To teach me independence, my parents made me pay for everything with hard labor. If I wanted a glass of water, I had to clean the toilet. If I wanted a decent meal, I had to wash the entire family’s laundry. Usually, I managed to scrape by. But on my sixth birthday, I ran a burning fever and physically couldn’t drag myself out of bed. Dizzy with hunger and shivering under the sheets, I cried and begged them. “Mom, Dad, please… I feel so sick. Can I just have a glass of water?” My mother, Helen, shook her head with a cold, firm expression. “No way. Rules are rules, Chloe. Don’t think you can use a little cold as an excuse to be lazy!” My father, Arthur, went even further. He dragged me out of bed by my collar and threw me out into the backyard, right into the freezing snow. He said it was to “build my character.” Before I lost consciousness, I could hear their muffled voices drifting from the warm living room. “Tomorrow is Lily Rose’s sixth birthday. Let’s get her that latest giant Barbie Dreamhouse set and the remote-control power wheel, okay?” “Let’s also load a ten-thousand-dollar cash card for her. That sweet little girl always smiles when she sees us. She’s so much more well-behaved than our Chloe!” Hearing this, a single tear froze on my cheek. So, it was only me. Only their biological daughter had to pay a price for every basic human need. But Mom, Dad… I won’t have another birthday.
In the snow, the warmth was rapidly draining from my body. Just when I thought I would freeze to death, a pair of rough hands dragged me back into the mansion. “What a nuisance!” I opened my eyes to see the disgusted face of Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper. She wasn’t saving me out of pity. She was just terrified that a dead body at the front door would bring bad luck and ruin her job. When I woke up again, I was in my tiny, drafty room. “Since you’re awake, stop playing dead.” My father’s cold, detached voice came from the doorway. He sat in a chair nearby, tore a page from his thick black leather ledger, and tossed it onto my face. “Mrs. Gable dragged you in and stained the entryway rug. Your punishment is to hand-wash every carpet in this house.” “Also, the down jacket you were wearing got soaked in the snow. That’s another three days of washing everyone’s laundry by hand.” Arthur pushed up his glasses, his eyes chillingly sharp. “And since you did zero work yesterday, your mother and I weren’t going to let you eat today.” “But considering you need strength to work off your debt, you are permitted to have two slices of plain, dry bread today. However, you will owe me for those slices later!” His calculating gaze held not a single ounce of warmth or pity for his daughter. I struggled to sit up, wanting to say something. But the moment I opened my mouth to breathe, a warm, metallic taste rushed up my throat. I coughed violently, splattering bright red blood all over the floor. It was a horrific sight. Just then, my mother came downstairs. She was holding a stunning, custom-made pink princess dress—obviously the birthday gift for Lily Rose from next door. Seeing the blood on the floor, she frowned in disgust and immediately took two steps back. “Ugh! How repulsive! Coughing up blood first thing in the morning? If you’re going to die, can you do it outside? Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean marble floors?” She turned to Arthur. “Arthur, I don’t think she’s learning her lesson at all. Add another month of living room deep-cleaning to her ledger!” Arthur nodded coldly and scribbled another line in his thick black book. “Go eat after you clean this up,” he said flatly. My heart squeezed in agonizing pain. I didn’t understand. Why did “character building” have to be this extreme, this cruel? I wanted to be like Lily. I wanted to receive beautiful gifts and feel loved. But I had to swallow those words. Every time I had tried to express my feelings in the past, it only resulted in harsher punishments. I silently wiped the blood from my lips with the back of my hand. “I understand… I’ll clean it.” “You talk a big game! With what strength?” Helen sneered. “With that fragile, pathetic body of yours? If you ask me, you’re just physically weak because you don’t work enough. From now on, you’ll have to do double the labor to earn your meals!” I remained silent for a long time. Finally, I whispered in a raspy, broken voice. “I understand.” “I will scrub the floors. I will finish all the chores.” I leaned against the wall, trembling as I stood up. I had to clear my debt to them before I died. That way, I could leave this world clean.
Over the next few days, I worked like a wound-up toy. The moment I opened my eyes, I was cleaning. Meanwhile, my fever kept roaring back. My body was breaking down. Every violent coughing fit ended with blood in my spit. But I never dared let them see. I was terrified they would call me “dramatic” and double my chores again. So I worked through the pain. Even when my hands cracked and bled from the freezing water, I didn’t dare stop. Finally, on a quiet afternoon. I used the excuse of taking out the trash to slip away. Clutching the $120 I had secretly saved over the years by collecting and recycling plastic bottles, I walked to the nearest hospital. That money was supposed to buy me a tiny birthday cupcake one day. I didn’t need a cupcake anymore. The doctor stared at my test results, his brows knitted tightly. He looked at me, hesitating. “Sweetheart, where are your parents?” “They are… very busy.” I tried to calm my racing heart and forced a small smile. “Doctor, you can just tell me. How much time do I have left?” The doctor froze. But I wasn’t surprised. I had been diagnosed with a terminal illness a month ago during a school screening. But no one at home ever listened to me. They didn’t care if I was sick or healthy. “Child, if we admit you for treatment right now, there might still be a sliver of hope…” the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. I shook my head and cut him off. “Just tell me the final timeline, please.” The doctor choked up. After a long pause, he sighed deeply. “One month. At most.” “Your bone marrow has stopped producing healthy blood cells. On top of that, you are severely malnourished. Some of your organs are failing before they’ve even fully developed.” I sat there, dazed. “One month…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh, looking down at my scarred, calloused hands. One month. That was enough. It was enough time to pay back everything I owed them. “I won’t be doing the treatment.” I placed the stack of crumpled dollar bills on his desk. “Sir, is this enough to buy pain medication? I just want it to hurt less when I go.” The doctor fell silent again. I saw his eyes turn red. Eventually, he turned his back to me, his shoulders shaking slightly. He only took $5 for the consultation fee but handed me a large bottle of strong pain relievers. I felt a sudden swell of happiness. So, I didn’t have to work myself to death to receive a little bit of kindness. When I got home, the mansion was incredibly lively. Today was Lily Rose’s birthday party. My parents had transformed the house into a pink wonderland. Balloons and fresh roses were everywhere. The price of a single rose bouquet could have fed me for a month. Lily sat in the center of the sofa like a real princess, wearing that designer dress worth tens of thousands of dollars. Helen was gently guiding her hand to cut the cake, her face glowing with maternal love. “Our Lily is so beautiful. Come on, make a wish, sweetie!” Arthur stood nearby, recording the whole thing with a high-end camera. The adoration in their eyes was something I had never seen in my entire life. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain flared in my stomach. It was so intense that I doubled over. Struggling to stay upright, I slowly dragged my feet into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “What are you doing? Sneaking around like a thief!” Helen’s sharp voice suddenly pierced the air.
Helen set her plate down and glared at me, her brow furrowed in irritation. “I… wanted some water.” My lips were pale from the pain, and my voice shook. But Arthur walked over, pointing his camera directly at my face. “Chloe, we have rules. Everything you consume in this house must be earned through labor.” “Who gave you permission to just take water?” His camera was his favorite tool of humiliation. He loved recording my most pathetic, shameful moments so he could play them back later to “remind me to obey.” Helen leaned back on the sofa, her voice dripping with cold indifference. “We strictly discipline you because we want you to be independent. We want you to understand that only hard work gets you fed.” “But since you love taking shortcuts so much, fine. Warm water is ten dollars a cup. Cold water is five.” She held out her hand, staring into my eyes. “Pay up, and you can drink as much as you want!” There was absolutely no warmth in her voice. Lily sat nearby, eating her cake, her face covered in frosting. “Chloe, don’t you have any money? You’re so pathetic. Imagine having to pay for water in your own house…” she giggled innocently. My parents laughed along, completely unbothered. At this point, I couldn’t even feel the pain in my heart anymore. It was numb. With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my remaining cash. “Fine. I’ll buy it.” I counted the bills and placed them in Helen’s palm. “I want a cup of warm water.” Helen froze, clearly not expecting me to actually have cash. But she quickly pocketed the money. “Hmph, let’s see how much money you have left to waste!” She turned back to resume Lily’s birthday celebration. I huddled in the dark corner of the kitchen, swallowing the pain pills with my expensive cup of warm water. The medicine took a long time to kick in. It wasn’t until midnight that the pain subsided slightly. Under the moonlight, I pulled out a small notebook. It was a diary of all my labor and punishments. I wrote down the very last entry. Then, I slipped my crumpled terminal diagnosis sheet into the very first page of the notebook. I spent the rest of the night scrubbing every single floorboard in the mansion. I cleaned every corner until it was spotless. I washed all the dirty laundry and hung it up on the balcony. By the time I finished everything, it was 4:00 AM. I was breathing heavily, but I didn’t dare rest. I threw my worn-out backpack over my shoulders. Inside, there was only the bottle of pain medication. I turned around. I took one last look at this house where I had lived for six years—a place that had not given me a single happy memory. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. I have paid back every debt I owed you in this lifetime. If there is a next life, I would rather be a blade of grass by the road than your daughter. I pushed open the heavy front door and walked out into the endless, freezing night.
The next morning. Helen stretched as she walked downstairs. Out of habit, she yelled, “Chloe! Where’s breakfast? Are you slacking off again?” No one answered. Only her own echo bounced off the walls of the empty mansion. Helen’s face darkened. Impatiently, she marched to my tiny room and kicked the door open. “Chloe, stop faking sick! Get up right—” Her voice cut off. The room was completely empty. The bed was made perfectly, the sheets folded neatly. But the backpack that usually sat by the bed was gone. “Arthur! Arthur, come down here!” “Chloe is gone!” An icy pit opened in Helen’s stomach. She began to panic. Arthur walked out of the upstairs bathroom, frowning. “Don’t scream. Go check the backyard. She’s probably sweeping the garden.” “No! All of her things are gone!” Helen’s voice pitched higher, trembling. Arthur’s expression shifted. He sprinted down the stairs. He burst into my room, his eyes instantly locking onto the black notebook sitting on the desk. “Is this… a ledger?” He frowned, flipping through the pages. Suddenly, a thin piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Helen instinctively reached out and caught it. The moment she read the words printed at the top, the color drained from her face. “A terminal diagnosis?” Arthur snatched the paper, his eyes scanning the page. “Late-stage Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia… with multiple organ failure…” “Patient: Chloe Miller?!” Arthur’s mind went completely blank. He clutched the diagnosis paper, reading the name over and over to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “This diagnosis was from a month ago? Why didn’t she ever tell us?” Arthur was shaking violently. Suddenly, all of his daughter’s “weird” behaviors over the past month rushed back into his mind. He remembered how he had thrown her out into the snow just two days ago, letting her freeze for an hour. He remembered how he had doubled her chores… Helen collapsed onto the floor, desperately flipping through the notebook. “No wonder she kept saying she was in pain… I thought… I thought she was just being dramatic!” Her heart squeezed in suffocating guilt. Then, she saw the note written on the cover page: “Mom, Dad,” “I have finished every single chore I owed you.” “I left all my remaining money on the desk. Consider it the final interest on my existence.” “The doctor said I’m going to die soon.” “You always complained about how expensive it was to raise me. But don’t worry. Once I’m dead, you’ll save so much money.” “You can use that money to buy Lily more beautiful dresses.” “Yesterday, I wanted water. Mom said it cost ten dollars, so I paid for it.” “That was my very last purchase in this house.” “I don’t owe you anything anymore.” “In our next life, please… let’s never meet again.” Every single word felt like a bloody knife stabbing directly into Arthur and Helen’s chests. “Yesterday… when she asked for water… was she in pain?” Helen’s face was ghostly white. Her brain felt completely paralyzed. Her own daughter had a terminal illness. She had been diagnosed a month ago. And during this entire month… Neither of them had noticed a single thing? “What… what did we do?” Helen wailed, clutching the ledger to her chest as her tears finally spilled over. Arthur bit his lip so hard it bled. Looking at his daughter’s final, heartbreaking words, a wave of regret and pure terror completely swallowed him. She was really gone. “No… No!” “We have to find her! Now!” Arthur let out a guttural, agonizing scream. He ran out of the front door like a madman, losing one of his shoes in the process, not caring at all.
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