My mom decides to implement an income-based rationing system. Everything at home is delegated to everyone based on their income.

At a holiday dinner, I decide to grab myself an extra helping of pasta.

As soon as I fill up my plate, my mom snatches it from my hands.

"Hold on. Just look at the spread on the table. The sea bass is already worth 180 dollars. The scallops are worth 200, whereas the lobster goes for 300 dollars.

"You only earn 3,000 dollars per month. If you want a second serving, you must pay up first. I'll charge you based on the family rate. It'll be three dollars, thank you very much."

My mom sticks out three fingers while smiling at me.

Stephanie Baxter, my older sister, looked up with a smirk.

Gregory Baxter, my younger brother, was holding back laughter, his shoulders shaking.

Everett Baxter, my father, put down his fork and stared at me coldly.

Some of the relatives at the table looked down, pretending not to notice, while others watched on with amusement.

I stared blankly at the three dollars on the table, then looked at the helping of pasta in my mother, Natasha Murray's hands.

The room suddenly fell silent, with only the tick-tock of the wall clock echoing in the room.

"Mom, what did you say?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Mom placed my plate in front of her and elegantly wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

"I said, if you want a second helping of pasta, you need to pay three dollars. If you don't pay, I'll pour this helping away. This family has implemented a new rule starting this year—the income-based rationing system."

She gestured at the dishes on the table. "Look at all this food. Just this sea bass alone cost 180 dollars, the scallops 200 dollars, and the lobster 300 dollars. You only earn 3,000 dollars a month.

"After rent, utilities, and transportation, how much could you possibly have left? So, why should you be allowed to eat as much as you want?"

My fingers tightened around the fork, my knuckles turning white.

"But I give you 2,000 dollars a month for living expenses, Mom."

"2,000 dollars?" Mom let out a short laugh. "Do you think that's a lot? Stephanie spends more than that on a single social outing."

Stephanie put down her phone and tapped her long, manicured nails twice on the table.

"Brittany, it's not that I want to criticize you, but look at me. Even though I don't contribute to living expenses at home, I maintain the family's image and expand our connections out there.

"Just last month, I attended Mr. Woodruff's banquet and secured two major deals for the family. How can your 2,000 dollars possibly compare to that? This is what's called soft power, understand?"

With that, she elegantly cut a piece of steak and brought it to her mouth.

Gregory laughed even harder. He picked up the leftover fish head from his plate, which still had scales and bones, and tossed it into my empty plate.

"Brittany, chill. Look, I even added some food for you. Fish heads are nutritious, full of DHA to boost your brainpower. Clearly, you need some of that."

He then doubled over with laughter.

I took a deep breath, desperately holding back the tears welling in my eyes. "But I also do all the housework—laundry, cooking, cleaning—from morning till night."

"Housework?" Dad finally spoke.

He slammed his fork heavily onto the table, and the entire dining room fell silent.

"You still have the nerve to bring that up?" he said icily with eyes filled with disappointment. "Do you think doing housework makes you special? Hiring a maid costs only 3,000 dollars a month.

"You contribute 2,000 dollars and expect to live here for free or eat as much as you want? Stephanie spends several thousand dollars on just one meal when she's out networking.

"And Gregory spends tens of thousands of dollars a month on game top-ups. They did it all for the sake of building connections and investing in the future. Every cent they spend is an investment that will generate value. Can you say the same?"

He pointed at me, his eyes full of disdain. "What else can you do besides housework? Do you have Stephanie's connections or Gregory's wit? No! You have nothing! You're as ordinary as they come, and your contribution to this family is only worth this much!"

He picked up the three dollars on the table and waved it in front of my face.

Mom took over, her voice even sharper. "Exactly! Just look at your miserable face. What a jinx! It's Christmas Eve, yet you're making a fuss over three dollars. How do you expect us to get through this?

"This family doesn't support freeloaders. You want more food? Fine, pay up! If you don't, you can get the hell out."

I looked at them, at this picture-perfect family.

Dad, Mom, Stephanie, and Gregory were all looking at me as if I were an ungrateful outsider.

My hands trembled, my nails digging deep into my palms. My blood ran cold until it finally froze into ice.

Slowly, I stood up and walked toward the door.

"Stop right there!" Mom's shrill voice rang out. "You haven't paid the three dollars yet! Are you trying to dine and dash? You think this will blow over if you just leave? Well, let me tell you. Once you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!"

I stopped and turned to look at them. Then, I went back to my room and pulled out a thick black ledger from the deepest part of the drawer.

When I placed it in the center of the dining table, everyone froze.

Mom's fork hovered in mid-air.

Dad furrowed his brow.

Stephanie and Gregory exchanged glances, a flicker of unease in their eyes.

I flipped to the first page and asked, "Are you sure you want to go over the numbers with me?"

"January 15th, 2015. I contributed 2,000 dollars to the family's living expenses for the first time," I read out loud calmly, though my hands were trembling.

Mom's fork stopped midair, and her expression began to change.

"March 22nd, 2016. Dad was hospitalized after a sudden heart attack. The surgery costs 32 thousand dollars, which I paid upfront. That day, I was preparing for my final exams when I got the call and rushed to the hospital.

"I took out all the money I had saved for tuition. Mom held me and cried, saying, 'Brittany, once your father is discharged, I'll pay you back the money.' But it's been nine years now, and I haven't seen a single cent."

Dad's face turned dark and stormy, the veins on his temples throbbing violently.

"June 8th, 2017. Stephanie needed a deposit of 30 thousand dollars for an overseas exchange program. Mom said the family was tight on funds and asked me to cover it first.

"I applied for a student loan at school and worked two jobs for two months. I attended classes during the day, washed dishes at a restaurant at night, and didn't get back to my dorm until 2:00 am.

"One time, I was so exhausted that I collapsed on the side of the road, and a kind stranger took me to the hospital. Stephanie's already back, but where's the money?"

Stephanie turned pale as a ghost, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.

"September 23rd, 2018. Gregory drove drunk and crashed into someone. The other party wanted to settle privately. Combined, the hospital bills and the car repairs cost a total of 50 thousand dollars.

"Dad called me and said, 'Brittany, Gregory's in trouble. We really can't come up with the money, so please help us.' I'd only been working for three months. How could I possibly have 50 thousand dollars?

"So, I borrowed from a loan shark. The man who lent me the money looked at me like I was prey. Despite that, I gritted my teeth and signed the contract. Later, I paid the interest every month for a full year and a half.

"Dad said back then that it was a loan and he'd pay me back. But where's the IOU? Where's the money?"

Gregory's smile had completely frozen on his face, his hand gripping his fork tightly.

I continued flipping through the pages, reading each entry one by one. With every entry, my voice grew calmer. Yet, the tears wouldn't stop streaming down my face.

"December 2019. I contributed 20 thousand dollars to the home renovation."

"July 2020. Gregory wanted to change cars, but he was short 15 thousand dollars. So, I covered it again."

"March 2021. Stephanie's business venture failed, and I helped her pay off the 25 thousand dollars she owed in credit card debt. That month, I couldn't even afford my own rent and ended up sleeping in the company's conference room."

"October 2022. Dad's old friend was hospitalized, and Dad wanted to give a gift, which cost 8,000 dollars."

"May 2023. Mom bought a necklace worth 12 thousand dollars for her own birthday. She told everyone it was a gift from me. But the truth was, she pressured me into buying it.

"She said, 'Stephanie always buys me designer brands. If you give me something so cheap, how am I supposed to hold my head up in front of my friends?"

With every entry I read aloud, Mom's face grew paler.

After reading the last entry, I closed the ledger.

"Every month for the last ten years, I contributed 2,000 dollars for living expenses. That's a total of 240 thousand dollars. With various loans adding up to another 192 thousand dollars, that brings the grand total to 432 thousand dollars."

The entire dining room fell deathly silent, with only the sound of my sobs echoing in the air.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. Ten years of pent-up frustration and repression all burst out at this moment.

I pushed the ledger toward Mom before pulling out my phone and opening the calculator app. My hands were trembling so much I had to press the numbers several times to get them right.

"Since you insist on settling accounts, let's do it properly. Over the past ten years, applying a conservative annual interest rate of 2%, the total—principal plus interest—comes to 518 thousand and 400 dollars.

"But since we're family, I'll round it down to half a million dollars. Mom, Dad, please pay me back immediately."

Stephanie shot up from her chair, pointing at me. "Brittany, have you lost your mind?" she shrieked. "You've actually been keeping tabs for ten years? When did you become so calculating and evil? You're not the sister I used to know!"

I wiped away my tears and looked at her.

"You're right. I have changed. But you're the ones who taught me how. Weren't you the ones who just insisted on settling accounts? Heck, Mom even charged me three dollars for an extra helping of pasta. So, it's only fair that I go through every single expense from the past ten years."

Dad abruptly stood up. Then, he walked over to me and swung his hand back. The next thing I felt was a vicious slap across my face. My head turned to the side, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth.

"You ingrate!" he roared, his voice trembling with rage. "How dare you put a price on our sacrifice? Your mother and I raised you for 20 years, and this is how you repay us?"

Clutching my cheek, I looked up at him.

Tears mixed with blood dripped down my chin as I asked, "Then how can you charge me three dollars for a helping of pasta? Why does my income have to be tied to what I eat?

"Why, after contributing 2,000 dollars in living expenses and doing all the housework, am I still looked down on by all of you? Why didn't I even get a single thank you after I gave you all my savings to help you?

"When I was sick, why did you still make me cook and say things like 'housework makes you sweat, and sweating breaks a fever'? Why did you force me to give up my spot at an Ivy League college and settle for a lower-ranked one instead?

"Was it because you needed to fund Stephanie's study abroad? Why do Stephanie and Gregory get to have everything, while I have to pay for an extra helping of pasta? Dad, tell me—why?"

My voice grew louder and louder until it finally turned into a roar.

Dad's hand was still raised in midair, his entire body frozen in shock.

Mom suddenly lunged at me, trying to snatch the ledger from my hands.

"You wretched girl! Hand over that damn ledger. I'm going to tear it to pieces if it's the last thing I do!"

Her nails raked across my arm, leaving several bloody scratches.

I dodged to the side, and she fell flat on the ground.

Gregory rose from his feet and strode toward me menacingly.

"How dare you demand money from Mom and Dad? You must be looking for a beating! You're nothing but an ingrate! 20 years they raised you, and you've thrown it all away like a heartless traitor!"

I looked at him coldly as I wiped the blood from my face.

"If you so much as lay a hand on me, I'll call the police and report you for assault. And I'll hand them the receipts from the past ten years while I'm at it. Care to guess what they'll make of it?"

Gregory's fist hung in the air. But in the end, he lowered it. Still, his eyes were filled with venom.

Dad pointed a trembling finger at me. "Get out! Get out of here right now! From today onward, you are no longer my daughter. This family doesn't raise ingrates! You don't deserve to be our daughter."

I put the ledger into my bag and picked up the three dollars from the table with a trembling hand. "Fine, but I'm taking this money. Consider it the severance fee for cutting ties with me."

With that, I turned and walked toward the door.

Behind me, Mom screamed hysterically, "Go ahead and leave, but don't you dare come back. You think we'll beg you to return? Dream on!

"Even if you starve to death out there, don't even think about setting foot in this house again. I curse you to die a miserable death!"

Stephanie joined in, screaming, "You ingrate! You'll get what's coming to you!"

Gregory even grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it at me. "Get out! And don't you ever come back!"

The plate shattered at my feet, shards scattering against my legs. Even though it hurt, I continued walking out the door without so much as a backward glance.

The door slammed heavily with a bang behind me. I leaned against it, slowly sliding down until I sat on the ground.

The cheerful sounds of the Christmas Eve exploded in my ears.

I hugged my knees and buried my head in my arms. Finally, I could cry out loud.

A decade's worth of suppressed resentment poured out all at once. I wept heart-wrenchingly, my entire body trembling.

Neighbors passing by glanced at me hesitantly but ultimately walked away.

Only one of the neighbors, Joanna Lambert, stopped and crouched down beside me. "Brittany? What's wrong?"

She gasped when she saw the blood on my face. "Good heavens. Who hit you?"

I shook my head, unable to speak.

Ms. Lambert helped me up. "There now, stop crying. Come on, I'll take you to the hospital."

Once again, I shook my head and pulled away from her arms. "Thank you, Ms. Lambert, but I'm fine. I-I have to go."

I stood up, wiping away my tears. Then, I picked up my suitcase and disappeared into the night.

Behind me stood the house where I'd lived for decades. But from now on, it'd no longer be my home.

For a mere three dollars, I bought myself release from decades of pent-up misery. It was all worth it.

I moved into my company's single-occupancy dorm, a 65-square-foot room furnished with nothing but a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. The walls were mottled, and there were water stains on the ceiling.

Even so, it was the first time in decades that I had a space that truly belonged to me.

I placed the three dollars into a transparent glass jar and set it in the most prominent spot on the desk. Every time I looked at it, I'd remember that night, my family's faces, and my own humiliation.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

The handprint on my face hadn't faded yet, and the wound at the corner of my mouth had scabbed over.

The scratches Mom's nails had left on my arm had long since scarred, but the cuts on my legs from the broken plate still pulsed with a dull pain.

As I stared at my reflection, a sudden chuckle escaped my lips. And then I laughed harder and harder until I found myself crying all over again.

At 11: 30 pm, my phone buzzed frantically.

I'd been added to a WhatsApp Group called "Loving Family". There were more than 50 people in the group, all relatives of my parents.

Mom launched the first attack with a three-minute-long voice message.

In a voice thick with unshed tears, wounded pride, and simmering anger, she said, "Dear relatives, I must speak today about my ungrateful daughter, Brittany.

"On Christmas Eve, she showed up with a ledger, claiming we owe her half a million dollars. She even threatened to take us to court. Everett was so furious that he slapped her, and she actually had the nerve to fight back.

"After everything Everett and I sacrificed to raise her, this is how she repays us? What did we ever do wrong to raise such an ungrateful wretch?"

I listened to the voice message, my hands trembling.

She actually said I fought back? Why, I didn't even dodge! I just stood there and let them hit and scratch me.

My uncle, Claude Murray, was the first to jump in.

"Brittany, you ingrate! Your parents raised you for 20 years, yet you have the nerve to ask for money? Do you have any conscience, any humanity? So what if your father hit you? That's simply what you get for doing something wrong."

My aunt, Lena Murray, quickly followed. "She kept a ledger for ten years? Isn't that premeditated? Brittany is so calculating. Natasha, you need to be careful of her. She might try to get revenge."

My cousin, Carl Murray, also chimed in, "Someone with an attitude like her is bound to get crushed out there in the real world. I suggest you call the police, because this is textbook extortion."

Mom's cousin, Ramon Dalton, added, "Exactly! I always felt something was off about Brittany since she was little. She may not say much, but she's rotten to the core."

Another cousin of mine, Miriam Murray, piled on. "Aunt Natasha, don't be upset. A daughter like Brittany isn't worth keeping. It's best to cut ties with her as soon as possible to avoid trouble down the road."

One after another, messages full of accusations and abuse directed at me flooded the screen.

Not one person asked me why, if I was okay, or how I got the injuries on my face.

They just stood on their moral high ground, deftly slapping labels on me like "unloyal", "ingrate", and "thankless", before proceeding to pass judgment.

As I read those messages, the tears started flowing again. In their eyes, I wasn't even entitled to a single word in my defense.

I opened my photo album and took screenshots of all the transfer records from the past ten years. One by one, I sent them to the group.

My fingers trembled so violently that I missed the screen again and again before finally managing to post them.

Each one had a date, an amount, and a note.

"March 22nd, 2016. Transfer of 32 thousand dollars. Note—Dad's surgery."

"June 8th, 2017. Transfer of 30 thousand dollars. Note—Stephanie's deposit for studying abroad."

"September 23rd, 2018. Transfer of 50 thousand dollars. Note—Gregory's accident medical expenses."

"December 15th, 2019. Transfer of 20 thousand dollars. Note—Home renovation."

The screenshots scrolled across the screen one after another.

For a few seconds, the group fell silent.

Then, an even more vicious wave of abuse erupted.

Uncle Clyde wrote, "Screenshots prove nothing. For all we know, you could've faked those. It's not like that's hard these days."

Aunt Lena replied, "Even if they're real, you gave that money willingly! Now you're changing your mind?"

Carl remarked, "How evil. She even wants to claw back money from her parents."

I continued posting.

"Also, since January 2015, I've contributed 2,000 dollars every single month for living expenses. I never missed a payment in all those years. Here's my bank statement—every record is there.

"But on Christmas Eve, when I took an extra serving of pasta, Mom demanded I pay three dollars for it right in front of everyone. Then, Dad hit me, and I still have the marks to prove it too."

I sent them a selfie. In the photo, the handprint was still clearly visible on my face. Moreover, the corner of my mouth was split, and my eyes were swollen from crying.

The group fell silent for another few seconds, but soon someone jumped in again.

My other aunt, Sally Murray, said, "You must've provoked your father first. Why else would he hit you? I feel sorry for your parents. Look how you've upset your father!"

Grace Murray, a cousin younger than me, chimed in, "Exactly. You did something wrong, and yet you still have the nerve to complain? And why are you dragging your family matters into the group? Aren't you just putting us in an awkward position?"

I stared at those messages and suddenly found it all so funny. I laughed and laughed until the tears started flowing again.

Then, I sent another message.

"I forgot to mention one more thing. Over these ten years, Stephanie has three properties under her name, while Gregory drives a luxury car.

"Meanwhile, I ride a second-hand electric scooter and live in a 65-square-foot company dorm. My bank balance is less than 5,000 dollars.

"This is the reality behind what you all called a fair family and the parents I was supposed to be grateful to."

I left the group chat and promptly deleted all my family members' contact information. Then, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, while tears trickled from the corners of my eyes into my hair.

I cried for what felt like an eternity.

The next morning, I went to work with swollen eyes.

As soon as I reached the building, I saw a crowd gathering at the entrance. Some started pointing at me.

"How could she be so ruthless? Just look at how devastated her parents are."

"Exactly. After everything they did for her, this is how she treats them?"

Just then, the company's HR manager, Abel Patterson, walked out. He looked from the banner at the entrance to me, his expression darkening.

"Brittany, come with me."