My Step-mother Starved The Child Out Of Me, So I’m Starving The Life Out Of Her.

Chapter 22: Healing in Disguise

The accusation was perfectly crafted, planted weeks ago through careful conversation and selective evidence. Ellaner didn’t realize she was parroting my narrative.

I began implementing Linda’s own starvation techniques with clinical precision. Black coffee for breakfast, calling it cleansing. Bone broth for lunch, labeled as healing.

The same phrases she’d used on me returned with medical authority. “Your body doesn’t need more,” I explained when she begged for solid food. “Hunger is just healing in disguise.”

The community garage sale provided an unexpected opportunity. Linda, desperate and dizzy with hunger, tried to buy food from a neighbor’s bake sale table.

Several people witnessed her fumbling with money, seeming confused and agitated. “Please,” she begged Mrs. Patterson, “just one cookie. I have money.”

I arrived just in time to smooth things over, explaining to the gathered crowd about her condition and food addiction. I quoted Linda’s own words about greed and lack of control, watching her face crumble with each phrase.

“We need to be supportive but firm,” I told the sympathetic neighbors. “Enabling her addiction won’t help her heal.”

The documentation of her food hoarding behavior grew more damning with each staged incident. Photos of her trying to hide food, videos of her confused behavior when hungry, medical charts showing her non-compliance.

It all painted a picture of a woman spiraling out of control. Catherine started questioning the diet after seeing Linda’s dramatic weight loss.

Chapter 23: The Grocery Store Scene

But my medical credentials and calm professionalism convinced her to maintain the strict protocol. “I know it seems extreme,” I told Catherine, “but diabetes is a serious condition. Would you rather see her lose a few pounds or lose her feet?”

The false dichotomy worked perfectly. Catherine backed off, promising to support the treatment plan.

Linda was fighting a war on two fronts now, trying to convince family members while battling actual starvation. But I’d studied her playbook for years; I anticipated every move and countered every argument with her own tactics.

Her energy depletion made it impossible to maintain consistent stories. The confusion from low blood sugar led to contradictions that I carefully documented and shared with concerned family members.

“She told me she hadn’t eaten all day,” Ellanena reported after a phone call. “But you fed her lunch, right?”

“3 hours before she called you,” I confirmed, showing the meal log. “This is what I mean about the confusion. It’s heartbreaking to watch.”

The public confrontation at the grocery store was particularly effective. Linda had managed to walk there despite her weakness, desperate to buy food.

I found her in the bread aisle, clutching a loaf like a lifeline. “Linda,” I said calmly, aware of the other shoppers watching. “You know you can’t have that. Let’s get you home.”

“I need food!” she cried out, drawing more attention. “She’s starving me!”

Chapter 24: The Professional Persona

I maintained my composure, speaking in the reasonable tone I’d perfected. “I know you’re frustrated with your medical diet, but making scenes won’t change your treatment plan.”

The store manager approached, concerned. I explained about her diabetes and food addiction, how she sometimes became agitated when restricted from certain foods.

The other shoppers looked at Linda with pity as I gently but firmly removed the bread from her hands. “I’m her nutritionist and caregiver,” I explained. “She’s going through a difficult adjustment period.”

Linda’s attempts to tell her truth were dismissed as the ravings of a woman in denial about her health conditions. My careful groundwork had ensured that every potential ally saw her through the lens I’d created.

Dad considered early retirement to help with Linda’s care, but I convinced him otherwise. “She needs consistency,” I explained during our weekly call. “Changing her routine now could derail all our progress.”

“Besides, the company needs you. Linda would feel terrible if you sacrificed your career for her.” I’d already interviewed and rejected several potential replacement caregivers.

I found fault with each one: too permissive, not medically trained, or unable to maintain strict protocols. The rejection letters were carefully filed—evidence of my diligence in seeking help that would never materialize.

The inevitable happened on a Thursday morning. Linda collapsed in the kitchen, her body finally unable to sustain itself on the meager calories I provided.

Chapter 25: The Narrative Holds

I called 911 with practiced calm, explaining her medical history and recent non-compliance with her diet. At the hospital, I presented my detailed documentation to the medical team.

Charts showed her prescribed diet, logs of her cheating, and notes about her confusion and food-seeking behaviors. The picture I painted was of a diabetic woman who couldn’t stop eating despite medical advice.

“She must be getting food somewhere,” I said, my voice full of concern. “I’ve been so careful with her portions, but look at these blood sugar spikes.”

The spikes were real, caused by the small amounts of sugar I’d been adding to her permitted foods. It was just enough to destabilize her levels and support my narrative.

The hospital nutritionist reviewed my meal plans with a frown. “This seems quite restrictive for someone her age and activity level.”

I was ready with my response. “I thought so too initially, but look at her food diary.”

I produced the falsified document showing Linda consuming far more than her prescribed amounts. “She must be hiding food and lying about it. Classic addiction behavior.”

Linda tried to protest from her hospital bed, but her words were dismissed as denial. The pattern I’d established held firm: the medical professional with credentials versus the non-compliant patient.

Chapter 26: The Shadow of Sabotage

As I watched them hook her up to IV nutrition, I felt the same hollow satisfaction I’d experienced watching her count green beans. This wasn’t healing; it wasn’t even revenge anymore.

It was something darker, a perfect mirror of the torture she’d inflicted, reflected back with medical precision and psychological expertise. The dance would continue.

Tomorrow I’d adjust her meal plan again, find new ways to isolate her, and document more concerning behaviors. I’d learned from the best, after all.

Linda had taught me that love could be twisted into control, and that care could become cruelty. The student had surpassed the teacher, and we were both trapped in the lesson.

The IT department’s audit notification arrived 3 days after Linda’s hospitalization. I stared at the email on my phone, my stomach dropping as I read about unusual access patterns in the medical record system.

They’d traced alterations back to Linda’s login credentials. I immediately drove to the hospital, finding Linda awake but weak in her bed.

She watched me enter with hollow eyes. “They’re checking the system,” I said quietly, closing the door behind me. “You need to tell them you made those changes yourself.”

Chapter 27: The Saboteur’s Truth

She turned her face away. “Why would I help you?” “Because if you don’t, they’ll dig deeper,” I moved closer to her bed, “and they’ll find everything, including what I’ve been adding to your food.”

The truth hung between us like a blade. For months before becoming her caregiver, I’d been visiting regularly and helping with meals.

Each time, I’d added carefully measured amounts of sugar to her foods. I was destabilizing her diabetes just enough to make her seem non-compliant.

Linda’s eyes widened with understanding. “You sabotaged my health before you even moved in.”

“I learned from the best,” I said simply. “Now, are you going to cooperate?”

Dad arrived at the hospital that afternoon, having cut his Singapore trip short. He looked exhausted and confused, carrying a folder I recognized immediately.

It was my old medical records from college. “I found these in Linda’s closet,” he said, his voice strained. “Why were they hidden there?”

I watched Linda’s face as dad flipped through the pages, reading about my hospitalization for refeeding syndrome. He read about the years of documented starvation and the permanent damage to my growth and development.