I have just fallen asleep after working around the clock, but my mom insists on dragging me to the supermarket first thing in the morning.

Having mistaken us for sisters, the cashier compliments Mom for her youth and looks.

But after Mom explains to her smilingly that we're mother and daughter, the cashier's eyes go wide in disbelief. With mixed feelings, she says, "You… You look more like the daughter, though…"

That remark leaves me shell-shocked for a moment. Then, I turn around to stare at my and Mom's faces in the mirror.

Mom has such smooth and supple skin that she looks like a 20-year-old college student. Meanwhile, there's me, looking like a 50-year-old hag because of the freckles and dark spots covering my face.

Mom's smile vanishes instantly.

"How dare you speak that way! Are you saying that my daughter looks old?"

Since I don't have a good night's sleep, I become uncontrollably pissed.

Just as I'm about to curse at the cashier, I catch a glimpse of the crow's feet around Mom's eyes disappearing rapidly from the corner of my eye.

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. When I looked again, one of the fine lines at the corners of Mom's eyes had definitely vanished.

Last night around 12:30 am, I had gone to the kitchen for a glass of water while finishing up some work. Seeing Mom still glued to her show, I had urged her to get some sleep. After all, she was in her 50s. She couldn't afford to pull all-nighters anymore.

She just waved me off, ignoring the advice.

Finally, I reminded her, "Your crow's feet are showing."

Her face went pale instantly. She scrambled for her phone, frantically checking her reflection in the camera. When she spotted the lines, she bolted for the bathroom to slather on a bunch of skincare products.

Back then, I'd seen two distinct wrinkles at the corner of her eye. Now, one was gone.

The surrounding noise snapped me back to reality.

I shook my head, thinking I had to be hallucinating. After all, I hadn't slept well.

Mom was still busy berating a sales clerk nearby.

The constant bustle of the crowd was giving me a headache. Losing interest in the shopping trip, I turned to leave.

Upon hearing that I was leaving, Mom looked shocked.

"Tara, aren't you… angry?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

I couldn't blame her for being surprised. After all, I hated people commenting on my looks or calling me old.

For as long as I could remember, my face hadn't matched my age.

At five years old, I looked ten.

At ten years old, I looked 20.

And now, in my early 20s, I carried the face of a 50-year-old woman.

I'd suspected some kind of underlying illness, but after countless hospital visits and endless tests, the results always came back the same—I was perfectly healthy.

Because of this face, I'd grown up facing nothing but ostracization and judgment.

As I got older, my fuse got shorter. The mere mention of the word "old" was enough to make me snap.

I'd only taken a few steps before Mom caught up and grabbed my hand. She pointed toward the snack aisle. "Wait. Come help me pick out some chips before we go."

She practically dragged me over. While she leafed through the bags on the shelves, I pulled out my phone to handle a few work emails.

After we checked out, I headed for the exit. But the moment I crossed the threshold, the alarm blared.

The nearest cashier sprinted over and stretched out her arms to block my path. "Excuse me. I need to search your belongings."

My pulse throbbed in my forehead. A surge of irritation rose from the pit of my stomach. It was just one of those days where nothing could go right.

I was just about to lash out when Mom bumped into me from behind. I stumbled, and a neatly wrapped lollipop fell from my coat and hit the floor.

Mom gasped, covering her mouth. "Tara, what is this?"

When I saw the lollipop, I froze on the spot.

I hadn't touched a single thing on the shelves. How did that get on me?

Before I could process it, the cashier pointed at the lollipop and screamed, "Caught red-handed! Dressed like a lady but stealing a two-dollar lollipop?"

Her shouting drew a crowd. Slowly, people began to stop and stare.

I forced myself to stay calm and demanded to see the security footage.

The cashier crossed her arms and let out a cold snort. "Oh, I see how it is. You're a pro, aren't you? You probably scouted the place and knew exactly where the blind spots were."

This was getting out of hand.

I took a deep breath, trying to defend myself. I lifted my shopping bag. "Check my membership records. I spend eight to ten grand a year at this store. I just spent over 100 dollars today. Do you really think I'd steal a two-dollar candy?"

The logic seemed to land. Several onlookers started nodding.

"She's right. That coat she's wearing alone costs over ten grand."

"She doesn't look like a shoplifter. Besides, who'd be stupid enough to steal for two dollars when there's a detector right at the door?"

Mom's eyes darted around for a second before she turned to bark at the cashier, "Exactly! My daughter is a business owner. Does she look like the kind of person who'd steal two dollars from you?"

The cashier clicked her tongue. She sized me up from head to toe before finally resting her gaze on my face. Her tone dripped with disdain as she said, "Being a business owner doesn't prove anything. Looking the way she does, maybe she's got some kind of kleptomania."

Her words hit like a slap.

My hand beside me curled into a fist before I could stop it.

Whispers and muttered comments floated around. Someone even snapped pictures.

"Wow, she looks so old! Even older than my mom. Does she not take care of herself?"

"Maybe she really has some weird habits."

"I thought the woman beside her was her daughter. Turns out that's her mother. What a plot twist! The mother looks younger than the child."

Memory after memory of those same judgmental stares began to needle at me again. I could barely breathe.

Instinctively, I lowered my head, trying to shield my face from view.

But the cashier wasn't letting it go. She grabbed my arm and pointed a finger at the fine schedule posted by the door. "A thousand-dollar fine for every dollar stolen. That's two thousand dollars, or I'm calling the cops."

My fingers wouldn't stop shaking. I took a jagged breath and glared at her with a sneer. "Fine. Call them. Even if there are no cameras, there are enough people coming and going that someone must have seen something.

"Besides, if you're so sure I stole it, my fingerprints will be all over that lollipop. Let's have it tested and see what the truth is—"

Suddenly, Mom cut me off sharply, "We can't call the cops!"

Her sudden outburst startled me.

Her gaze flickered nervously before she softened her tone. "Tara, it's just two dollars. There's no need to involve the police over something so small.

"It's not like we can't afford the two thousand dollars anyway. Let's not make things difficult for the cashier. She's just a worker trying to make a living."

The cashier smirked triumphantly. "Exactly. I guess your face really is a window to your soul. Your mother is much more reasonable than you."

A few people in the crowd chimed in.

"Yeah, no need to waste police resources. The mother has the right idea."

"How can a mother and daughter be so different? Typical capitalist. No empathy for the working class."

Anger flared in my chest at Mom's words.

How was I the one making things difficult? I hadn't stolen a thing.

When things were this messy, the police were the only logical choice. Paying the fine now would be a silent confession of guilt.

I looked at Mom, feeling a pang of resentment.

For the first time, I ignored her advice and demanded the authorities be called. "This incident affects my reputation and could even impact my company's stock price.

"I've already said the item can be tested for evidence. If you insist I'm a thief, then press charges. If you win, I'll pay whatever is owed. But if you lose, I will be suing for defamation."

The cashier's bravado vanished instantly. She looked resentful but eventually stepped aside, muttering curses under her breath, "Whatever. Just my luck!"

Mom kept apologizing to the woman.

The onlookers' glares at me grew even more hostile.

I didn't care anymore. I headed straight for the restroom. The moment I locked myself in a stall, I nearly collapsed.

I couldn't stop those piercing stares from playing on a loop in my mind. With trembling hands, I fished my medication out of my pocket and swallowed a pill before I could calm down.

Just as I went to open the door, I heard voices out by the sinks.

A woman's voice whispered, thick with gossip, "Hey, do you think that woman in the supermarket really stole that lollipop? She didn't look the type to me."

After a few seconds, another woman stammered, "A-Actually, I saw what happened. It wasn't her. It was the person next to her. The lady with her slipped it into her pocket. She was on her phone and didn't notice a thing."

The first woman gasped, asking why she hadn't said anything earlier.

"Are you kidding? Better to stay out of other people's business."

The sound of their footsteps faded into the distance.

My hand stayed frozen on the door handle. I was in total shock. Why would Mom do that to me?

But even as my mind screamed that it was impossible, memories of Mom's strange behavior began to flood back.

Her insistence on going to the snack aisle and that sudden bump…

For years, every time I went out in public with her, some kind of trouble found me. The suspicion was becoming undeniable.

Suddenly, the words of an old traditional doctor flashed through my mind.

The doctor was over 90 years old. He'd looked at me with a look I couldn't quite place and warned me that my problem might not be physical.

At the time, I didn't feel anything was off. But now…

I was desperate to prove my theory.

I forced myself to stay calm as I stepped out of the restroom.

Mom was standing a short distance away on the curb, the sunlight making her look radiant.

It hit me then that for as long as I'd been alive, Mom's face hadn't changed. For over 20 years, she'd looked exactly the same—youthful and untouched by time.

I controlled my breathing as I approached her. Making up an excuse about a leaf stuck in her hair, I leaned in to get a close look at her face.

Sure enough, the fine line at the corner of her eye was gone again.

A sharp pain shot through my chest. I couldn't bear to face the truth staring back at me.

Making an excuse about a work emergency, I fled.

But I didn't go back to the office. Instead, I sought out a local seer. The verdict was exactly what I'd feared.

He told me I'd been cursed many years ago. Someone was feeding off my negative energy to nourish themselves. It was a slow-acting drain that required the person to be constantly by my side.

My first thought was Mom. I'd almost never been away from her.

I was supposed to go to boarding school in junior high, but she'd said she couldn't bear to see me struggle, so she sold our downtown apartment and moved us right next to the school.

When I got into a college in Baldemar, she moved there with me.

What I once thought was love had been stripped away, revealing the source of all my suffering.

Tears blurred my vision.

Why?

Because of this face, I'd cried to her countless times about my pain. She would always just smile gently and tell me not to care what others thought.

She wasn't comforting me. She was admiring her handiwork. The more miserable I became, the more she flourished.

Pure hatred began to simmer in my soul.

I wasn't going to just take this. Why should I be the only one to suffer? If she never saw me as a daughter, then I no longer had a mother.

At that moment, a thirst for revenge took hold.

Since Mom was so fond of telling me to ignore what people think, I hoped she'd be able to follow her own advice when she became the victim.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. Then, I turned and headed home.