Laura Parker counted the money happily, not even lifting her head.

“Emily, you did well today. I’ll add 30 points for you.”

I stood there, clothes still dripping wet, watching the excitement on her face.

But inside, I felt nothing but emptiness.

On the day final grades were released, I stared at the ranking on my computer screen, my heart pounding out of my chest.

First place.

The National Scholarship.

Eight thousand dollars.

I rubbed my eyes, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

It was the first time I had ever won something this big.

For once, I felt valuable.

I sprinted out of the dorm and rushed home.

Pushing open the door, I saw Laura flipping through the shabby Suffering Scoreboard, preparing her new Facebook post material.

“Mom! I got the scholarship! The National Scholarship—eight thousand dollars!”

My words tumbled over each other, excitement bubbling out of me. I wanted to shout this good news to the whole world.

She lifted her head, looking oddly blank.

“What scholarship?”

“The National Scholarship! Only five spots in the entire school, and I got first place!”

I thrust my phone toward her, my face glowing with pride. “Look, it’s written clearly on the transcript!”

She stared at the screen for three seconds.

Then—slap! A sharp sting burned across my cheek.

“Who told you to apply for that?”

I covered my face, stunned.

“You winning a scholarship ruins everything! How am I supposed to tell your Uncle David we’re too poor to survive? Do you know you just destroyed my entire plan for the next six months of sympathy money?”

Her finger jabbed at my nose, her eyes full of fury and blame.

“I… I thought you’d be happy for me…”

“Happy? How could I be happy?” She snatched up her phone, pulling up a chat log. “Look at this! Just yesterday I told your uncle you didn’t even have enough for living expenses. He was going to send two thousand this month. Now you show up with an $8,000 scholarship?”

My heart sank, piece by piece.

My honor meant less than her lies.

“Mom, I worked hard for this…”

“Worked hard?” she sneered. “You worked hard in the wrong direction! You should be working on looking more miserable, not more successful!”

“Listen to me, Emily. A mother always has her child’s best interests at heart. Remember, no one in this world loves you more than your mom. You must obey me.”

“Don’t sacrifice the big picture for something small.”

The next morning, she dragged me to campus.

Inside Professor Anderson’s office, her tears came on cue.

“Professor, I’m Emily’s mother,” she choked out, her voice trembling. “I came today to apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”

Professor Anderson looked puzzled. “What behavior?”

“She applied for a scholarship out of vanity, with no thought for our family’s situation,” Laura sobbed, dabbing at her eyes. “Yes, we really are struggling, but she shouldn’t have resorted to plagiarism.”

I froze, staring at her in shock.

Professor Anderson shook his head. “That’s impossible. She couldn’t have plagiarized…”

“Professor, Emily has always been vain, always wanting to be better than everyone else. But I believe honesty is far more important.”

Professor Anderson looked at me, then back at her, his expression complicated.

“So what are you saying?”

“I’d like us to switch her application to financial aid instead. We really do need help, but not through dishonest means.”

My fists clenched tightly under the desk.

In front of him, she had turned me into a vain cheater.

“Emily, tell the professor—wasn’t Mom right?”

Her eyes carried a silent threat.

“I… I plagiarized… I want to apply for financial aid.”

Professor Anderson sighed, his eyes filled with both pity and complexity.

“All right, I’ll help you with the paperwork.”

Around us, students lingered to watch the spectacle. My face burned with shame.

As soon as we stepped out of the office, Laura Parker immediately wiped away her tears and pulled out her phone.

“David, you won’t believe what happened today… Emily tried to plagiarize just to get a scholarship. I had to drag her to the professor’s office to apologize. I’ve never been so humiliated as a mother…”

On the other end, Uncle David’s voice was full of sympathy. Soon after, another transfer arrived.

Then it was Aunt Margaret’s turn. “Emily is being reckless—I’ll discipline her… Yes, yes, children must be strictly managed…”

One call after another, and with each call, more “comfort money” came pouring in.

I stood silently beside her, watching that smug expression spread across her face.

My heart bled.

Later, Professor Anderson lowered his voice to me.

“Emily, there’s a library off-campus that needs someone to help organize books. Two hours a day, fifteen dollars an hour. Given your situation, this might be a quiet fit.”

I froze.

“Don’t worry—just say it’s for a study group.”

I looked into his encouraging eyes and nodded firmly.

Back at the dorm, Sophie Miller and the others gathered around me.

“Emily, we’ll cover for you,” Sophie said, grabbing my hand. “If your mom asks, we’ll tell her we were all studying together.”

“That’s right—we’ll take turns walking you to the library.”

Their kindness made my nose sting with tears.

My first day at the part-time job, I was nervous beyond words.

After I finished stacking books, the librarian handed me thirty dollars.

“Good work. See you tomorrow.”

I clutched the bills, my hands trembling.

It wasn’t pity money from relatives—

It was mine.

I couldn’t stop touching the edges of the bills, over and over, relishing their texture.

Passing by a bubble tea shop, I hesitated a long time before finally buying a plain milk tea.

The first sip—the sugary sweetness burst across my tongue.

My eyes instantly burned with heat.

Since my father Michael had died, a cup of bubble tea had become a luxury.

I hid the rest of the money in my shoe insole and lay in bed that night, smiling secretly to myself.

I finally had a secret.

By the second week, I grew bolder.

With my earnings, I bought a movie ticket and sat alone in the back corner watching a comedy.

The jokes on screen tugged at the corners of my lips.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified someone might hear me laugh too loudly.

…

“Emily, your journal entries lately don’t feel right.”

Laura flipped through my Misery Journal, her brows knitting.

“The sadness lacks soul. Are you phoning it in?”

My heartbeat spiked. “No, I write seriously every day.”

“Seriously?” she sneered. “Look at this line: ‘I starved again today.’ It’s too flat! Too plain!”

She slammed the notebook onto the table.

“When you used to write about being hungry, the despair dripped off the page. Now what? Are you sneaking food behind my back?”

Panic surged. “No, really, I didn’t.”

“Then why are you coming home so late? Since when do study groups run until eight o’clock?”

“Because… the coursework is heavier.”

She stared at me for a long time, her sharp gaze pinning me until I couldn’t meet her eyes.

The next day after work, I passed by a café and caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye—

Laura sat at the window, phone in hand, her camera aimed straight at me.

My steps froze.

Then, forcing myself to pretend I hadn’t noticed, I quickened my pace and left.

When I got home—

“Emily, you’ve worked hard. No need to write in your journal tonight.”

My panic deepened.

Laura Parker held out a brand-new phone box.

“Emily, your old phone is too slow. Mommy got you a new one.”

I took the phone, my stomach tightening with dread.

“This one works much better. I’ve already installed all the apps for you.”

She gently stroked my head, her voice tender to the point of terror.

“Emily, Mommy just loves you too much. I’m afraid someone will trick you.”

I unlocked the phone—and sure enough, there it was.

Location trackers. Monitoring apps. Even my call logs would sync automatically.

“Mom, this…”

“This is for your protection.” Her warm smile was chilling. “I can’t be with you every second, so this is how I care for you.”

My phone rang. At the same time, hers rang too.

Synced…

“Here, sweet girl, put on these shoes. Mommy just bought them for you.”

Numb, I obeyed.

“Ah!”

I yanked them off immediately—inside the sole, a sharp needle was sticking upright.

And there was my mother, adjusting her camera angle to capture my pained expression.

“Perfect… today’s material is ready.”

When she discovered my library job, I thought the worst that could happen was being forced to quit.

I was wrong.

That afternoon, while I was shelving books in the back, a sudden commotion erupted outside.

“Where’s the manager? Come out right now!”

Laura’s voice.

The book nearly slipped from my hands. How did she find me here?

“You greedy employers! Preying on students like this? My daughter’s only nineteen—how can you exploit her like that?”

I rushed out from the back room and saw her standing in the middle of the store. Hair disheveled, eyes red and swollen—she looked every bit the image of a desperate mother driven to the edge.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I stammered.

The moment she saw me, her tears burst forth like a broken dam.

“Emily! Mommy came to save you!”

“Look at my daughter—she’s skin and bones!” She yanked up my arm, showing it off to the customers. “She works herself to the bone every day and only earns this little. Isn’t this exploitation?”

The store manager, Mr. Johnson, stepped out of his office, his face dark.

“Ma’am, please calm down.”

“How can I calm down when my daughter’s being tortured like this?”

Laura jabbed her finger at him, her voice growing shrill.

“You brainwashed her, didn’t you? That’s why she won’t come home! That’s why she doesn’t recognize her own mother! I raised her all by myself, gave her everything—and now for a few measly dollars, she doesn’t want me anymore!”

Customers began whispering among themselves, some even pulling out phones to record.

I panicked.

“Mom, please, let me explain—”

She grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard.

“Look at yourself! Your face is pale. Did they force you to do heavy labor?”

Before I could respond, the store’s doors opened again and another group poured in—

cameramen with tripods, reporters with microphones, badges hanging from their necks.

I froze.

“Excuse me, are you Emily Parker’s mother?”

A female reporter thrust her microphone toward Laura.

“Yes, I am this poor child’s mother.”

Laura instantly shifted her expression. Tears welled up on cue.

“I raised her alone, pinching pennies to send her to Columbia University. But she won’t come home to me.”

“She’s been secretly working part-time jobs behind my back. Spending the money in all the wrong places. I only found out today—and my heart shattered.”

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, her voice thick with grief.

“She’s always been such a sensible child… someone must have misled her. I’ve worked so hard, given her everything—even if I suffered, I never let her suffer. But she insists on going out to work, saying she wants to be independent.”