I Paid the Bill, They Paid Me Pity

As the details slowly pieced themselves together, a chilling suspicion began to take shape in my mind.

No… no, it couldn’t be.

I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. I told myself not to overthink it, that I was just being paranoid.

The next day, I decided to play along.

In front of the entire dorm, I neatly packed up all my luxury skincare products and sealed them away.

“Sophia,” I said calmly, “I’ll start using your herbal ointment seriously from now on.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Lauren, you’ve finally come to your senses!”

I smiled softly. “I’m taking the doctor’s advice seriously. Time to reduce stress and simplify things.”

I played the part perfectly—calm, cooperative, and humble.

But behind the scenes, I was taking a different path.

In secret, I collected samples of everything I had been using: skincare items, shampoo, shower gel—even Sophia’s mysterious herbal ointment.

I divided and labeled them carefully, then sent them to three separate testing institutions:

BGI Biological Testing Center, New York Physical and Chemical Analysis Lab, and the National Institute of Chemical Sciences.

I wasn’t going to rest until I had answers.

If I was wrong—if I had just been paranoid—I would own up to it.

But if not... then I would reclaim every ounce of my dignity, and make sure Sophia never pulled something like this again.

Three days have passed.

When the test results arrived, the truth was undeniable. She had tampered with the products.

But I said nothing.

I wanted to see how far she’d go—what act she would put on next.

And soon enough, Sophia couldn’t help herself.

When she saw that my rashes were fading and my face was healing, she approached with a bright smile.

“Lauren, come take a look at this,” she said, holding her phone in front of me.

On the screen was a charity website. The main image showed a thin little girl in tattered clothes.

“This is Lily,” Sophia said emotionally. “Her parents are both bedridden with illness. She picks up garbage after school just to feed her family.”

Her voice quivered, and tears streamed down her face. She looked like a picture of compassion.

“She’s only eight. She should be laughing in a classroom, not burdened with adult responsibilities.”

I almost believed her sincerity—almost.

“Lauren,” she said solemnly, gripping my hand tightly, “you’ve healed your body—now it’s time to heal your soul.”

“Donate the money,” she pleaded. “Lily needs your help more than you need those luxuries.”

Ill-gotten gains—that’s what she called it.

The money my family worked hard to earn through sweat and sacrifice—ill-gotten in her eyes.

“I… I need time to think about it,” I said, feigning hesitation.

“What’s there to think about?” she snapped, her voice rising.

“A child’s life shouldn’t have to wait for your indecision!”

“Lauren, this is your final chance. If you truly want to change, now’s the time to prove it.”

That night, I lay awake, my heart pounding.

The test reports were safely hidden, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.

At around two in the morning, a faint rustling noise stirred me from a light sleep.

Through the small slit in my bed curtains, I saw a figure moving stealthily near my desk.

She stood on tiptoe, her silhouette fainted in the moonlight.

It was Sophia.

I watched as she silently opened my drawer.

She rifled through my belongings until she found the stack of cash I had tucked away.

I held my breath as she counted the bills and removed exactly 100,000 dollars.

What was she planning to do with it?

I forced my eyes shut, pretending I had seen nothing.

I wanted to catch her in the act—but more than that, I wanted to see how far she would take her performance.

The next morning, before I had even gotten out of bed, Sophia approached me with a beaming smile.

“Lauren, I did something amazing for you last night,” she said proudly.

She slapped a crumpled ATM transfer receipt on my desk.

Amount: 99,999 dollars.

My blood ran cold.

“What… what did you do?”

“I helped you break free,” she declared, eyes shining with self-righteousness. “I helped you shed your last material attachment. I donated the money—you should be thanking me!”

Freedom?

Thank you?

I looked down at the receipt.

The recipient’s name stood out in bold print: Samuel Andrews.

Another Andrews.

The pieces fell into place.

I smiled.

Under Sophia’s confused and increasingly uneasy gaze, I calmly reached for my phone.

“Lauren, what’s so funny?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Without responding, I opened the dialer, turned on the speaker, and made a call—right in front of everyone in the dormitory.

“Hello, officer. I’d like to report a case.”

“My roommate stole 100,000 dollars from me.”

“She claims she donated it to charity on my behalf.”

“Would this be considered theft, or fraud?”