At the ceremony where my mother, Helena Marlow, received the Best Homeroom Teacher award, the parents wept with gratitude. They praised her for nurturing the students successfully without ever resorting to harsh discipline, and for helping them all to excellent results.

But no one knew that the path to their children’s success had been paved by Mom, using me as a warning to others.

When someone in the class stole money, cheated on an exam, or got into a romantic relationship, I was the one punished.

During the ceremony, the principal, Ms. Wanda Ambrose, stepped onto the stage to present her award.

She asked, “Ms. Marlow, you have so many outstanding students in your class. Which student are you most proud of?”

Mom smiled with quiet pride.

“They are all like my own children. I love every one of them.”

Then she let out a small sigh.

“Except for my daughter. She alone fails to live up to expectations and disappoints me every time.”

Laughter and applause rose from the audience below the stage. They nodded in understanding and praised her for being so modest.

I drifted to her side and looked at the satisfied curve of her lips before speaking softly.

“Don’t worry, Mom. From now on, I won’t disappoint you anymore.”

My mom, Helena Marlow, had two faces.

With her students, she was always gentle and patient.

If a student caught a cold, she brewed ginger soup and brought it to school.

If a student’s grades began to slip, she sacrificed her own rest time to tutor them.

Even when a student made a mistake, she only spoke softly and reasoned with them, reluctant to utter even a single harsh word.

But with me, she treated me as nothing more than a tool for disciplining her students.

I heard someone in the audience call out, “Ms. Marlow, you’re the pillar of reassurance for us parents!”

Mom’s smile grew wider, pride shining in her eyes.

Suddenly, I remembered a morning half a year ago—one just as blinding with sunlight.

She had pressed a crumpled fifty-dollar note into my hand, patted my head, and spoke with a rare note of affection in her voice.

“Evie, go buy yourself something nice to eat. I have a class meeting today.”

At the time, I had foolishly clutched the money, believing that Mom loved me.

But when the class bell rang, Mom walked into the classroom with a face as cold as ice.

She slammed her lesson plan onto her table and said coldly, “Fifty dollars from the class fund we collected yesterday is missing.”

The class was completely silent at the news.

I sat by the window, absentmindedly rubbing the fifty-dollar note in my pocket, an uneasy feeling stirring in my chest.

“Whoever took it, stand up and admit it.”

Mom’s frosty gaze swept across the class.

No one spoke.

“No one wants to admit it?” she sneered.

“Then we’ll search the bags.”

She did it herself, starting from the first row and checking each bag.

My heart pounded faster and faster until she stopped in front of my desk.

When her fingers touched the zipper of my schoolbag, I saw the PE leader, Jasper Hawke, seated behind me, shudder and lower his head even further.

Back then, I didn’t understand.

I could only watch as Mom pulled from the inner pocket of my bag the fifty-dollar note I had crumpled so tightly it had grown soft.

“Well, well, Evie.”

Her voice suddenly rose, thick with incredulous disappointment.

“So you were the one who stole it.

“I thought you were a sensible child…I never expected you to be disgraceful!”

I froze, and tears surged up at once.

“Mom, you were the one who gave me that—”

“I gave it to you?” she cut me off, her eyes fierce.

“When have I ever given you money? The class fund just went missing, and suddenly you have fifty dollars in your pocket.

“Are you still trying to argue with me?”

Whispers rippled through the class.

Jasper—the one who had actually taken the money—never dared to raise his head, his body trembling the entire time.

Mom gave me no chance to explain.

She took a sheet of paper from her table and, with a red pen, scrawled several crooked words across it: I will never steal again.

“Hold this and run five laps around the field,” she said coldly.

“If you can’t, don’t bother coming back to class.”

I didn’t dare resist, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

No one would believe that the money had come from Mom.

They would only think she had placed justice above family ties—a truly good teacher.

I held up the paper and shuffled step by step along the rubber track.

Sweat ran into my eyes, stinging painfully.

Behind the classroom windows, I saw rows of heads pressed against the glass.

They watched me as if I were some ridiculous clown performing for their amusement.

The pride of a thirteen-year-old girl was hurt terribly.

By the time I finished the five laps, I was nearly collapsing.

Mom waited for me at the gate of the field.

There was not a trace of pity on her face.

All she said was, “If you dare to steal again, running laps won’t be the only punishment,” before turning and walking back to the classroom.

After that day, nothing in the class ever went missing again.

Privately, the students said that Mom was ruthless, but that it certainly worked.

Their gazes toward me carried a little more pity, but no one dared to get too close to me.

My thoughts returned to the present.

I floated beside my mother and watched her fingers trace the engraved patterns on the medal.

Smiling, she sent a message to my phone.

[I know you’ve been wronged, Evie.

[You’ve been my greatest contributor. Without you, how could the class atmosphere be this good?

[When I’m done at the ceremony, I’ll cook your favorite barbecue pork ribs. How about that?]

I stared at the words.

A soul couldn’t cry, yet I still felt like weeping.

She was always like this.

When no one else was around, she treated me a little better.

She called me her good daughter, slipped me some pocket money, and patted my head while telling me she loved me.

But the moment it involved her students, I became the sharpest blade in her hand.

I watched her expression darken as she waited for a reply that never came, and I spoke softly.

“Mom, the daughter who stole the money is dead. Are you happy now?”

…

During a break in the ceremony, Mom went to the restroom.

I followed her and watched her touch up her makeup in the mirror.

Her phone lay on the sink, its screen lit up with a chat conversation between her and the school director, Mr. Michael Fairfax.

[This time in the final exams, our class ranked first in the grade again for average scores. Thanks to you, Helena.]

[It’s only right. The children worked hard.]

[Oh, right—about that cheating incident last time. You handled it very promptly. Otherwise, the impact would’ve been terrible.]

[It was simply my duty.]

My gaze fell on the words, and my heart tightened as though gripped by an invisible hand.

That time had been during the midterm exam.

The proctor was a teacher from the neighboring class, focused entirely on the front of the room and oblivious to the student sitting ahead of me, secretly glancing at a small cheat sheet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom walk in through the back door.

She circled and stopped beside my seat, lingering there for a few seconds.

I assumed she was checking the discipline in the room and instinctively straightened my posture.

But then, I felt something fall beside my shoe.

Before I could even react, Mom suddenly raised her voice. “What are you doing, Evie?”

The entire exam hall fell silent in an instant, and every gaze turned toward me.

“Passing notes to cheat during an exam? You’ve got some nerve!”

Her voice was sharp and harsh.

I lowered my head toward the floor beside my shoe.

A small, unfamiliar slip of paper covered with answers lay there.

“Mom, it wasn’t me…” I said, panic rising until tears nearly spilled over.

I tried desperately to explain.

“That note isn’t mine. I don’t know how it got there…”

“Not yours?”

Mom let out a cold laugh and bent down to pick up the paper.

“The evidence is right here, and you still dare to argue?

“How have I been teaching you all this time?

“Cheating in the exam hall—have you no shame at all?

“You’ve completely disgraced me!”

She gave me no chance to explain and dragged me straight out of the hall.

Mom took me directly to the principal, Wanda Ambrose’s office, and exaggerated the story as she recounted the “facts” of my cheating.

Ms. Ambrose frowned and immediately recorded a disciplinary mark against me, saying the school would issue a public notice of criticism.

I stood to the side, trembling all over as silent tears slipped down my face, yet no one spared me a glance.

The next day’s class meeting became my public denunciation.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

Mom picked up the ruler, her tone icy.

“I didn’t do anything wrong…” I murmured in protest, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You still dare to talk back!” She raised her hand and struck my palm with the ruler.

The searing pain spread instantly.

Once. Twice. Three times…

The sound of the ruler striking my palm rang harshly through the silent classroom.

My palms quickly swelled red, and the pain made my whole body tremble.

The surrounding students looked frightened. Some quietly lowered their heads, unable to bear watching such a cruel scene.

I knew they wanted to speak up for me.

Cheating had once been common in the class, and everyone knew it, yet I had never taken part.

A few girls who were usually on good terms with me parted their lips, as if about to stand and say something, but Mom’s stern glare forced them back into their seats.

They could only lower their heads helplessly.

Only when Mom saw the fear on the students’ faces did she finally stop.

She placed the ruler on the desk and said coldly, “This is what happens when you cheat! Anyone who dares to follow her example won’t find me so merciful!”

After that incident, cheating in class disappeared completely.

My thoughts drifted back to the present.

After a while, Mom sent me another message.

[Evie, you didn’t come to the final exam, but I won’t hold it against you.

[You should at least reply to my message, shouldn’t you? Don’t make me worry, okay?]

I continued to drift in place, unable to leave, no matter how much I wanted to.

“Mom… I can’t come back.”

…

More than a month passed after the cheating scandal.

Just as the atmosphere in the class had begun to ease, the growing closeness between a boy and a girl caused the tension to return once again.

This time, Mom didn’t even bother with a private conversation.

At the start of the class meeting, she walked into the classroom clutching her lesson plans, her face dark with anger.

She slammed the plans onto her table with a dull thud.

“Recently, the atmosphere in this class has grown worse and worse. Some people are already getting into relationships at such a young age. Have they no shame?”

Her gaze swept across the class before finally settling on me.

“Evelyn Marlow, stand up!”

I froze in my seat, my fingertips clenching my chair until they turned pale.

“Mom… I didn’t…”