My mom wants me to report every single detail in my life to her every day. I only get to receive my allowance once I do so. One phone call is equivalent to me receiving one cent.

"My dear daughter, I love you so much, you know. Just let me know whatever you're doing every day. Only then can I relax."

I don't have the heart to let my mom down, so every day I put all of my effort into coming up with something. That way, I can only gather enough money to buy the cheapest food in the cafeteria.

But the food isn't enough to sustain me, leaving me hungry every day. Finally, I break down emotionally.

That is, until I receive an allowance from my dad, who's supposed to be dead for many years…

"Lottie, you only told me you were up after you finished brushing your teeth today. I'm so hurt. As your punishment, I'm only paying you for checking in once."

My phone chimed, showing I had received one cent.

I twisted my lips into a grimace. The cheapest breakfast option at the cafeteria was a bowl of plain oatmeal, and it cost one dollar. With the one cent I just received, I still needed one cent more before I could afford a bowl.

"Mom, I had a fever yesterday and wasn't feeling well. That's why I woke up late today. I was genuinely in a hurry. I promise I won't miss out checking in with you again," I pleaded softly.

Despite her gentle tone, Mom's voice was firm as she replied, "Sweetheart, everyone has to accept the consequences of their mistakes. A mistake is a mistake, and there's no changing that.

"Stop making excuses. You've always been a good girl, so I don't want you to turn into one of those bad kids who only know how to make excuses for their wrongdoings."

My head dropped in dejection as my earlier excitement at being quick enough to avoid being late for class vanished in an instant.

"Got it, Mom. I'm heading off to class now."

"Good girl. Alright, go ahead. Remember to pay attention in class and report to me everything that happens today, okay? Just like usual. What the professor taught, what you did, how you performed—everything."

I answered with an obedient, "Okay."

Upon entering the lecture hall, I moved to stand at the very back like I always did.

This morning's lecture was a public class, so a lot of students I didn't recognize were whispering to each other. "Hey, why is that person always standing at the back?"

One of the students who knew the reason why smirked and replied, "She's a total momma's girl. Every time the professor says something, she'll take a photo and send it to her mom.

"Since her phone is super lousy, the camera's shutter can't be silenced. The incessant clicking is loud and annoying, so the professor said she could only stand at the back to avoid bothering everyone else."

I couldn't help but lower my head to avoid the stares aimed at me. Meanwhile, my hands gripped my badly cracked phone tightly.

Among the people staring at me were my roommates, who used to be on good terms with me.

One day a while back, they noticed that Mom would transfer me some money every day, and they insisted that I treat them to a meal.

However, I genuinely didn't have that much money, so I could only refuse their suggestion, as well as every other meal invitation after that.

This caused them to think I was stingy and difficult to get along with. Eventually, they unanimously decided to distance themselves from me.

What they were unaware of was that every time Mom transferred me money, it was just one cent. Every day, I would have to check in with her close to a thousand times, just to earn a few bucks.

…

Perhaps it was due to the weather being too hot and the lack of air conditioning in the dormitory, but one of my roommates, Wendy Holt, developed a boil on her butt.

Before it was time for lights-out, she called to tearfully complain to her parents. My other roommates kept trying to comfort her, but since I wasn't liked, I didn't bother approaching her.

Instead, I headed to the pantry and filled up her thermos for her, then sat down on my bed and silently watched the commotion coming from her side of the room.

The next morning, her parents came to the campus and brought her to the hospital.

Her mother was incredibly gentle and sweet. When she delivered Wendy back to the room, she even offered to treat us all to a meal.

At the restaurant, Wendy clung to her mother, acting cute and playful. Her mother was all smiles as she kept piling food onto Wendy's plate, all of which were Wendy's favorites. Every now and then, she would utter a loving reminder.

As I chewed on some leafy greens, a luxury I hadn't been able to enjoy in ages, I watched them from the corner of my eye. I felt like some sort of villain, hiding in a dark corner as I spied on their bliss and happiness.

After returning to our room that night, I felt my lower abdomen cramping slightly. A sliver of panic coursed through me as I rushed toward the bathroom.

As I thought, my period had arrived.

Why had it come so early this time? Due to my years of malnutrition, my periods had always been rather irregular, and I would always be in so much pain that I couldn't even get out of bed. Hence, those few days I was on my period were always like hell for me.

The cramps grew increasingly worse, and it wasn't long before the pain spread to my stomach.

I hurried toward my bed and reached under the pillow for the box of painkillers I had hidden under it.

It was empty.

The only reason I had this box of painkillers was because, back before I left for college, our neighbor suggested to Mom that she should prepare some emergency medicine for me.

Thus, Mom brought me to a pharmacy and had the pharmacist pick out a random assortment of medicine for common ailments, of which included this box of painkillers.

Just as despair welled in me, I suddenly recalled how Wendy's mother had been so concerned about Wendy.

I sent Mom a message, "Mom, my period is here, and it hurts so bad. I've already finished my painkillers, but I don't have enough money to buy more. Could you lend me some?"

Even though I was in agony, I couldn't help holding a tiny seed of hope.

It wasn't long before Mom replied to my message, "Sweetheart, are you in a lot of pain? I'm so sorry to hear that. I'm sure this is because you've been disobedient and haven't been eating properly. Otherwise, why would you be having cramps?"

I had no idea how to refute her words. Every day, I was only able to earn roughly ten dollars or so by checking in with her. However, after deducting ten dollars for my monthly phone bill and the other living expenses, I only had enough left to eat oatmeal or dinner rolls each day.

At that moment, Mom called me. When I accepted the call, her gentle voice flowed over the line, "Sweetheart, I'm very mad that you refused to listen to me. I know you're feeling quite anxious right now.

She paused, then said, "How about this? Send me a written pledge with 999 lines saying that you'll always listen to me. If you do that, I'll help you."

Despite the despair that welled in me, I had no choice but to grit my teeth and start writing.

Sweat beaded my forehead from the severe cramping, and my head pounded like a drum. My stomach was roiling like a stormy sea, and even the light from my phone screen made me want to vomit.

Black spots began dancing across my vision, but Mom was still waiting on the other end of the line.

100 times.

200.

Finally, 999 times.

By that point, I was suffering so much that neither lying down nor sitting could ease my discomfort. I thought I was about to die. I prayed desperately that I could finally buy some painkillers to get through this hell.

At last, Mom said it was enough and transferred some money to me, the notification from my phone pinging shrilly.

I hastily checked the transaction.

50 cents.

It felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. For a moment, I couldn't tell if my body or my heart hurt more.

Mom's gentle voice reached my ears. "After some thought, I've decided that it's enough if you just buy one tablet from your roommate. If you buy a whole box, you won't be able to finish it in one go, and that would be wasteful. I don't want you to develop such a bad habit."

I couldn't stop myself from thinking maliciously about her as I snarked in my mind, "I bet you're doing this just so you can think up more ways to make things difficult for me the next time I'm on my period, isn't it?"

In the end, Wendy noticed me tossing and turning, seemingly in great discomfort, and asked if I was alright. Upon hearing my answer, she hurriedly grabbed a painkiller and poured a glass of water for me.

I hadn't hung up yet, so Mom heard everything. She thanked Wendy through the phone before bidding me good night.

Before the call ended, I thought I heard Mom muttering, "How troublesome."

I shut my eyes, feeling numb inside, yet tears still soaked the hair at my temples.

…

I finally realized that Mom probably didn't truly love me.

She was always telling me, "I love it when you share your day with me. That way, not only can you earn your allowance, but I get to feel your love for me too."

Hence, I was constantly racking my brain for things to report to her, not just to earn my allowance, but also so she could be happy.

However, my severe menstrual cramps had drained me both physically and mentally for the past few days.

I spent the next few days in pain, and my energy levels were at an all-time low. Since I hardly checked in with Mom, I only managed to earn a few dollars each day.

Nonetheless, Mom didn't seem to care or wonder whether a few dollars were even enough for a student's daily expenses.

I suddenly found it all so pointless.

After that realization, I began checking in less and less each day. I would survive even with just a dinner roll a day anyway. Whenever I got too hungry, I would drink some water. A dollar could buy me a big bottle that could then last me a week.

I started looking for odd jobs around the campus to do, asking for food or water in exchange. Surprisingly, I even managed to gain some weight, and my heart felt inexplicably lighter.

However, Mom grew progressively more anxious as the number of times I checked in dipped lower and lower. She went from soothing me to tearfully complaining, and finally, to threatening me, "Charlotte Sander, if you don't listen to me, karma will come for you!"

Still, I ignored her.

One afternoon, while eating a sandwich a classmate had given me, I reached into my drawer to feel for my bracelet out of habit.

It was gone!

I immediately broke out in cold sweat. That bracelet was the only memento my father had left for me.

Dad had loved me deeply. Back when he was still alive, we were quite poor. However, one day, I noticed one of the older villagers wearing a gorgeous pair of silver earrings. I told him that I wanted a pair too.

Mom scolded me for being inconsiderate, but Dad simply placated her with a smile. Then, seeing that I had burst into tears at Mom's scolding, he quickly tried to cheer me up.

Unexpectedly, the next day, Dad had a silver bracelet made for me. "My precious daughter deserves the best that this world has to offer. If I can't provide that for you, that only means that I'm a useless father."

It wasn't until later that I learned that Dad had spent all his savings on me for that bracelet, and he went three whole months without a single smoke because of it.

It was the only thing he had left for me that truly belonged to me. Every time I was upset, I would stroke the bracelet and instantly feel like he was right there beside me. The thought always brought me a great deal of comfort.

Yet, that bracelet was now missing.

I was so panicked that my entire body trembled. My mind was blank, and I didn't know what I should do.

A few seconds later, I realized that there was a surveillance camera at the back of the classroom. Thus, I went to the Student Affairs office in tears to ask for access to the surveillance footage.

At the professor's request, everyone was asked to return to the classroom. It was a Sunday, so everyone was less than happy to be called back.

I entered the classroom after the Mr. Adam Whitclaw, the Student Affairs staff member, still crying as panic rampaged through me.

Mr. Whitclaw began sternly, "Ms. Charlotte Sander here says that her silver bracelet is missing. Whichever one of you accidentally took it, please return it to her."

Upon hearing that, my classmates were even more annoyed and spoke up loudly.

"Who knows who took her lousy bracelet?"

"Just what century are we living in now? Who would steal a silver bracelet?"

"Mr. Whitclaw, Charlotte is so poor that she can't even procure more than a few dollars each day. Where did she even get the money to buy a silver bracelet? Could it be that she stole it?" one of them asked impatiently,

Mr. Whitclaw was visibly surprised at those words. He then turned to me to ask again, "Did you really lose a silver bracelet? What does it look like?"

An indescribable feeling rose in me, bringing a flush to my cheeks.

Nonetheless, I forced the tears back and began describing the bracelet, "It's a small silver bracelet meant for a child, with a pair of fish carved into it. It was a memento my father left for me, so if any of you have seen it, please give it back. I'm begging you!"

Silence descended upon the classroom, but still, no one stepped forward.

After a moment, the guy who suspected me of stealing the bracelet muttered, "Who knows if that's even true? Maybe she's in desperate need of money now, and that's why she made all this up. Why not just call her mother and ask about it?"

Mr. Whitclaw nodded before stepping outside to call my mom.

A short while later, he returned to fix me with a dark expression. "Ms. Sander, there's nothing shameful about being poor, but to be dishonest is another matter? I asked your mom about the bracelet, and she said that you don't have such a thing."