Chapter 3

By middle school, I was already mature enough to notice things. My mother constantly complained about waking up in the freezing dawn to make my breakfast, saying her fingers were chapped and sore.

Yet I told her more than once that there was a diner right down the block.

I told her she didn't need to push herself so hard. Whether we bought breakfast or I went out to eat, she could sleep in for at least two more hours.

My mother refused outright, screaming at me:

"What do you know! Can outside food ever be as clean and healthy as what I cook? And do you have any idea how much more expensive it is to eat out?"

"I wake up out of the goodness of my heart to cook for you, and somehow I'm in the wrong? Chloe Miller, you ungrateful wretch! You have no conscience! You're just like your father!"

She also constantly complained about her aching back and exhaustion from doing housework, sighing about how her spine was ruined.

Then she would sneer that I never lifted a finger, that I acted like a spoiled princess without the fortune to back it up.

Yet whenever I tried to wash the dishes or do the laundry, she was still furious.

She would snap, "Is your homework done? Who asked you to stick your nose in this? You are a student! Your only job is to study! If you really want to pay me back, stop bringing home second place!"

After being yelled at enough times, I stopped offering.

Deep down, I knew breakfast from a diner wouldn't kill me. Doing the dishes wouldn't derail my studies. The school cafeteria food was fine, and staying on campus saved time and energy compared to rushing home every single day.

Yet she refused to listen. She stubbornly convinced herself that without her, I was an absolute infant who couldn't survive a single minute on my own.

Furthermore, because of complications during my birth that hurt her health, she had coerced my dad into getting a vasectomy back then.

Even though my dad separated from her, he still sent her fifteen hundred dollars every single month for my living expenses.

Despite that, she was the one who refused to finalize the divorce, yet she was also the one constantly cursing my dad for being a heartless monster.

Propped up against the hospital bed, my mother pointed a trembling finger at me, shrieking, "Chloe Miller, you have no heart!"

Uncle Mark scoffed, "Like father, like daughter—a selfish, vicious ingrate! She truly wasted all these years raising you!"

Aunt Clara glared at me as well. "Chloe, the older you get, the more rebellious you become. You put your mother in the hospital, and instead of apologizing, you stand there making sarcastic remarks. If you ask me, forget about Stanford. Once you leave, who knows if you'll ever come back to see her."

I ignored them and kept my eyes fixed on my mother. "Mom, search your own heart. Are you really against me going because you're worried I won't survive on my own? Or is it because I refused your plan to stay local, get a safe job, and be married off through blind dates... Is it simply because I want to escape your control, and that's why you won't let me go?"

My mother froze, rendered speechless.

Only then did I turn to the relatives. "You wanted me to come, and I came. Since my mom is fine, I'm leaving."

Ignoring their curses and demands to stay, I yanked my arm away from Aunt Clara's grasp.

I walked out firmly, without looking back.

Just as I reached the hospital exit, my phone rang. Aunt Clara's frantic voice screamed through the speaker:

"Chloe, come back right now! Your mother is going to jump off the roof!"