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.”