Chapter 1 My college roommate, Mia, had a fairy godmother. While I was working three minimum-wage jobs day and night just to pay for my textbooks, her godmother was flying her first-class around the world. When I was hospitalized for a bleeding stomach ulcer from sheer exhaustion, nearly dying because my parents couldn’t afford the medical bills, her godmother was taking her to VIP suites at Taylor Swift concerts. When I was enduring constant harassment and academic blackmail from my thesis advisor just to graduate, her godmother donated an entire library to the university so Mia would never have to face a single inconvenience. Everyone in our dorm, including me, was incredibly jealous that she had such a wealthy, doting godmother despite having no blood relation. That was, until Mia posted a video of her twenty-first birthday party. In the video, Mia was wearing a bespoke pink gown, surrounded by high-society guests. Standing right behind her, looking at her with absolute adoration, was her godmother. My roommates crowded around the screen, squealing. “Oh my god, she’s so spoiled! The way her godmother looks at her is like a queen looking at a princess! I’m so jealous!” I, however, stood frozen. I stared in absolute disbelief at the woman in the video. Because her godmother looked exactly like my mother. Down to the exact placement of the beauty mark near her lips. By the time the security guards stopped me at the entrance of the luxury hotel, I realized I had subconsciously walked all the way to the venue where Mia was hosting her party. Staring at the glittering, gold-trimmed facade, I circled around to the back, hoping to find a way to slip inside. I had to confirm with my own eyes if her godmother was actually my mother. While pacing around the service entrance, I suddenly heard a familiar voice above me. “How long are you planning to keep this a secret from Chloe?” It was my father’s voice. I snapped my head up and looked at the low balcony above. My dad—the man who usually sat silently on a thrifted sofa in stained work clothes, smoking cheap cigarettes—was currently wearing a perfectly tailored, dark Armani suit. And standing next to him, draped in a cashmere shawl over an emerald evening gown, was my mother. I stood there, paralyzed, my grip tightening on my phone. I wanted to scream, to storm up there and demand why they had been lying to me my entire life. But my mother’s next words nailed my feet to the pavement. “If we tell Chloe the truth, what happens to Mia? Her father died saving my life during that hurricane. I’m all she has left. She’s so delicate, she’s never suffered a day in her life. How could she handle suddenly having to share our love with another daughter?” “Besides, the psychic made it perfectly clear. Chloe’s life cannot be too smooth. If she succeeds, her energy will clash with Mia’s and bring terrible luck down on her.” “We’ve spent years pretending to be broke to suppress Chloe. I even slipped sedatives into her coffee the morning of her SATs. Wasn’t that all because of what the psychic warned us about?” “But Chloe is our biological child! It’s completely unfair to her—” “Enough!” my mother snapped, cutting him off. “I know what I’m doing. Maintaining the status quo is what’s best for everyone.” Hiding in the shadows beneath the balcony, I began to shake uncontrollably. I was supposed to be my high school’s valedictorian. I was on track for early admission to an Ivy League with a guaranteed full-ride scholarship, plus a $50,000 local grant that the school had promised me if I secured the top state ranking. For that $50,000, I worked myself to the bone. I woke up at 5:00 AM and went to sleep at 2:00 AM. My eyes were chronically bloodshot. But on the morning of my SATs, I slept through my alarms. I missed the exam entirely. The Ivy League dream vanished. The $50,000 vanished. The scholarship was voided. I almost went insane during that period. I blamed myself entirely. I thought I was useless, that my weak body had dragged me down, that I had failed my school and failed my mother. I started working grueling shifts, desperate to scrape together enough for state college tuition. Even when I fainted at work three separate times, I didn’t care. And now I was finding out that my greatest tragedy was orchestrated by the mother I loved more than anything. All because of Mia. All because of some fraud psychic’s garbage prophecy. I stared with dead eyes at the woman on the balcony. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll hate us if she ever finds out the truth?” my dad’s voice drifted down. My mother gave a light, dismissive laugh. Right on cue, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a Venmo notification from my mother. $23.56 The caption read: “Sweetie, I saw some students walking by with Starbucks. You should go get yourself a coffee too. Mom might not be able to give you a wealthy life, but I want you to have the little things other kids have.” I stared at the screen, my fingers digging painfully into the edge of my phone case. On the terrace, my mother sounded smug. “She’ll never know. Every once in a while, I send her these highly specific, odd amounts of money. She thinks I’m literally scraping the bottom of my purse for her.” “To keep me from ‘working too hard,’ she’ll throw herself into her part-time jobs. As long as she’s constantly exhausted and struggling just to stay above the poverty line, she’ll never have the energy to uncover the truth.” I stood perfectly still, scrolling through the history of those small, odd-numbered Venmo transfers. Every time I received one, I used to feel a mix of profound love and crushing guilt. It made me work even harder, compressing my living expenses to the absolute bare minimum so I wouldn’t burden her. I never imagined that these numbers were carefully calculated psychological traps. Designed to move me to tears, bind me in guilt, and ensure I spent my entire life drowning in the mud. In an instant, rage, despair, and a profound sense of loss ripped through me. But a pathetic, desperate part of me still didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe my mother could be this cruel. I took a deep breath, walked further away from the balcony, and dialed her number. It was picked up quickly, and her gentle, maternal voice flowed through the speaker. “What is it, sweetie?” I stayed silent for a moment before forcing my voice to tremble. “Mom… I’m being harassed by my thesis advisor. He keeps using my graduation as leverage to make me come to his office alone.” My voice shook genuinely now. “The way he looks at me is disgusting. He texts me inappropriate pictures every day, hinting that if I’m not ‘obedient,’ he’ll fail me.” “Mom, please… can you help me?” Dead silence on the other end. I told myself that if she just used this opportunity to finally tell me the truth, or even if she just stood up for me once and protected me, I could pretend I never heard the conversation on the balcony. But she let me down. “Chloe, he is a professor, after all. Our family has no money and no connections. I worked so hard just to get you into college. Can’t you just endure it for a little longer?” “But Mom, he touches me. He grabs my thighs. He even tried to slip something in my drink—if I hadn’t been paying attention…” I closed my eyes. The suffocating terror I had kept buried for an entire semester, too scared to tell anyone, was finally pouring out. “Then just dress more conservatively!” my mother interrupted, sounding intensely annoyed. She paused, likely realizing her tone was too harsh, and immediately began to fake a coughing fit. She sounded incredibly frail when she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Chloe. It’s because your mother is useless. If you’re really that unhappy, then just drop out. I’ll support you. I raised you all these years, I just want you to be happy.” She followed it up with more violent, breathless coughing. Listening to her fake her illness, a sickening realization washed over me. It had always been like this. In middle school, when I qualified for the state Math Olympiad. In high school, when I got invited to an elite summer STEM camp. Whenever I earned those opportunities, she pretended to be thrilled for me. But behind closed doors, she would let me catch her swallowing painkillers, groaning in agony. She would let me see her getting humiliated and chased away by loan sharks while “trying to borrow money” for my entry fees. Driven by immense guilt, I would voluntarily give up those life-changing opportunities. This was how she kept me chained to her side, crippled and stunted. But she never treated Mia this way. When Mia first moved into our dorm, my mom called her every single night. Worried Mia didn’t have enough spending money, she randomly deposited thousands into her account. Worried Mia might face slight discomfort on campus, she endowed a five-million-dollar facility. She bought Mia’s way into prestigious internships just to pad her resume. I was her biological daughter. Why was she doing this to me? I opened my mouth to ask, but realized the call had already disconnected. From the balcony, my mother’s voice drifted down again. “Tell Professor Evans to apply more pressure. He needs to completely disrupt Chloe’s life so she can’t graduate. It’s best if she’s so stressed she doesn’t even have the time to work her part-time jobs.” Professor Evans. The man who had been making my life a living hell for a year. No wonder my complaints to the Dean and my anonymous letters to the Department of Education had vanished into thin air. My own mother had personally orchestrated it. And like an idiot, I had suffered in silence, terrified of burdening her. My legs gave out, and I collapsed against the brick wall. Tears mixed with snot as I bit my own hand to keep from screaming. I sat in the dark alley until the hotel’s lights shut off for the night. I was done crying. And I knew exactly what I was going to do. In the Academic Advisor’s office. I slid the application form across the desk. “I’ve decided I want to represent the university in the National Collegiate Physics Olympiad.” The advisor paused, then smiled broadly. “Chloe! You finally thought it through? I was just about to try and convince you again. I held off on submitting the final roster for two days just hoping you’d change your mind.” He took the form. “You’re absolutely sure this time?” I looked down at the competition flyer. It was a prestigious national event hosted by an Ivy League coalition. The stakes were massive. If I placed in the top three, not only would I win a substantial cash prize, but I would earn a direct transfer to MIT. Previously, I had hesitated because I was terrified of leaving my “sick, impoverished” mother alone. I wasn’t going to give up my future for anyone ever again. I threw myself into studying, channeling the same obsessive, sleepless energy I had during my SAT prep. A few weeks later, my mother, who rarely called, rang my phone. “Chloe, how are things at school?” “I heard you’re representing the university in a national competition?” When I gave a brief “yeah,” her voice filled with exaggerated excitement. “That is amazing, sweetie! Just do your best, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just being selected is an incredible achievement!” “Do you have enough money? Let Mom transfer you a little something. You need to buy a nice outfit for the competition, you can’t embarrass your school.” As she spoke, she began hacking and wheezing violently, as if she were coughing up a lung. A second later, our “neighbor’s” voice yelled through the receiver. “Chloe! Your mom’s cough is getting worse! There’s blood! You need to come home right now and take her to the hospital!” My mother immediately yelled back, “Stop talking nonsense! I’m fine!” Then, her voice softened to a weak whisper for the phone. “Chloe, don’t listen to her, Mom is totally fine. You just focus on your competition. Don’t worry about me.” But her coughing grew increasingly aggressive, heavy, and desperate. Listening to the horrific sounds, I knew she was forcing my hand. She was trying to break my heart, forcing me to forfeit the competition out of guilt so I would rush home to take care of her. Mom, for Mia’s sake, do I really mean nothing to you? I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, took a deep breath, and said coldly: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going to forfeit this opportunity.” Dead silence on the other end. After a long pause, her gentle voice returned. “Chloe, Mom believes you’ll win.” For the next few days, I poured every ounce of my soul into preparation. On the day of the final mock exam, my advisor ran up to me with last year’s official competition paper. “Chloe! Do you know what you scored? An 89! That’s ten points higher than last year’s national champion! Keep this up and you’re going to win it all!” I stared at the red ink on the paper, my heart pounding with hope. The day of the competition arrived. I got to the campus plaza early to board the university charter bus. But standing right in front of the bus doors, looking at me with a sickeningly sweet, mocking smile, was Mia. A sudden wave of dread washed over me. A second later, my academic advisor stepped off the bus and looked at me with a complicated expression. “Chloe, you won’t be participating in today’s competition.” “On what grounds?!” I screamed. The advisor didn’t answer. He simply looked behind him. Several large men in black leather jackets stepped forward and surrounded me. “Are you Chloe Miller?” I instinctively nodded. The lead guy grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “You’re coming with us.” “What are you doing?! Who are you? Let go of me!” The man just tightened his grip. “Relax, we’re not going to hurt you. But you took out a massive payday loan from us, and the deadline has passed. Until you pay up, you’re not going anywhere.” My advisor looked at me with deep disappointment. “Chloe, how could you borrow money from loan sharks? Now your creditors have tracked you down to the campus. The university can’t protect you from this.” “No! I didn’t!” I struggled violently. “Advisor, you have to believe me, I have never taken out a loan in my life! You have to believe me!” He turned his back on me and looked at the campus security guards. “Take Chloe and these gentlemen to the security office. Until her family arrives, do not let them take her off campus.” “Wait a second,” Mia stepped out of the crowd, walking up to me and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Chloe, don’t even dream of competing with me in this lifetime. So what if you’re smart? As long as I want it, even if I have zero talent, I get to go to the competition.” Then, she aggressively grabbed my hand and raised her voice for everyone to hear. “Chloe, don’t worry! I’ll do my absolute best for both of us!” She shot me one last provocative glare, turned on her heel, and boarded the bus with the advisor. I watched the bus pull away, screaming and thrashing against the men holding me. “Let me go! I never borrowed money!” It was useless. I collapsed, bowing my back, grabbing the sleeve of the loan shark, and begging. “Please… just let me go. This competition is my entire life. Please, I’m begging you.” The leader looked down at me with genuine pity. “Our only job is to keep you here so you can’t compete. Until the competition is officially over, you aren’t leaving.” He paused, then added, “And don’t bother calling the cops. All our paperwork is entirely legal. Your signature is on the contract, and the funds were deposited into an account under your name. The police won’t find anything wrong. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Once the clock runs out, you’re free to go.” In a split second, it all clicked into place. The only person in the world who could forge my signature and bypass my identity checks was my mother. But why? Why did she have to destroy me over and over again?! I slumped onto the concrete. My fingernails dug so hard into the pavement that my fingertips were torn and bleeding, but I couldn’t feel the pain. At the leader’s gesture, one of the men placed a tablet in front of me. “The client’s other requirement… is that you watch the competition from start to finish.” The screen lit up. A live broadcast. Mia was sitting in the exact seat assigned to me. As the camera zoomed in, I saw the test paper. I could have solved those equations with my eyes closed. Mia didn’t even pick up her pencil. Noticing the camera, she gave a mocking little smirk, tossed her pencil aside, leaned back in her chair, and went to sleep. I stared unblinkingly at the screen until the final buzzer rang. It was gone. My one way out was destroyed. Tears poured down my face uncontrollably as my phone began to vibrate violently in my pocket. Text after text from my mother flooded the screen. “Chloe? What happened? Why isn’t it you at the competition?” I looked at the messages from the woman still trying to play the victim and let out a broken, hollow laugh. I turned my head to the large man beside me. “Can I go now?” He checked his watch. “Yeah. You’re clear.” I dragged my heavy legs up from the pavement and began to walk. As I passed a campus trash can, I casually tossed my relentlessly ringing phone inside and never looked back. Miles away, my mother stared at her phone, a sudden spike of panic hitting her as the call went straight to voicemail. Just as she was grabbing her coat to drive down to the campus, the front door burst open. Mia sprinted inside, tackling her with a hug and chattering excitedly about her day in the city. Drowned in Mia’s spoiled affection, my mother’s fleeting worry completely evaporated. She affectionately ruffled Mia’s hair. “As long as my sweet girl is happy! I promised you that after your competition, I’d take you to Europe. Go pack your bags, get your dad, we’re going to Paris.” They had the time of their lives in Europe. Fine dining, luxury shopping, thousands of photos. Their Instagram feeds were a shrine of joy and wealth. It wasn’t until a week later, while scrolling through her phone, that my mother suddenly realized something. I hadn’t called her once. A cold sense of dread washed over her. She quickly dialed my number. The number you are trying to reach is out of service. She tried calling from my dad’s phone. Same result. The panic amplified into sheer terror. She didn’t hesitate; she pulled up my academic advisor’s contact and called him. The second he answered, she demanded frantically, “Hello? I am Chloe Miller’s mother! What is she doing right now? Why isn’t she answering my calls?!” “Chloe Miller?” the advisor’s confused voice came through the speaker. “She dropped out of the university a week ago.”
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