“You’re Making Up Symptoms,” They Laughed—Until the Specialist’s Report Came Back.

My mother didn’t hesitate. She slid my prescription bottle across the kitchen counter like it was a dirty dish, popped the childproof cap with practiced ease, and dumped the pills into the trash—right on top of wet coffee grounds and last night’s dinner scraps.

“You’re just seeking attention, Emma,” she said, voice light and dismissive, the way people continue reading …