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My mom, a wealthy philanthropist who donated millions, only allowed me to spend a single dollar on each meal. Even the cheapest dish at school costs two bucks. To survive, I had no choice but to eat my classmate’s leftovers every day. When Mom found out, she didn’t show any sympathy. In fact, she came to school and, in front of all the students, slammed a plate onto my head. “Pathetic little thing! I’m not stopping you from eating, so why are you begging? “The school meals are expensive? Then why don’t you work hard and save up?” Out of anger, I took Mom to court. If I won, she would go to prison for abusing me. If I lost, I would be executed completely. I was confident… Who would’ve thought Mom would win?

My mother is hospitalized due to a terminal illness. She's in urgent need of a kidney transplant to save her life. I'm the only one who can perform the surgery, but I give the kidney to a stranger. My father and husband get on their knees before me on the day of the surgery. They beg me to save my mother. However, I shrug and say, "I can't do anything about this. A life is a life, regardless of who the person is. This is what she gets for coming late—death is waiting for her."

I have a secret. Every year on my birthday, I'm taken to the blood donation room and made to give 400cc of blood. All because my mom once told me that the blood running through my veins belongs to a rapist. This is the only way I can wash away my original sin. Because of those words, at eighteen years old and weighing less than 80 pounds, I found myself lying on that donation chair once again. But the second I stepped out of the donation room, a document came flying at my face. I looked up in shock and met my mother's icy stare: "Sign it, and get the hell out of my house." It was a legal notice cutting all ties with me. I stood there frozen, cold down to my bones. Mom—didn't you say that once I'd donated blood eighteen times, I'd finally be your clean child?

Ever since my little brother died of a sudden high fever and Mom started spending all her time with Matthew Hunt, I started cutting her out of our family photos. One day, Dad got a call from my teacher. She overheard me saying I lost my mom, and I wanted to borrow my classmate's mom instead. Dad paused for a moment, then didn't correct me. "Yeah," he said quietly. "She passed away early." At the school's parent-child sports day, Dad saw me slip a cleaner ten dollars and ask her to be my mom for the day. He didn't stop me. Instead, he handed her another 200 bucks and asked if she could attend the parent meeting, too. After that, whenever something called for a mom, Dad let me go out and "hire" one. It wasn't until much later that Mom realized she hadn't heard from us in a long time. She canceled her meetings and came to pick me up from school herself. But at the gate, the teacher frowned and stopped her. Confused, she went home. The moment she stepped inside, she heard me talking to the property manager. "My mom's dead," I said. "Do you wanna be my new mom?"

My mother hated me, to the point that she wished I were dead. I knew I deserved to die. Sixteen years ago, if I hadn’t insisted on going out, my brother wouldn’t have died while trying to save me. Eventually, both of us got what we wished for. I got brain cancer. She had become a stranger to me as I forgot everything and went to die in blissful ignorance. Then, she went mad.

My mother had a rare disease. After months of dead ends, I found one person in the country who could treat her. She told me there was a price. She said she needed a husband. I agreed. For my mother, I agreed. For six years I was her ATM. I bought her the bags. I bought her the watches. It got worse. She used my money to keep a kept man. She brought him into our bed. The day my mother had her last surgery, she walked out of the operating room halfway through to go celebrate her lover's birthday. The moment they pronounced my mother dead, I decided there and then, she was paying for that with her life.