Mom always said my entire life ran on luck.

When I ranked first in my class, she said, "You just guessed really well."

When I won a gold medal, she said, "The judges must've been blind."

When I got into Westridge University, she told everyone, "This kid has no real ability, just good luck!"

So on my first day of college, she tossed me a book of scratch cards.

"Since your luck's so good anyway, might as well let it handle your living expenses too.

"You get one book per semester. However much you scratch off is all you get.

"And just so you can't come crying to me about being broke, I'm blocking you now. I'll unblock you next semester."

With that, she ignored every one of my desperate pleas and blocked me on every single platform.

I wanted to cry but could not even manage tears. All I could do was scratch two cards every day.

On good days, I would win 20 to 50 dollars. Most days, I won absolutely nothing.

I survived by sneaking expired cookies out of my roommates' trash.

By the last week of the semester, I had developed severe anemia.

As I used every ounce of strength to scratch the final card, I laughed.

Mom was right. My luck really was incredible.

I was so hungry I saw stars. Everything had double vision.

The book of 20-dollar scratch cards Mom gave me felt like a countdown to my death. Only one card remained.

The 30 dollars I had won before this, even though I had been incredibly frugal, eating nothing but plain bread and canned soup for every meal, had lasted two weeks at most.

My stomach felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it tight, cramping with pain. So I clung to one last shred of hope and called Mom.

Reality dumped cold water over my head.

I was still blocked.

Left with no choice, I borrowed a stranger's phone and dialed her number again.

"Mom..."

Before I could get another word out, a sharp, cutting voice came through the line.

"If I remember right, you've still got one scratch card left, don't you? Don't come crying poor to me. I'm not falling for that! If you're so capable, do what you did when you got into college and won all those scholarships. Use your luck!"

The call cut off abruptly. When I tried again, her phone was off.

The single remaining scratch card in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. I did not dare scratch it. I was terrified it would be another loss.

When the semester started, my weight had been normal.

Now I was severely malnourished. At five foot five, I weighed only 73 pounds.

Blue veins showed through my skin. There was not a trace of color in my face.

When I got back to the dorm, no one was there. I walked toward the trash can, my steps unsteady.

Out of habit, I checked to see if my roommates had thrown away any leftover or expired food I could salvage. I had spent most of the semester surviving this way.

Just as I started digging through the trash, someone pushed the door open.

"Ugh, Elena, why are you going through the garbage again? That's disgusting."

My roommate Danielle Lynch's voice made my face burn with shame. I jerked my hand back from the trash can like it had burned me.

She glanced at the scratch card on my desk and immediately understood. Undisguised contempt filled her eyes.

"I really can't believe you. How can you be this addicted to gambling! You'd rather buy these things and dig through trash than eat actual food!

"Even if you really love scratch cards that much, you could at least get a part-time job so you can afford to eat, right?

"Whatever. It's my bad luck rooming with someone like you!"

With that, Danielle looked at the cake in her hand with one last bite remaining, tossed it into the trash, and walked out of the room.

I was dizzy with hunger. My head buzzed.

I had no energy to think about whether she was trying to help me or humiliate me. I lunged at the trash can like a starving wolf and grabbed the cake.

I devoured it. As I ate, scalding tears fell in heavy drops, mixing with the cake crumbs. Salt and bitterness filled my mouth.

I could not blame her for thinking that way. She did not know that before the semester started, Mom had printed my photo on flyers and distributed them to every shop around campus with one message: do not hire me for part-time work.

She had cut off every avenue of escape.

"Doesn't she have good luck? Then let her eat on luck." When Mom said those words, did her face carry the same mockery as Danielle's?

I had explained countless times. I did not rely on luck.

Every award I had won, I had fought for bit by bit. But she did not believe me.

She was convinced everything I had came from luck. One flippant word that erased all my effort.

The last bite of cake went down. The dizziness eased slightly.

I turned my gaze to the final scratch card once more. I made up my mind.

My hand trembling, I began to scratch.

The coating peeled away bit by bit. My heart sank with it.

The final row revealed the prize amount. 20 dollars.

My heart died completely.

That meant until next semester when Mom gave me a new book of scratch cards, I only had 20 dollars.

Clutching the winning ticket, I walked out of the dorm, planning to go to the redemption center outside the campus gates to cash it in.

Just as I left the dorm building, my academic advisor's stern voice called from behind me.

"Elena Marshall!"

I turned around. When the advisor, Adam Palmer, saw the scratch card clutched in my hand, the disappointment on his face deepened.

"Someone told me and I didn't believe it. You got in here with top ten scores from your region. How could you get addicted to these schemes and shortcuts?

"Look at your grades now. You're practically failing every single class! You've let me down so much!

"Consider this conversation a warning. If you keep this up, I'll have no choice but to follow school policy and recommend your expulsion!"

I stood there while Mr. Palmer scolded me for several minutes under the scorching sun.

The energy from that bite of cake earlier had nearly run out. I started to sway.

"Elena?"

Mr. Palmer's expression instantly shifted to alarm. "Are you okay?"

After seeing my skeletal hand, he sighed.

"Let me take you to the cafeteria to eat. Stop spending all your meal money on scratch cards from now on. There's no such thing as free money falling from the sky."

I did not refuse Mr. Palmer. After all, right now, whoever gave me a bite to eat was my savior, my lifeline.

Dignity? Pride?

In the face of survival, they were worthless. Because I had no money, I had not bought a single meal from the cafeteria windows all semester.

I had only bought plain rolls and paired them with free water.

Too weak to focus in class, unable to concentrate. To me, the words on the blackboard looked like swimming tadpoles.

My grades had plummeted. My pride had long since shattered.

After wolfing down a full meal, my spirits lifted considerably. My steps were no longer unsteady. Even my mind felt clearer.

After thanking Mr. Palmer, I turned to leave. He frowned. "Where are you going?"

I held up the crumpled winning ticket. "To cash it in. Otherwise... no food."

"Elena Marshall!" Mr. Palmer snapped in frustration. "Did you forget everything I just said that quickly?

"Or are you determined to defy me so you can get expelled? I shouldn't have bought you that meal. You need to go hungry until you understand how serious this is!

"Give me the ticket. Cut your losses now!"

He reached his hand toward me. His tone carried an authority that brooked no argument.

I quickly hid the scratch card behind my back and pleaded. "Sir, I really can't give this to you. I have my reasons."

Mr. Palmer slammed his hand on the table.

"You're beyond help! I'm telling you right now, if you don't hand it over, I'm going back to file an official complaint and put this on your record!"

I lowered my head. My nails dug into my palms.

After an internal struggle, I bowed to him. "I'm sorry. I really can't."

Without waiting to hear what else he might shout at me, I bolted toward the redemption center.

The woman at the redemption counter took the scratch card from my hand. She rolled her eyes.

She muttered under her breath. "Addicted, are we? What a waste of your parents' hard-earned money!"

Bitterness filled my heart.

If I told her this scratch card was the living allowance my own mother gave me, that it was my only source of survival, she would probably find it even more absurd and less believable.

"Cash, check, or I can transfer it to your account?"

The woman asked impatiently.

I pulled out my old phone with its cracked screen, about to give her my account details. A thought struck me.

Suddenly, I did not want to cash it in anymore.

"I'm not cashing it in," I heard myself say. "I want to exchange it for a new one."

The woman at the redemption counter rolled her eyes without any attempt to hide it.

She tore off a 20-dollar scratch card and tossed it in front of me. "You're beyond saving! How did Westridge University even admit a student like you?"

I had heard words like that too many times already. From my roommate, from strangers, and now from her. They no longer stung.

I took the scratch card, thanked her, and left without scratching it on the spot.

I had barely walked two steps when my phone rang. When I saw "Mom" on the screen, I froze for a moment.

That contact felt like it belonged to another lifetime, distant and unfamiliar.

"Hello." I answered just before the call would have gone to voicemail.

Mom's sharp voice came through immediately. "Hmph, I thought you'd have more backbone than to answer my call.

"The scratch cards I gave you at the start of the semester should be all used up by now, right? How much did you win on the last one?"

I told her the truth. "20 dollars."

The mockery in her tone deepened. "Tsk, well your luck isn't bad then. You didn't starve to death."

I could not take it anymore.

"Mom, do you know how I've been surviving this semester? On handouts from my roommate and digging through trash for leftover food! And today, if my advisor hadn't been kind enough to buy me a meal, I probably would've collapsed and ended up in the hospital!"

I thought hearing about what I had been through might change her mind.

Instead, she let out a scornful laugh. "So what, you're trying to brag to me about your good luck? How you ran into a nice roommate and a nice advisor?

"Elena Marshall, I want you to understand that you shouldn't rely on that kind of wishful thinking!

"If you could get into Westridge on luck, then getting enough to eat on luck shouldn't be that hard either, should it?"

Tears spilled from my eyes.

I screamed into the phone. "I got into Westridge and won those competitions through hard work! I never once said I got into college because of luck!"

My outburst only made Mom more impatient.

"Stop putting on an act. What hard work? I gave birth to you. Don't you think I know what you're capable of? When I was pregnant with you, I deliberately fell down the stairs a few times and still couldn't get rid of you. If that's not good luck, what is?"

When I heard those words, my blood felt like it froze instantly. This was the first time she had ever said something so blunt and cruel to me directly.

I had heard relatives gossip about it before.

After Mom got pregnant, a rural medical worker told her I was a girl. She did not want to keep me.

Abortion technology back then was not as advanced as it was now. She did not have the courage to go through with it, so she gave birth to me.

What she had not expected was a difficult labor that resulted in a hysterectomy. She could never have children again. My father divorced her because she could no longer give him more children.

All the pieces suddenly connected.

Anger and grief erupted all at once.

"If I'd known I'd have to survive on scratch cards, do you think I would've chosen to be born?"

"Oh, so now you're complaining?" Mom snorted coldly on the other end of the line.

"Fine then. From now on I'll just switch to ten-dollar cards instead. You've got good luck anyway, so I might as well save myself some money!"

With that, she hung up with a sharp click. I knew she had probably blocked me again.

I returned to the dorm in a daze and stared blankly for a long time at the scratch card I had just exchanged.

Finally, I gathered the courage to start scratching.

First row, nothing. Second row, nothing either. By the third row, still nothing.

By the time I reached the last row, I closed my eyes in resignation and scratched randomly.

After a long moment, I opened my trembling eyes.

I had won! The prize column read five million dollars!