Chapter 1
My roommate, Sophie Reed, had a billionaire godmother.
Because my family was completely broke, I spent my days.
and nights working back–to–back part–time jobs just to pay for my basic groceries.
While I was scrubbing floors, Sophie was jet–setting across
Europe and Asia with her godmother.
When I collapsed from a severe bleeding stomach ulcer
caused by sheer exhaustion, my parents claimed they
couldn’t afford the emergency room.
nearly died.
Sophie’s godmother flew her to London to attend a concert.
When I was enduring the constant harassment of my
research advisor just to get my graduation signature,
Sophie’s godmother donated a brand–new five–story science building to our university.
Everyone in our dorm, including me, envied Sophie for having such an incredibly generous,
doting godmother who was not even related to her by blood.
Until, Sophie posted a video of her twenty–first birthday gala on her social media feed.
In the video, Sophie stood in the center, wearing a pink designer gown.
Behind her stood her godmother, looking at her with absolute adoration.
My roommates crowded around my desk, squealing at the screen.
“This is insane! Look at the way she looks at Sophie.
It’s like a queen looking at her little princess. I’m so jealous!”
I froze.
I stared in disbelief at my godmother in the video.
Because she looks exactly like my mother.
Even the tiny black mole right above her upper lip was in the exact same spot.
By the time the security guards stopped me at the hotel, I
realized I had walked there on autopilot.
I looked up at the towering, gold–lit facade of the hotel where Sophie’s birthday gala was being held.
Quietly, I slipped around to the back alley, searching for a service entrance or a fire escape,
I had to confirm with my own eyes if her godmother was truly my mother.
As I hovered near the rear terrace, a familiar voice drifted down from the balcony above.
“How much longer do you plan on keeping Claire in the dark?”
It was my father’s voice.
I looked up toward the terrace.
My father, who usually sat in our living room wearing
grease–stained clothes and smoking cigarettes, was standing there.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored, expensive dark wool suit.
Standing right beside him was my mother.
She wore an elegant forest–green silk gown, a pristine
cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders.
I stood there, watching this scene in disbelief.
My hand clenched around my phone.
I wanted to rush up the stairs, to confront them, to scream
and ask why they had lied to me.
But my mother’s next words nailed me to the spot.
“If we tell Claire the truth, what happens to Sophie? Her
father died saving my life in that building collapse.”
“Sophie has no one left but us. She is so delicate, Richard. She
has never suffered a day in her life,”
“How could she handle another daughter coming in to take away our love?”
Besides, the spiritual advisor was very clear Claire is
destined to have a difficult life.”
“If things go too smoothly for her, her success will drain Sophie’s luck and ruin her future.”
All these years we’ve pretended to be poor to pressure Claire, even drugging her during exams, wasn’t it all because of what our spiritual mentor said?”
“But Claire is our only biological child,” my father muttered. his voice strained.
“It isn’t fair to her.”
Enough!” my mother snapped, cutting him off. “I know what I’m doing. Keeping things exactly as they are is best for everyone.”
I huddled in the balcony, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.
In high school, I was the top–ranked student in the state,
guaranteed to become the valedictorian.
The school board had signed a contract with me.
If I secured the top state rank, they would award me a hundred–thousand–dollar scholarship, covering my entire tuition and living expenses for four years of college.
For that money, I pushed myself to the absolute limit.
I woke up at five in the morning and went to bed at two.
My eyes were permanently bloodshot.
But on the morning of the SATs, I overslept.
I missed the first two critical sections of the exam.
The scholarship was gone. My future was shattered.
The contract was voided.
During that time, I nearly drove myself to suicide.
I blamed myself constantly.
I thought I was weak, that my body had failed me, and that I
had let down my school and my self–sacrificing mother.
spent every spare second working grueling shifts to scrape. together tuition money, even after passing out from
exhaustion three times at work.
I never complained.
And now, standing in the dark, I learned that the mother I
loved had drugged me on the morning of my exams.
All because of a fake curse and Sophie Reed.
i stared up at my mother on the terrace, my eyes burning.
“Aren’t you afraid she will hate us if she ever finds out?” my father asked.
My mother let out a soft, amused chuckle.
Right then, my phone buzzed in my hand.
It was an Apple Cash transfer from my mother.
Twenty–three dollars and fifty–six cents.
A text message followed:
My sweet girl, I saw some college students buying iced lattes on my way home from work, and I wanted you to have one.]
[I may not give you a luxurious life, but I want you to have what the other kids have.]
stared at the exact, uneven numbers on the screen.
My fingers clenched so hard the glass of my phone screen creaked.
Up on the terrace, my mother’s voice was filled with smug satisfaction.
She will never find out.”
Every couple of weeks, I send her a random transfer with odd change.”
It makes her believe that those few dollars are literally the
last pennies I have to my name.”
She took a sip of her champagne.
Because she doesn’t want me to overwork myself, she works
herself to the bone doing part–time jobs.”
“She is too busy fighting to survive and put food on the table
to ever have the time or energy to look into us.”
I stood in the alleyway, looking at the history of small,
uneven transfers on my phone.
Every time I had received those twenty–three dollars or
fifteen dollars and forty cents, I had felt a profound sense of warmth and crushing guilt.
had starved myself, worked double shifts, and lived on instant ramen just to relieve her financial burden.
I never could have imagined that every single digit was a calculated move.
It was a leash designed to bind me to a lifetime of guilt. keeping me drowning in the mud forever.