My daughter, Tina, locked herself in her room, crying so hard her body shook.

I pried the door open and saw that she was clutching a test paper that was torn to shreds and pieced back together.

It was a math Olympiad selection test. She should have gotten a perfect score, but was given a score of zero instead.

"Mom," she sobbed, "the teacher said 3x5 is not equal to 5x3; that it's taking shortcuts. She tore my paper up in front of everyone, revoked my eligibility for the competition, and told the whole class not to talk to me…"

I looked at the deep red scratch marks on my daughter's wrist and immediately picked up the phone to call the principal.

"What good does it do for your school's reputation to drive a kid who loves math to their breaking point?"

The call was cut off, and all that remained in the receiver was the sound of a busy tone.

Tina's sobs ceased, and she just stared at me, her eyes hollow.

I dressed her, took her cold hand, and headed straight to school.

The laughter inside the math Olympiad office stopped abruptly when I pushed the door open.

Several teachers looked over. The teacher surnamed Watson was leaning back in her chair, sizing me up with an impatient sneer.

"Whose parent are you? It's our break time."

Without a word, I walked over to her desk and slammed the pieced-together test paper in front of her.

The pieces scattered across the table.

The red "0" stood out glaringly under the light.

She chuckled, pinched one of the pieces with two fingers and held it up to her eyes. "Oh, this? What's the matter? Do you have a problem with my grading?"

"3 times 5 and 5 times 3 are both equal to 15, are they not?" I asked, staring into her eyes.

"Ha, of course."

She tossed the paper back onto the desk.

"But the reasoning is wrong, so it's zero! I teach Olympiad math, which requires strict logic! It's not the same as calculating prices at the supermarket! If she doesn't follow the rules today, what will she do tomorrow? I tore the paper up to let her, and the whole class, understand that they must follow the rules!"

She suddenly stood up and looked down at me, her voice rising sharply, "I've seen plenty of parents like you! With half-baked knowledge, you dare to interfere with professional teaching! It’s people like you that produce spoiled children! They're too lazy to think and are always looking for shortcuts because that's what they learn at home! Now that your daughter has a problem, you have the nerve to come to school and raise a ruckus?!"

With each word, she jabbed her finger on the desk, saliva spraying onto my face.

Tina trembled even harder behind me, her tiny hands clutching my clothes tightly.

"I dare you to say that again," I glared and roared.

"Okay, I will." Ms. Watson took a step forward, almost bumping into me.

"I'm saying you don't know how to educate your own kid! You treat your kid as a tool to show off, teaching her all kinds of crooked ways, and now you come to question the teacher? You’re an enemy of education! Go home and stop embarrassing yourself!"

I looked her dead in the eye and spoke each word deliberately, "Ms. Watson, you tore up her full marks paper in front of the whole class, incited the whole class to isolate her, and even physically abused her by scratching her. And now, you use the dirtiest words to insult her mother in front of her."

I paused and said clearly, "You're not fit to be a teacher."

"Abuse?"

She chuckled as if she had heard the biggest joke in the world, "Isn't it a matter of course for a teacher to educate a student who made a mistake? It seems your daughter is spoiled; that's why she can't follow rules!"

After saying that, she actually went around the desk and tried to grab my daughter’s wrist.

"Come, I'll 'educate' her properly in front of you so that she learns right from wrong!"

I quickly pulled my daughter behind me, blocking her with my body.

The teacher's anger flared after grabbing nothing but air. "Get out of my way! Don't interfere with my teaching! You're an enemy of education! Go home and stop embarrassing yourself!"

Her face flushed red with anger as she raised her hand.

"Stop!"

A roar came from the door.

The principal walked in, his face ashen. He glared fiercely at Ms. Watson who stiffly put her hand back down.

He reined in his emotion when he turned to me. "Ma'am, let's talk in my office."

In the principal's office, he poured us some water.

I didn't touch the water he poured. I just pieced the torn test paper back together on the desk.

Then, I took my daughter's hand and showed him the deep red scratch marks on her wrist.

He stared at the paper and the scratch marks in silence for a long time before looking up at me and saying slowly, "It's our fault. Please give me three days, the school will thoroughly investigate and deal with this matter. I promise to give you and your daughter a satisfactory resolution in three days."

I looked at the expression on his face, a mix of apology and anger, then glanced down at my daughter who was dozing off in my arms.

"Okay," I said, "I'll wait for three days."

I took leave from work to stay with Tina.

She did not cry or speak. She just sat in a corner, staring at a spot on the wall, motionless.

When I fed her, she would open her mouth, chew, and swallow without blinking.

I stared at my phone, unlocking the screen every few seconds to make sure there were no missed calls.

All my hopes rested on that phone call that would never come.

On the afternoon of the third day, instead of receiving a call from the school, I received a call from my company's HR manager.

"Ms. Sanders, I want to see you immediately."

In the office, my boss and the HR manager were both there.

A printed email was pushed in front of me, the title glaring: "A Notice Regarding the Misdemeanor of Ms. Sanders, an Employee of Your Company, Who Maliciously Slandered a Teacher at Our School."

I read the whole thing.

In the email, I was described as a "crazy woman" who barged into the office, insulted the teacher, and threatened the principal.

The scratch marks on my daughter's wrist became evidence that I had taught her to "harm herself to gain sympathy."

At the end of the letter, the school "kindly" reminded the company that an employee of my "morally corrupt" nature could adversely affect the company’s reputation.

The edges of the paper were crumpled by my tight grip.

"The email was sent to the public complaint mailbox. The entire company could see it."

The HR manager's voice contained no warmth, "Our company attaches great importance to our employees' ethics."

I felt cold all over, my voice trembling, "This is slander! They bullied my daughter..."

"Enough!"

My boss interrupted me impatiently, "I don't care about your family issues! The problem is, your personal problems are now affecting the company's image! It's unprofessional!"

I stared at him in silence.

My gaze made him uncomfortable. The HR manager cleared his throat and pushed a document towards me.

"Given the adverse impact you’ve caused the company, please sign this."

I reached out but couldn’t hold the paper.

It slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the ground.

I returned home feeling numb.

In the mailbox was a registered letter from the school.

When I tore it open, a piece of paper fell out.

It was an expulsion notice.

Reason: The student is mentally unstable. She colluded with her parent to fabricate facts, maliciously slander a teacher, and disrupt classroom order.

My phone lit up; it was a class group message.

Ms. Watson posted a new group photo of the math Olympiad class. She and the children were smiling brightly.

The caption read: "Having cleared out the bad apples, we are once again an excellent group! The victory belongs to all of us!"

Below were the parents’ uniform praises and likes.

"Thank you, Ms. Watson!"

"I support Ms. Watson! Nothing can be accomplished without rules!"

I snorted.

This was the satisfactory resolution they promised me.

I held the dismissal letter and the expulsion notice, looked at that annoying photo, and laughed with tears in my eyes. I laughed until I trembled all over, and my stomach cramped.

"Mom?"

My daughter stood behind me, staring at the two pieces of paper in my hands.

Her gaze moved from the dismissal letter to my tear-streaked face.

Her body swayed, and she steadied herself by holding onto the door frame.

"Mom," she asked softly, her voice sounding hollow, "Did you lose your job because of me?"

My daughter's question made my heart tighten.

Before I could respond, there was a loud bang at the door.

When I opened it, I saw Ms. Watson and Director Lee from the math Olympiad program.

Director Lee was holding a cardboard box with a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes.

Meanwhile, Ms. Watson leaned against the doorframe, contemptuously looking us up and down.

"Ms. Sanders, I'm here to deliver your daughter's stuff."

Director Lee forcefully shoved the box into my arms, causing me to stumble back. The books inside the box spilled out.

At the top of the spilled books was a painting by my daughter, one that had won an award, now marred by a clear, muddy shoe print.

"Can't leave anything behind. Our school believes in finishing what you started," she said, her mouth twisted with heavy mockery.

"Furthermore, we wanted to 'communicate' with you in person."

She casually adjusted her scarf.

"We're sorry your daughter has been expelled, but you need to reflect on yourself for faking injuries and threatening the school. Now you've even lost your job… People like you who break the rules will be outcasts everywhere."

Ms. Watson snorted, stepped forward, and leaned down, towering over my daughter.

My daughter flinched, burying herself in my arms.

"Bad upbringing leads to bad kids!"

Ms. Watson whispered into my daughter's ear, her voice soft yet filled with malice.

"Of course a morally corrupt mother wouldn't raise a good kid. You little liar."

"Shut your mouth!"

My face went red, and my fingers gripped the doorframe so tightly they hurt.

"My daughter should have gotten full marks for that test! You're the ones twisting the truth!"

"Full marks?"

Ms. Watson laughed even louder. She stood up straight and raised her voice on purpose.

"Oh, that piece of paper where she cheated? I tore it up in front of the whole class and threw it in the trash! I tore it to educate her! Our school nurtures elites, not social trash that comes from families like yours!"

"You're lying!"

I yelled back, but my voice was shaking.

Behind me, my daughter clutched my clothes tightly, her tiny body trembling with fear and shame.

"Lying?"

Director Lee sneered and gestured at my small, shabby apartment.

"Ms. Sanders, don't push your luck. I'm here today to give you a piece of advice. Don’t let us see you near the school again, or..."

She paused and shifted her gaze to my daughter, her smile turning icy.

"We can’t guarantee that your daughter won’t accidentally fall down the stairs and get hurt."

I trembled all over, my chest rising and falling fast.

Their voices were so loud that the neighbor's door cracked open in curiosity.

Ms. Watson saw it, and instead of quieting down, she yelled even louder.

"Look, everyone! This is the mother who incited her daughter to hurt herself for compensation! Everyone, please be careful!"

The neighbor's door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Ms. Watson brushed her hands in satisfaction. "Alright, we've delivered the message. You'd better watch out!"

They turned and left, leaving the door wide open and a pile of mess on the floor.

Tina let out a suppressed whimper behind me.

"Mom... I’m sorry... it's all my fault..."

I closed the door, shutting out the entire world.

I crouched down and held her tightly in my arms.

"It’s not your fault. Sweety, it’s never your fault."

My voice was soft but steady.

The next day, I went to handle my resignation. Holding Tina's hand, I left the apartment.

As soon as I opened the door, the hallway fell silent.

When Mrs. Winehouse, who was waiting for the elevator, saw me, she immediately recoiled, taking a big step back.

"What rotten luck to live in the same building as someone like you! I can't believe you taught your kid to hurt herself to scam the school! Serves you right!"

The elevator doors opened, and she rushed in, yelling, "Hurry, close the doors! Don’t let the crazy woman in! It's bad luck!"

The elevator doors slowly closed in front of me, reflecting my expressionless face.

We took the stairs down.

In the community, our neighbors who usually nodded and smiled were now giving us a wide berth.

Several old ladies who were chatting together stopped talking as soon as they saw us.

One of them spat a big glob of phlegm on the ground.

I continued walking with a blank expression, holding my daughter's hand even tighter.

Tina buried her head low, her shoulders hunched, like she wanted to disappear.

I stopped and looked up at the sun.

Then, I looked down at my daughter's hollow eyes.

Amidst the overwhelming malice, I gently smiled.

I took out my phone and made a call.

The call only rang once before it was picked up.

A man's voice came through, tinged with excitement and nervousness.

"Mandy?"

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, my eyes were cold.

I didn’t answer his question. My voice flat, I said, "Rick, our daughter is being bullied."

After I hung up, Karen, the woman who spat on the ground earlier, came over holding some garbage.

"Oh, you still haven't left?"

She scrutinized me with a nasty look. "Don’t you feel ashamed? How dare you show yourself around here?"

I held my daughter tight. Her face was buried in my chest, and her little body was shaking badly.

My silence emboldened Karen. She raised her voice to ensure the whole community could hear.

"Everyone, come take a look! This is the woman who incited her daughter to harm herself for money! She lost her job and her daughter was expelled, yet she's still hanging around! No wonder her man left her. A woman like her brings nothing but bad luck!"

She grew more animated, now stepping forward to point at my daughter.

"And this little liar! Raised without a father, she's already lying and cheating at such a young age! She's only gonna get worse when she grows up! I think she should be sent to juvenile prison!"

"Shut your mouth!" My blood boiled, and I yelled.

"I'll say what I want!" She put her hands on her hips. "If you don't want people to talk about it, don't do it, crazy woman! And that little..."

A deep, cold voice interrupted from behind her.

"What did you just say?"