I had not asked my mother for money in three months.

She thought I had finally learned to be a good, obedient son and, in a rare act of mercy, sent me a message.

"I already had Calvin pay the registration fee. Learn to be more sensible from now on. Stop thinking about scamming money from the family.

"I know your dad is having a hard time right now, but since you chose to stay with me, you need to be on the same side as me."

When she said this, she did not yet know that I had already transferred my in-state residency out.

No one believed that I, Miles Hart, who appeared on the surface to be the young master of a wealthy family, had a closet filled entirely with clothes bought before my parents’ divorce. For three full years, there was not a single new piece of clothing.

Every dollar I spent privately had to be submitted through an internal approval system, with a written application and justification. Even fees for school activities required screenshots of official notices and formal quotations.

All expenses had to pass the review of my stepfather, Calvin Pierce.

Just because my mother constantly suspected I was siding with my father and was afraid I would secretly funnel money to him.

A month ago, I needed $500 for a math competition registration fee. Calvin rejected the request again and again.

"There isn't enough justification.

"Why do you have to participate in this competition?

"Wait until the end of the month for unified approval."

By the time approval finally came through, the registration window had already closed.

Mom did not know that I had endured these three years for only one reason: an in-state residency, which would make college admissions easier.

Now, I was officially recommended for admission to a top university.

This family was no longer a place I needed to stay in.

When I set the photocopy of my in-state residency transfer in front of my mom, she was absorbed in watching Calvin Pierce’s son, Noah Pierce, play video games.

I recognized the T-shirt Noah was wearing. I had seen it in a mall display window just last week. The price tag had four digits on it.

In contrast, the sweatshirt on my own body, which was washed so many times that it had faded, already had frayed cuffs.

"What does this mean?" Mom picked up the paper, her brows knitting into a tight knot.

I said calmly, "I transferred my in-state residency. I'll be living at school from now on."

The sound of the game stopped. Noah blinked those wide, innocent eyes of his.

"Bro, don't be angry," he said softly. "Mom is doing this for your own good."

Calvin walked over with a fruit platter and echoed him smoothly, "Miles, your mom doesn't earn money easily. Now that Noah is training in sports, our expenses are high. We're all family. We should be understanding of each other."

Such familiar rhetoric.

For three years, every time I wanted something, I heard this same version of "understanding".

"I'm not asking for permission," I said, looking at Mom. "I'm just informing you."

She reacted as if she had heard the biggest joke in the world. "Miles Hart, you've really grown wings, haven't you? Without me, you wouldn't even be able to pay your tuition!"

"I've already been recommended for admission. Tuition is fully waived. As for living expenses, I'll earn them myself."

"Recommended?" She froze for a moment, then turned to look at Calvin. "Is that true?"

Calvin's smile stiffened for a split second before quickly returning to normal.

"Oh, why didn't you say so earlier?" he said. "Look at the misunderstanding this caused... But even with a recommendation, it still costs money. The cost of living in Crownridge is so high..."

"I don't need your money." I cut him off. "For three years, every single dollar I spent in this house required an application and approval. Even buying a pen meant explaining its purpose.

"Noah, on the other hand, can freely use your supplementary card and treat his whole class to drinks."

Mom waved her hand impatiently. "Noah is younger and trains in sports. He needs nutritional supplements! You're already this old, and you're still being calculative about these things?"

"I'm not being calculative," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "That's why I'm leaving."

She clearly did not take me seriously. As I turned around, she added coldly, "Fine. If you have the guts, don't come back begging me! Let's see how long you can stay tough!"

She thought I would be the same as before. She believed that after a few days, I would lower my head and admit I was wrong.

Just like the last time I wanted to buy a competition prep book. Calvin had rejected the request, "There are pirated copies online anyway." I had swallowed the humiliation and rewrote a more detailed application in the Family Expense Portal.

Just like the time before that, when I needed money to participate in a school study program. Calvin had said, "These activities are just a waste of money." I had no choice but to go to my homeroom teacher, Ms. Carter, and ask her to help prove the necessity of the program.

None of that mattered anymore.

If that $500 registration fee had arrived on time a month ago, maybe I would have kept enduring it.

She never answered that phone call from me.

That day, in the Family Expense Portal application, I wrote: "Math competition registration deadline is today. Registration fee is $500. Attached are screenshots of the registration notice and payment page."

Calvin replied: "Rejected. Please explain the necessity of participating in this competition and the expected benefits."

I resubmitted.

"Winning or placing in this competition can help me qualify for independent university admissions. It will help with college placement."

He rejected it again: "The expected benefits are not clear enough. Please quantify."

The third time, I was almost begging. "The teacher has urged me multiple times. The deadline is today at 5 p.m. Could this be approved first? I will supplement the detailed benefits afterward."

Read. No reply.

At 4.30 p.m., he finally responded: "I just asked Noah. He said the competition isn’t all that valuable. Focus on your regular coursework instead. Prioritize preparing for final exams."

I rushed into the study to find my mom. She was on the phone and waved at me to wait.

On the other end was Noah's spoiled voice. "Mom, I saw a pair of sneakers I like. I need them for next week's competition..."

"Buy them. If you like them, just buy them." She smiled warmly. "How much? Two grand? It's fine. I will transfer it to you."

I stood at the door. Only after she hung up did I speak, my voice hoarse, "Mom, the competition registration—"

She glanced at her watch. "Bring these petty things to Calvin. I have a meeting to get to."

"But he—"

"Miles." She frowned. "You need to learn to be understanding. Managing this household isn't easy for Calvin. Everything he does is for your own good."

At that moment, I knew nothing I said would change anything.

…

After leaving the Pierces', I did not go looking for my dad.

Three years ago, when he cried and begged me not to leave with Mom, I said some unforgivable things, so I was too ashamed to go back now.

I settled into the school dorm. After learning about my situation, Mr. Hayes, my counselor, helped me apply for financial aid and a work-study position.

Mrs. Bennett, the librarian, patted my shoulder and said, "Miles, I've heard about your situation. Don't be afraid. If you have difficulties, talk to your teachers."

That night, Mrs. Wells, my math teacher called me into her office.

"Miles Hart." She pushed her glasses up, took a piece of paper from her drawer, and placed it in front of me.

I looked down and froze. It was the math competition registration confirmation.

My personal information had already been filled in. The status read: "Payment completed."

"Ms. Wells, this—"

"I registered you with the competition committee." Her tone was calm, but the concern in her eyes was unmistakable. "I covered the registration fee for now. There's no rush to pay me back."

"Thank you." My voice caught. "I will definitely return the money."

From that day on, I began a different kind of life.

I got up at six in the morning. I worked in the cafeteria in exchange for a free breakfast. Classes and self-study. My evenings were spent shelving books in the library. After closing, I did two more hours of tutoring.

I was busy, but things were solid.

No more writing those ridiculous Family Expense Portal applications.

No more explaining why I needed to buy a textbook, why I had to pay class fees, or why I wanted to attend a lecture.

A month later, my phone received a text from an unfamiliar number.

"Miles, it’s Mom. Calvin says you blocked him? Stop being stubborn. Come home. Noah actually misses you."

I deleted the message without replying.

A short while later, my phone rang. It was Mom.

I answered. She said, "Miles, that’s enough. I had Calvin transfer $2,000 to your card. That should last you for a while. Come home this weekend for dinner. Families don’t hold grudges overnight."

I looked at the computer screen in front of me.

I had just finished writing a block of code. This was my first freelance project, and the payment was $3,000.

"No need," I said. "Keep the money. I’m not coming back."

"You—" She suppressed her anger. "Where are you right now? I’ll have the driver pick you up."

"I’m where I’m supposed to be."

I hung up.

A few minutes later, Noah sent me a message.

"Bro, don’t be mad at Mom. She actually cares about you. So does Pops. He’s just afraid you’ll spend money recklessly and pick up bad habits. Come back. I bought a bunch of new sneakers. I’ll give you a pair."

He attached a photo. It was his shoe cabinet, which had rows upon rows of sneakers under bright lights, appearing dazzling and excessive.

I saved the screenshot and replied, "Keep them for yourself. After all, your Pops said athletes need gear. They need the right setup. As for me, I’ve long been used to wearing old clothes."

Noah replied quickly with a string of crying emojis. "Bro, how can you say that about me? If Mom finds out, she’ll be upset."

Sure enough, Mom called again. This time, her voice carried anger. "Miles, how could you talk to your brother like that? Noah was showing concern, and this is your attitude?"

"Was it really concern?" I asked. "Mom, do you know that my math competition registration fee was delayed until it expired?"

She paused. "What competition? Calvin said that competition wasn’t useful anyway…"

"Then do you know that for the past three years, I had to submit an application in the Family Expense Portal just to buy a pair of socks?"

"That… that was to teach you financial discipline!" Her voice rose. "So now you’re blaming me? I fed you, clothed you, supported you… and I did it wrong?"

The same pattern.

Always the same.

I was tired.

"Forget it," I said. "You’ll always think you’re right."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. When she spoke again, her tone had softened.

"Miles, I'm doing this for your own good. How about this? Going forward, I’ll have Finance transfer your living expenses to you directly every month. We won’t go through the Family Expense Portal anymore. Okay?

"And since you were recommended for admission, what kind of reward do you want? A phone? A laptop? I will buy it for you.

"Noah’s birthday celebration is next month. Come back then. We’re family…"

I closed my eyes.

You see, she never understood. She thought I was throwing a tantrum and that I wanted more attention, more material things.

"Mom," I cut her off. "I don’t need a new phone. I don’t need to attend a birthday party. I just need you to understand this: my leaving this family wasn’t an impulse. It was premeditated.

"Three years ago, when Dad cried and begged me not to go, and I chose you for in-state residency, I already knew this was a transaction.

"Now, the transaction is over."

…

The next time I saw my mom was at a university admissions consultation fair.

I was there as a volunteer, helping guide attendees. I wore a plain white T-shirt and jeans, all clothes bought with money that I earned myself.

She appeared at the venue with Noah and Calvin. Noah was applying as a student athlete.