My mom has always been a big spender, and over the years, our family hasn’t saved a penny because of her extravagance. Whenever my dad asks about the money, my mom always says she spent it on me. When my grandma needed money for medical treatment, my dad yelled at me for being a spendthrift. I promptly pulled out the receipts of my mom’s expenses over the years. Ha! Did they think I’d be their scapegoat forever? When I was little, my mom would take me to the park and only buy me a bottle of water. But when we got home, she’d tell my dad we spent over $30 on food and entertainment. She’d enroll me in the cheapest English tutoring classes, costing about $4 per session. But she’d tell my dad each class cost $40. She’d buy me clothes from street vendors selling knockoffs, but tell my dad each piece cost hundreds of dollars. She’d even claim I threw tantrums, refusing to leave the store unless she bought them for me. In high school, while other kids got $30 a week for allowance, I only got $3. In everyone’s eyes, I was the one spending money recklessly, never considering my parents’ feelings. All of my father’s hard-earned money was supposedly spent on me. I was labeled a “wastrel.” During the New Year’s pig slaughter at my cousin’s house in the countryside, my mom was chatting happily with a distant niece-in-law. “Auntie, how do you stay so young? Your skin is so fair and smooth, I can’t believe you’re in your forties!” The niece-in-law even touched my mom’s face with her finger. “Oh, it’s just my natural good skin,” my mom said, clearly pleased and unable to hide her happiness. But her smile seemed a bit stiff. She loved having strangers guess her age, compliment her youthfulness, and then proudly claim it was all natural. This might fool older people, but young people could easily spot the obvious signs of cosmetic procedures. “Auntie, your clothes must be expensive! They look high-end,” the niece-in-law said, feeling the fabric. “The material is so nice!” My mom casually took the niece-in-law’s hand and said, “Oh, these are just from street vendors, not worth much. Only about $10. I don’t have any expensive clothes.” “You know, Amy needs money for many things. I can’t be extravagant. I still need to save up for her dowry in the future.” Lies! Her clothes were never less than $150. I felt both hurt and disgusted. She had been manipulating me since I was little, easily controlling me. Many times, she would criticize me in front of others. I didn’t even dare to confront her, feeling like I was a burden who spent too much money. Hearing my dad’s sighs, I didn’t want to cause conflict between them. But the truth was, my mom spent money like water on high-end cosmetics, brand-name clothes, beauty salons, and outings with her girlfriends. “How much did this cost?” Every time I asked about the price of something she bought, my mom would scold me. “Have you earned a single cent? What right do you have to question me?” If I tried to tell the truth, she’d say, “I’ve raised you for nothing, you ungrateful brat! Do you want your dad to hit me? Do you want your dad to divorce me?” So, for the sake of family harmony, I never exposed her. I just quietly played the role of the scapegoat. Coming back to reality, I heard the niece-in-law continue, “Wow! That cheap? Where did you buy it?” The niece-in-law widened her eyes in disbelief and reached out to touch the clothes again. My mom smiled silently, trying to brush it off. “Auntie, if you like it, I’ll ask my mom to get you one too,” I chimed in. “Oh, that would be great!” The niece-in-law looked at my mom expectantly. My mom laughed awkwardly, wanting to refuse but unable to find a good reason. She could only say, “There was only one left when I bought it. I’ll see if they have any more. If they do, I’ll get you one.” My mom glared at me discreetly, annoyed at my presumption. Of course, there wouldn’t be any left to sell! She wouldn’t spend money on such expensive clothes for others. My mom chatted and laughed with the niece-in-law, but she kept glancing at my dad to gauge his reaction. On the way home, she scolded me, “In the future, when adults are talking, you children shouldn’t interrupt.” I did it on purpose. My mom always liked to use me as a shield. In the eyes of relatives and my dad, she always maintained an image of frugality. Relatives often looked at me with disdain and gossiped behind my back. Because my mom frequently cried poor in front of them, saying all the family’s money was spent on me. The 80-year-old lady downstairs would smile kindly at me, then turn and say to others, “That child really knows how to spend money! Doesn’t care about her parents at all.” From childhood to adulthood, I always had the worst food, clothes, and belongings, yet I still received so many dirty looks for no reason. After I started college, I overheard classmates mocking me behind my back. “Her? She’s fake and cares too much about appearances. Haven’t you noticed? All her clothes are knockoffs. It’s hilarious! If you can’t afford it, why bother wearing it?” A few days later, my mom brought home an Anly brand shirt. “I bought you a shirt. It’s very expensive,” my mom said with a smile, her eyes holding an indecipherable meaning. I don’t know why, but something felt off. My mom had never been this generous to me before. Although I had never worn such high-end clothes, I knew this shirt cost over $150. She often said to me, “Your time to wear nice clothes will come later. Unlike me, I’m already half in the grave. If I don’t wear them now, I’ll be too old.” Whenever my mom said this, I felt sad and couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. Coincidentally, one day on my way home, I ran into my Aunt Sarah. She was stunned when she saw me, examining the clothes I was wearing. “Where did you get these clothes?” Aunt Sarah’s eyes showed a hint of horror. “My mom just bought them for me,” I replied, sensing something was amiss. “What’s wrong, Aunt Sarah?” “Take them off quickly, don’t wear them. It’s bad luck!” Aunt Sarah reached out and took off the jacket, then threw it in the trash. At first, she was reluctant to tell me, afraid of causing trouble with my mom. But after I pestered her, she finally revealed the truth. She and my mom had gone to visit a distant relative who had just lost her daughter. The girl was about my age and had just started college when she was involved in a fatal traffic accident. The young life was cruelly taken away by fate. The girl’s newly bought clothes had never been worn. My mom had taken them, saying she would keep them as a memento. But then my mom turned around and gave them to me. For the past couple of days, I had been thinking I had misjudged her, that she was finally willing to spend money on me, that I had grown up and she knew to dress me up. From childhood, I had never worn clothes or shoes that fit properly. They were always two sizes too big. The colors were never bright, and I looked both ridiculous and pitiful wearing them. They would be worn out before they ever fit me properly. There’s an old photo at home from when I was about eight or nine years old. I’m wearing a huge shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shoulders couldn’t support the shoulder pads, which sagged down on both sides of my arms. I looked comical standing next to my mom. While she only cared about her own elegance, I looked out of place and even unsightly next to her. I cried all the way home, my eyes red when I arrived. My dad was off work and at home. He and my mom were sitting on the couch, chatting and laughing. Seeing me come in, my mom smiled and said to my dad, “You know, I saw the neighbor’s kid working part-time at the supermarket yesterday! Earning his own allowance every month, unlike Amy who only knows how to ask for money…” Before my mom could finish, I exploded and shouted at her, “Yeah, I’m the only one who doesn’t know better, the only one who doesn’t understand, so you give me a dead person’s clothes to wear.” “Are you even my real mother? Why would you do this to me? I’ve had enough!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, completely unlike my usual quiet self. My dad was stunned to see me like this and quickly came over to comfort me. “What’s wrong, Amy? Let’s talk about this calmly. What happened?” My mom also said, “Child, if you have something to say, just say it. Why are you shouting? Have some respect!” I shook off my mom’s hand and sat down on the couch with my dad. I explained everything that had happened. “Your Aunt Sarah shouldn’t have told you everything. What are kids afraid of? The clothes were new,” my mom said dismissively. “You be quiet. Look how upset our daughter is,” my dad said, clearly not understanding her behavior either. “Fine, I’m the bad guy. I’m the worst person ever. Is that what you want to hear? It’s just a piece of clothing! What’s the big deal?” My mom rolled her eyes, not bothering to argue further. She seemed indifferent to my crying, thinking I was making a fuss over nothing. “You’re really heartless,” my dad said, angry now. He knew I was timid, and he couldn’t believe my mom would do something so incomprehensible. He quickly took out $150 from his pocket. I knew this was his entire month’s pocket money. “Here! Dad’s giving you $150. Buy whatever clothes you want,” my dad said, stuffing the money into my hand. Seeing my dad take my side, I felt somewhat comforted. My emotions still hadn’t fully subsided, and I shouted, “I don’t want it! I don’t want it! I’ll work part-time at the supermarket and earn my own money to buy clothes!” “What part-time job? You’re still young. Your job right now is to study well. Our family doesn’t need you to go out and earn money,” my dad said. “Why don’t you give me the money? I’ll buy clothes for her. Kids don’t know how to bargain. She might get ripped off,” my mom said, eyeing the money in my hand. “Go to the mall to buy. The prices are clearly marked there,” my dad glared at my mom, telling her to be quiet. “You’ve spoiled the child,” my mom rolled her eyes and stopped paying attention. She wanted to get the money from me, then buy me some $10 clothes from street vendors, probably with some big fake logo on them. I immediately stuffed the money into my pocket to prevent her from getting any ideas. Seeing that I was still crying, my dad had to beg my mom to apologize to me. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that good enough? Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I was only thinking of your best interests…” My mom’s tone was reluctant. This wasn’t an apology at all. She was clearly still mocking me, blaming me for not understanding. I turned and went into my bedroom, not wanting to hear her speak anymore. I avoided her for days, not even making eye contact. I was truly heartbroken. Uncle Jack needed $7,000 to buy a house and wanted my dad to help out. My dad came home and told my mom, but she refused to lend the money. She lied to my dad, saying that withdrawing the money from the fixed deposit would result in a loss of several thousand dollars in interest. The atmosphere at home was tense. I moved around quietly, trying not to attract my mom’s attention or talk to her. I had just gotten home when I heard my dad pleading, “It’s not like we won’t get it back, right? Can you give me that $4,000 I gave you a couple of weeks ago? Buying a house is a big deal for them, and I can’t refuse my brother when he’s asking for help.” “A couple of weeks ago? That was half a month ago. Amy has already used it all,” my mom replied impatiently.
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