sound tentative, as though relearning joy. Helena visited often, telling stories of her own healing, proof that survival did not have to end in bitterness.

When the trial came, Marianne attempted to delay with endless motions, but eventually she agreed to plead guilty. The court sentenced her to a minimum of eight years, with no contact allowed until Aurelia reached adulthood, and only then if Aurelia chose it. Marianne’s final statement to the judge contained no apology, only a bizarre declaration that society would someday thank her for “saving” her children.

The family did not attend the sentencing. Instead, they spent that rainy afternoon at the clinic, playing cards with Aurelia and watching an old comedy she loved. It was the first time Isabelle could remember them laughing together without fear of criticism or punishment.

Later that night, as she walked back to her dormitory, Isabelle realized the fight was far from over. Trauma does not vanish with a prison sentence. Yet she felt a quiet certainty: Aurelia had a chance at life, at freedom, at joy unshackled from their mother’s obsession. For the first time, Isabelle believed the cycle could be broken.