After I refused for the eighth time to give my daughter a monthly allowance of $80, she went live online to denounce me.

During the broadcast, she shared screenshots of our messages, showing how she had repeatedly and desperately asked me for money after the new school term began.

"Mom, I just got my period. I do not have money to buy sanitary pads. Could you send me this month's allowance?"

I replied calmly, "No."

"Mom, I have not eaten in three days. I am really hungry."

I responded with sarcasm. "What does that have to do with me?"

The screen quickly filled with comments calling me suffocatingly cruel and heartless.

Looking straight into the camera, she sobbed uncontrollably. "Mom, I am not asking for much. I only need $80 a month for living expenses.

"Do you really have to push me to death before you feel satisfied?"

Within a short time, I became the target of widespread online abuse.

A well-known education influencer reached out to me. "It is only $80. It is not something you cannot afford. Why are you treating your own daughter so harshly?"

I looked at her calmly. "Try livestreaming seven days of life with me and my daughter.

"If you can do that, you'll understand."

"Are you out of your mind? Do you have any clue what it means for an average person to stream their personal life for the whole world to see?"

As predicted, she was incredulous.

I just smiled and nodded.

She stared at me, then shook her head fiercely. "You're clueless! Every glance, every word you utter will be blown out of proportion by the online crowd. You'll be on the verge of a breakdown, or worse..."

I curled my lips into a half-smile, finishing her thought. "Worse, you might not make it. Might even end up taking your own life!"

She asked again, her confusion clear, "What's your endgame here? All this for a measly monthly stipend of eighty dollars? Is it really worth it?"

Online fame was a double-edged sword. She was a top influencer and remained cautious about taking risks. I knew I had to up the ante.

I leaned in, locking eyes with her. "Before you hit it big as a blogger, you were a senior editor at a paper that's since shut down, remember? You spent six months in a rural village to craft the truest story about kids left behind by migrant parents.

"Do you recall what's at the heart of a great news story?

"True depth comes from going deeper."

As I spoke, I saw the doubt creep into her eyes.

I went for the jugular. "You've been peddling 'Mind Soup' to millions for two years, but don't those sleepless nights tell you something? You know those catchy quotes are hollow! I'm offering you a story with grit and substance!

"Just picture it, in an age when women are waking up to their power. A mother financially tormenting her only daughter. If you nail this story, think of the payoff!"

Her hesitation crumbled to dust.

A true journalist would never pass up a story with real value.

Three days later, the announcement hit the video platform.

Celebrated educational influencer Jessica Lowell was set to unveil a groundbreaking live documentary series titled, 'Cruel Mom Refuses $80 Allowance, Poor Daughter in Trouble.'

My daughter, Evelyn Smith, and I had both signed on for the reality show, agreeing to let cameras follow us around the clock for a full week. No filters, no edits–just raw, unvarnished life.

I knew those seven days would be a nightmare, but I was out of options.

As the live stream kicked off, cameras were rigged up next to both Evelyn and me. The instant they zoomed in, we became the center of attention for millions online.

It was 4 a.m. in Evelyn's footage. The dorm was quiet, everyone else asleep, but she slipped into her faded jacket and headed off to work in the cafeteria.

She was quick to tie on a greasy apron and lug a huge bucket of kitchen waste out back, trip after trip, until ten buckets stood in a tidy row.

Days without food had taken their toll. After the heavy lifting, she was so exhausted that she gagged against the wall. Barely recovered, she did not even wipe her face before heading off to claim her pay for the morning's work: two dry slices of bread and a bowl of oatmeal. Huddled in a corner, she wolfed down her meal, scraping the bowl clean.

She scrubbed her bowl until it shone and stowed it away in the sanitizer. Then, she sprinted to class.

She was a front-row fixture, her notebook crammed with meticulous notes. When lunchtime came, her classmates headed off together while she stayed put. Once the room was empty, she shuffled over to the water cooler with her beat-up thermos, filling and refilling and gulping down water, 10 cups, 20, 30.

After downing her 50th glass of water, Evelyn's face was ghostly white as she burped, her stomach bloated and protesting.

The online comments were exploding with outrage:

[I ache when my kid skips just one meal. How can a mother watch her daughter suffer like that? Is she even human?]

[She can't cough up $80 for her kid's expenses? Making her fill up on water instead of food–what is her heart made of, rock?]

That afternoon, the mall buzzed with activity. Evelyn, sweltering in a twenty-pound Kumamon bear suit, was handing out flyers at the restaurant's entrance.

With each flyer given, she bowed deeply.

Some people snatched the flyers, only to toss them aside without a glance. She would scurry to pick them up, slipping them into her costume's pocket on the sly.

The restaurant had a strict rule: lose more than 10 percent of the flyers, and it would come out of her paycheck.

Come dusk, three guys, reeking of booze, cornered her. "Hey, give us a dance," they slurred.

When she did not move, one of them smashed a bottle over her head.

Evelyn cradled her head as she crouched, trying to become invisible.

They laid into her with a flurry of kicks and punches.

She clenched her teeth, holding back tears and cries for help, terrified of losing pay if the part-time manager caught her.

Only after the men's energy waned and they staggered off did she dare to stand, using a post for support.

She gathered the flyers strewn about and kept going.

After her shift, peeling off the bear suit, she saw the damage: her body was a map of bruises and cuts, some still bleeding.

Ignoring the pain, she grabbed her bag and bolted for school. She reached the exam hall, panting, just as the final bell echoed.

The proctor, stern-faced, blocked the entrance. "You're fifteen minutes late. Rules are rules; you can't come in."

Evelyn's tears were streaming down her face as she begged, "Please, I ran into some trouble with my job, just let me take the test! If I flunk this class, I'll have to cough up seventy-five bucks for a retake, and I'm flat broke!"

She had not even finished her plea when she bent over deeply, her sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

The teacher recoiled, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but the rules are the rules. I can't bend them for anyone."

"But I'm out of money!" Evelyn clutched at the teacher's hands, her cries coming in ragged gasps. "Please, I'm begging you..."

With a heavy heart, the teacher replied, "Your mom's on the phone with the school every week, demanding we keep a tight leash on you... Or she threatens to make a fuss. My hands are tied."

The online community was up in arms.

[Can you believe her mom? Calling the school just to make her own daughter's life miserable? She's got to be out of her mind!]

[Let's all band together and give her mom the cold shoulder! Make her a social pariah!]

I hit the answer button, and Evelyn's desperate sobs filled my ear.

"Mom, why are you doing this to me? I'm your daughter, not your enemy! You're pushing me to the edge..."

I cut her off, ending the call, and pulled out a bag of imported beef jerky for my pet dog.

Just then, a nurse came by carrying a bottle with a bold label. "Ms. Smith, this is your dog's iron supplement. Give two milliliters once a day. This imported brand works better because it's absorbed more easily."

My little Westie had been battling iron-deficiency anemia for the past week, and we had been coming to that pet hospital daily. Today marked the end of the treatments.

I headed to the cashier to settle the bill.

The cashier handed me the receipt. "That'll be nine hundred sixty bucks total."

The comment section exploded with the fury of social media users.

[$960?! Did I do the math right? That's like 12 times $80! She's spending enough on her dog's treatments to keep her daughter afloat for a whole year!]

[I used to think Evelyn was just scrimping by, sipping water to stave off hunger, like her family was broke. Turns out, she's the only one in her family living like she's penniless.]

[Anyone who brings a child into this world and doesn't care for them is lower than an animal. People like that shouldn't even be parents. They're just wasting air alive, and taking up space dead.]

[How can a mom refuse to feed her own kid, but spoil a pet dog with fancy imported treats? She deserves to be struck down for that!]

[We need to expose her! Let's dig up her ID, her address, everything. Make her feel what it's like to be cornered and harassed, to have no peace.]

It was not long before I got a text from an unknown number.

[Just you wait: I'm on my way to your place right now. You're going to pay for being such trash!]

The manager of my early learning center called me in tears, "Ms. Smith! It's chaos out here! There's a crowd at the shop's door, waving signs calling you a 'Heartless Mother', and they're even splashing paint on the doors! Parents are demanding refunds in the chat..."

That was when Jessica came charging in, gripping my wrist tight. "The Internet has your number now. They've got all your info, and some are saying they'll come to your place to set you straight. Others are threatening your dog's life! Don't you get it? You're in danger!"

However, I just stood there, unfazed by the storm swirling around me.

"Will you say something?" Jessica was frantic, her anger boiling over. "You're not hurting for cash. You could give her a decent life so easily. Why be so heartless? You've made yourself public enemy number one online! Everyone's wishing you'd just drop dead. Doesn't that scare you?"

She was cut off by the relentless buzzing of her phone.

Picking up, her voice shook as she spoke, "Hello… What? Overdosed on sleeping pills? Which hospital?"

Jessica's eyes were locked on mine in panic, and she did not even breathe.

"Evelyn... Evelyn tried to end her life in her dorm room... They're trying to save her now... The doctor said... it might be too late..."

The live stream was in chaos, the screen swarmed with messages.

[Monster of a mother, just die! Go join Evelyn!]

Social media users kept pouring into the stream, the video glitching and flickering, the whole room nearly buckling under the weight of their fury.

Jessica charged at me, yanking at my collar, her voice thunderous. "Tell me! What's this seven-day secret you're keeping? She's slipping away! What did she ever do to deserve this from you?!"

However, I stepped back, the picture of serenity, and gently set my pet dog down on the counter, my voice polite as ever. "Could you watch him for just a bit, maybe an hour? I'll be right back for him."