Before my A-Levels, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer—because I was starving. When I told my mum, she thought I was lying and cut my allowance even more. She said that when she was my age, she only had £60 a month, and here I was, getting £100. I should consider myself lucky. She wanted me to learn the virtue of thrift. Later, she and my dad went on holiday and left me with no money. I ended up starving to death. She held my body, crying uncontrollably. “Mum, why are you crying?” “Now that I’m dead, you won’t have to spend any more money on me. Isn’t that something to be happy about?” After finishing my check-up at St. Thomas’ Hospital, I went home with the late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis in my hand. As soon as I walked in, my mum was on her phone. She glanced at me and said, “Starting next month, your allowance will go from £300 to £100.” I froze, the test result still in my hand, thinking about how to give it to her. She continued, “You’ve got it so good now. When I was your age, I had £60 a month. £100 is more than enough for you.” I bit my lip gently, hesitated, and then said, “Mum… it’s not really enough. Could you give me a bit more? I’m… sick.” I slowly pulled the diagnosis out of my pocket and handed it to her, still hoping that despite everything, she was my mother and would care. But in the next second, she knocked the paper out of my hand. “Since when did you learn to lie like this? When I didn’t lower your allowance, you were fine. The moment I cut it, you suddenly have all these problems?” Her voice was sharp, her eyes filled with anger, as if I was her worst enemy. Timidly, I stepped forward and mumbled, “Mum, I’m not lying…” But she only got angrier, pointing at me and shouting, “Oh, now you’re talking back, are you? You ungrateful little pest!” She grabbed a feather duster from the sofa and hit me with it. At that moment, my dad, who was outside hanging up the laundry, came over, pushing me gently towards my room. He smiled at her and said, “Come on, love, no need to hit her…” “She’s gone rotten! All I wanted was for her to learn the value of money, and now she’s lying about being ill! I just watched a video—some student made millions in their first year at uni, supporting their family. Why should I still have to support her?” “She’s such a burden—always sulking. It would be better if she were dead…” I closed my bedroom door quietly, my heart being sliced to pieces by each word. Maybe it would be better if I were dead… It wasn’t the first time I’d heard her say that. But it hurt every single time. Mum, do you really wish I were dead? When I die, I’m sure you’ll be happy. The doctor said I wouldn’t live more than three months. By then, I’m sure you’ll be relieved. But Chloe doesn’t want to give up…
Since my monthly allowance had been cut to £100, after buying my school supplies, even if I only ate bread and pickles, I still couldn’t make ends meet. With A-Levels coming up, I had very little time. I only had Sunday afternoons off, so I spent that time handing out flyers. The boss, Mr. Cooper, knew about my situation and gave me a slight raise. I worked one day a week, and I earned £100, paid on the spot. One day, after a long day of distributing flyers, I came home, and the first thing my mum did was glare at me. “I’m missing £100 from my purse. Did you take it?” I was confused, and before I could say anything, she stormed over and pulled my bag from me. She rummaged through it and only found some loose change, but she wasn’t satisfied. She started searching my pockets. Finally, she found £100 in my jeans. Her eyes burned into me like a demon from hell. “Who told you to steal from me?” she hissed through clenched teeth. I was terrified. Every time she looked at me like that, I knew there would be punishment. My legs started trembling, and my voice shook as I stammered, “I didn’t… I didn’t…” “That’s the money I earned from my part-time job. I didn’t steal it.” But she didn’t believe me. She slapped me and yelled, “You’ve been lying to me your whole life! Didn’t I raise you better than this?” “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think you can fool me with these lies? Today, I’ll teach you a lesson and show you who’s in charge!” She pulled the charging cable from the plug, grabbed my hair, and dragged me to the floor. Then, she whipped my leg with the cable. It hurt so much. But my heart was numb. From primary school until now, her “military discipline” had gone from confusing me, breaking my heart, and making me rebel, to leaving me completely numb. She had perfected her methods of “education.” The charging cable was her favourite because it hurt but didn’t leave lasting marks, unlike sticks or coat hangers. She also knew how to pinch me in the most painful spots without leaving a bruise, tie elastic bands around my arm so tightly that my hand would go numb, and wrap a towel around a stick so it would hurt but leave no visible wounds. It’s laughable, isn’t it? All of these were things my own mother tested on her daughter. Her only daughter… Right then, the pain in my stomach flared up again, twisting and turning like something was tearing it apart. I started to wish that I could just die during one of these “lessons.” At least then, the pain would stop.
All the money I earned was taken by my mum. Now, I had less than £10 to my name. To stretch it out, I decided to only eat one piece of bread every three days. But I’d overestimated how long I could last with stomach cancer. By the first morning, I fainted while running during PE. Ms. Thompson carried me to the nurse’s office, and after a quick check, the nurse said I’d collapsed from low blood sugar. A classmate, who had come along with the teacher, explained my situation to her. Ms. Thompson was shocked when she heard about how my mum treated me. It wasn’t unusual for students to faint from exhaustion and stress in school, but given my situation, she felt she had to call my mum. When my mum heard what had happened, she was reluctant to come, but Ms. Thompson insisted. When she arrived, she found the teacher encouraging me to eat the food she’d bought for me. My mum, furious, slapped me in front of everyone. “You liar! You said you’d fainted! Here you are, looking perfectly fine. Why didn’t you just die?” Ms. Thompson, stunned by the sudden slap, froze in shock. After a moment, she spoke up, standing between us. “Why would you say something like that? Can’t you talk without being so cruel?” But my mum continued to rant, accusing me of being deceitful, saying I’d manipulated everyone for money. Then she glanced at Ms. Thompson and sneered, “First she couldn’t trick me, and now she’s got you fooled, hasn’t she? Or are you just trying to seduce her?” The teacher slammed the table in anger. “Madam, I’m Chloe’s form tutor,” she said firmly. By now, the whole canteen had turned to look at us. Embarrassed, my mum’s expression softened, and she mumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t know you were her teacher.” “She’s just such a troublemaker. I’ve only been trying to teach her to save money, and now she’s lying to me, stealing from me, and pretending to faint because she hasn’t eaten…” Ms. Thompson, her face pale with shock, interrupted her mid-sentence. “She’s not lying. Chloe fainted from low blood sugar, and I called you.” She went on, “I’ve heard from her classmates that all Chloe eats at school is bread and pickles. Sometimes, she only has one meal a day because you won’t give her any more money.” My mum, caught off-guard, stammered, “But I do give her money. I give her £100 a month! When I was her age, I got £60, and she gets £40 more than I ever did.”
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