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!

For a moment, all kinds of emotions tangled in my chest. But the strongest one was joy.

The grand prize had to be claimed at the lottery center. I did not waste any time. I got up and bolted out the door.

Fortunately, the school was not far away. Even though I had no money for transportation, I walked for half an hour and arrived.

The moment I received the money, I still felt like I was dreaming. I stared at the string of numbers on my bank card over and over again, tears streaming down my face.

I went to the most expensive restaurant in the city and finally ate my fill. People coming and going could not help but stare at me devouring my food like I had not eaten in weeks.

Mom was right. My luck really was incredible.

After wandering around all day, I had just returned to the dorm when Mom called.

"Sweetie, did you win the lottery?"

The affectionate nickname made my skin crawl. I had forgotten how long it had been since she last called me that.

Even when she found out I got into Westridge, she had been lukewarm at best.

"Win what lottery? I don't know what you're talking about."

Mom got anxious immediately. "Elena Marshall, don't play games with me! I saw it on the news! Today someone in the city won the scratch card grand prize! I recognized the winner's back immediately. It was you! I could spot you anywhere."

I was incredibly frustrated.

At the time, I had been so overwhelmed by the joy of winning that all I could think about was claiming the prize quickly and getting a proper meal.

I had forgotten to disguise myself better so people I knew would not recognize me.

"You've got the wrong person. It wasn't me!"

After throwing out that line, I hung up in a hurry. She kept calling, but I did not answer. Eventually, I blocked her.

I thought that would make her settle down.

Early the next morning, Danielle shook my bed frame. "Elena, get up right now. Something terrible happened!"

Her next sentence jolted me wide awake. "Your mom is on the roof of the research building threatening to see you. If you don't come, she says she's going to jump!"

My drowsiness vanished instantly. I leapt out of bed and ran outside in my pajamas, hair a mess.

"I want to expose my daughter, Westridge student Elena Marshall! She's always relied on her good luck and loves gambling. She has no respect for her mother.

"Now that she's won the grand prize, she wants to cut ties with me. Does a student like this deserve to attend Westridge?"

Even though it was early morning, there were already quite a few students out exercising. Everyone had stopped what they were doing.

They gathered around to watch.

Some cursed me. Some envied me. But most just wanted to see the drama unfold.

Looking at Mom on the rooftop acting like she had lost her mind, I opened my mouth to shout for her to come down. The words reached my lips, but I swallowed them back.

Since she said I loved gambling, then this time I would gamble that she did not have the guts to jump. So I quietly turned around, left the crowd, and returned to my dorm.

I wrote an application for a study abroad research program.

Fortunately, I won the bet.

Mom valued her life too much to actually jump. When she realized no amount of theatrics would make me meet her, and when the wind whipped around her on that exposed rooftop, she finally backed down.

The school, preferring to avoid scandal, called me in for counseling.

When Mr. Palmer heard that the scratch cards were the living allowance my own mother gave me, he went silent. He said he would not interfere with the matter anymore.

The school also tightened security and stopped allowing unrelated people onto campus.

The study abroad research program was not difficult to apply for. Considering my decent entrance exam scores, they gave me a spot.

Mr. Palmer told me to hurry and apply for a passport.

I did not drag my feet. After preparing all the materials, I went immediately to apply for my passport.

The staff member held my ID and worked at the computer for a long time. I watched as everyone around me finished their applications. I started to sense something was wrong.

"Ms. Marshall, I'm sorry. Your application cannot be approved at this time."

After a long while, the staff member finally spoke, shaking their head.

"We found that there is a lawsuit filed against you. According to regulations, you cannot apply to leave the country."

Confused, I opened my phone. In my blocked messages, I found one from several days ago.

I looked closely. The sender was an unfamiliar court number.

The message clearly stated that my mother had taken me to court on the grounds of "failure to provide financial support to a parent."