Chapter 3Escaping The Woman Who Birthed Me

Mr. Harrison stood awkwardly at the podium, looking entirely out of his depth.

He tried to run interference. "Harper has always been a stellar student. Her grades only slipped because she had to walk out of her final exam. It was an emergency absence. That's why her rank dropped."

"Mrs. Davis, I think you're really misunderstanding the situation."

My mother scoffed loudly. "At the end of the day, she’s just a failure. How come those kids on the news can miss an exam and still get into the Ivy League?"

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

I couldn't take it anymore. The urge to flee was overwhelming. I turned toward the door.

She blocked my path, her eyes cold and hard. "If you walk out that door, you are no longer my daughter."

"I yell at you a little bit and you throw a tantrum? Who do you think you are?"

The phantom comments flickered to life in my peripheral vision:

[Just apologize to her! Your mom is harsh, but she means well.]

[No matter what your mom does, you can't talk back to her. She's your mother.]

[There's no such thing as holding a grudge against your own family. Say you're sorry!]

Oh, please.

I let out a dry, bitter laugh.

Right in front of everyone, I walked out. I didn't look back once.

That night, I didn't go home. I sat by the concrete pylons of the North Bridge until the sun came up.

For some inexplicable reason, I missed my dad. I just wanted to crawl into his lap like I did when I was a little kid and pour out every single grievance I had.

But my mother had spent the last year drilling it into my head: He was the villain.

If he hadn't abandoned us, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have lost her mind, and I wouldn't have been subjected to this daily psychological torture.

Yet, looking back, it was only ever my dad who had protected me unconditionally. He was the only one who made sure I wasn't bullied. He was the one who hid birthday presents for me weeks in advance.

The day he left, he looked so thin. His coat hung loosely on his shoulders. His footsteps had been so quiet.

Exhausted, I curled up against the concrete wall and fell asleep.

When I woke up, my phone screen was lit with a text from my mother.

[Since you think you're so tough, I'm cutting you off. Not another dime.]

[Let's see how long you can survive with that attitude.]

Living without money was hell. I couldn't afford meals. I couldn't sleep.

My phone service was disconnected. My cafeteria card was zeroed out. I couldn't even pay the homeroom club fees.

I found myself hoarding quarters just to buy a bottle of water.

When the hunger pangs made the world spin, I would stand outside the school cafeteria, swallowing dryly as I smelled the hot food.

Left with no other choice, I swallowed the last shred of my pride and started walking down the commercial strip, begging shop owners to hire me.

I don't know how far I walked before I stopped outside a brightly lit storefront: Lotus Day Spa.

There was a handwritten sign taped to the glass: Nail Techs & Massage Therapists Wanted. Room & Board Negotiable.

I clutched the crumpled sixty dollars I had left in my jacket pocket.

Raindrops dripped from my bangs onto the glass door, smudging the neon reflection.

I walked in and asked the manager, "Are you hiring part-time?"

She clicked her tongue, looking me up and down. "You eighteen?"

I nodded frantically.

"Hundred bucks a day, under the table. Plus tips. Can you work weekends?"

"Yes!"

The job was simple, though physically grueling. I soaked feet, scrubbed calluses, and gave deep-tissue foot massages.

I was terrified and humiliated. I lived in constant fear of a classmate walking in and starting rumors, yet I was overwhelmingly grateful just to have a job that let me buy food.

I ate little, meticulously rationing my grocery budget each week.

The money I made was enough to keep me afloat, with a little left over.

Until one afternoon, a familiar customer walked through the door.

It was my mother.