“I’m telling you. Instead of buying a bunch of junk, you should just buy the best once. Isn’t ‘longtermism’ the trend in the city? Doing it right the first time is better than constantly patching things up.”

Her tone was heavy with the weary air of a martyr and so full of unearned wisdom.

“Patrick doesn’t make much; he can’t help us. And you live so far away; your help is always barely enough. If we had a pension, we could spend our own money. If there were extras, we could even help you and Patrick. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

I took a long, steady breath and made a decision.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want this phone?”

Sensing she had me leaning her way, she snapped, “Yes. Take this piece of junk away.”

“Fine. I’ll sell it second-hand.”

I picked up a needle from the sewing machine and popped the SIM card out.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you I bought screen insurance. I can get it fixed for free, which means I can still get a high price for selling it.”

“Even fixed, it’s still damaged. I guess I’ll just make do with it.”

She reached out to snatch it back, but I blocked her.

With her income, she would never be able to buy a phone like that herself. Her old one was practically dust. She was notoriously careless with things. Dropping her phone on the floor was just entry-level damage. I had even seen it in the laundry and toilet.

“Even if I don’t sell it, I can use it. Everyone at my office has two phones anyway. I might as well catch up with the trend.”

I was not lying. My colleagues did have two or more phones each.

Mom’s face twisted with regret. But she was too embarrassed to show her greed openly while her “bigger goal” was still on the table.

On the way home, I checked her shopping history, and a cold chill ran down my spine.

A long list of men’s shoes, athletic wear, and fitness trackers. They were all on the “Buy Now, Pay Later” scheme.

It totaled over one thousand dollars.

I had worked so hard to get promoted twice. My salary was finally enough for me to survive. I also spent some of it to heal the scarcity of my childhood.

Mom always said, “I wish you and Patrick could just swap places.”

She wanted me to be successful, but she wanted my brother, Patrick Cooper, to be more successful than me.

However, reality did not go that way, and she resented me for it.

She said that I was “stealing his luck.” She called me selfish for moving away. She even refused to pay for my college and forced me to take out loans. She had to be the guarantor for those loans.

All of this looked like a conflict between Mom and me. But in reality, Dad and Patrick were the only beneficiaries. Patrick was the precious son. My parents would lose sleep if he had to spend ten dollars on a phone bill.

I used to wonder why they pushed so hard to hold him up while dragging me down, but their logic was always the same.

“He’s younger. He doesn’t understand these things.”

“You earn more. Once you get married, you’re gone. We can only rely on Patrick, so of course he’ll come first.”

“Why are you being so difficult? Patrick would never be this petty.”

In the end, their tag-teamed guilt-tripping always left me suffocated and defeated.

It was two against one. I never stood a chance.

I would sometimes snap back using my parents’ sarcastic tone, and the conversation would end with a floor covered in shattered dishes.

“How much money did we waste on your education all these years? Do you want to see the itemized bill? Other people your age are already bringing home big money for their families. Have you calculated the net loss you’ve cost us? How can you even compare yourself to Patrick? Don’t you have any self-awareness about where you stand?”

Whom should I compare myself to then?

I was expected to compare my grades to the top of the class, but my spending to the bottom. Ideally, I should have been a full-time student earning six figures on the side while remaining a submissive and obedient shadow.

Back then, I was trapped in the cage of poverty and gasping like a fish in a drying puddle. I was held captive by the very things I needed to survive.

Her leverage was always that she “did not make me drop out.” Indeed, she did not. But providing an education was a parental duty, not a divine favor.

It was not until much later, when I saw healthy families, where children spent their parents’ money with confidence instead of crushing guilt, that I had an epiphany.

It was not that she had been “good enough” to me. It was that I had always been good enough. I started building boundaries and tried to live for myself, but the momentum of a lifetime of conditioning still tripped me up.

It was a deep and agonizing pain.

Three days later, Mom called about the phone.

One of her “Buy Now, Pay Later” installments had been processed.

“See? This is why I complain about you! Give me the money back right now. This is all because of that stupid phone you bought me.”

She had realized that playing dumb paid better than actually working.

Her willingness to learn any new skill had completely regressed, to the point where she was genuinely, annoyingly ignorant. Yet, she did not even realize how embarrassing it was.

Living with dignity required the ability to keep learning and the ability to keep earning.

“Just file a dispute yourself,” I replied while biting back my rage.

I pushed the problem back to her. She went silent.

Predictably, fifteen days after the items were delivered, the next auto-pay hit.

She called me again frantically. “Transfer me the money! I never would have bought these things if it weren’t for that phone.”

“If you return the items, the money goes back into your account,” I told her calmly.

“I’ve already worn the shoes and clothes! How can I return them? It’s been seven days. Besides, it’s too much trouble to ask for help. It’s a hassle.”

I suddenly realized that someone had been coaching her on those talking points because she did not have the initiative to come up with them herself.

That “someone” could only be the person wearing the new clothes. I figured it was Kevin Flinch, my cousin. He was the one actually benefiting from the spending spree.

“Ask Patrick to handle it. He knows how to do it.”

She seemed to be terrified of Patrick disliking her, so she immediately started making excuses, claiming that Patrick had not had new clothes in forever. As if his wardrobe were somehow my responsibility. I went silent for a moment before deciding to let this problem rot between the two of them.

“Then buy clothes for him yourself. I don’t care.”

She sounded genuinely distressed.

“With what money?! It’s only because the phone you bought kept suggesting these things that I bought them. I never would have spent this much otherwise. You need to come over here as soon as possible. Either give me the cash or handle the refund for me!”