The Perfect Mother's Dirty Secret I Exposed Her at My Own Party

"Weston. All you ever talk about is Weston!" Her voice shot up an octave.

"You think getting into Weston makes you special? Think you're all grown up now? Let me tell you something, Queenie. Nothing in this world comes free. I gave birth to you. Your money IS my money. You want to use it, you'd better talk to me nicely. Don't you dare cop an attitude with me!"

I closed my eyes and swallowed the words clawing up my throat.

"Mom. I'm talking to you nicely right now. I'm begging you. Please just transfer the money."

"Without a proper invoice, how do I know any of this is real?"

My hands were shaking as I screenshotted the acceptance letter and sent it. Then the tuition payment page. Then the text from the admissions office. The chat window filled with image after image, stacked so tight they covered the entire screen.

Ten seconds later, she replied with a single message.

"Anyone can photoshop a picture. What's the point of sending me this stuff? Have the school issue me an official invoice. Once I get it, I'll transfer the money. If they can't, there's nothing to discuss."

Then silence. Read, but no reply.

I stood in the middle of my room, gripping my phone, a low buzzing filling my ears.

The phone vibrated again. My academic advisor, her tone sharper than before.

"Queenie, the system closes in six hours. What's your situation? Can you pay?"

"Do you understand how rare this spot is? You're the only one from the entire state. If you lose your place over tuition, that's it. It's over."

I cut her off. "Give me two hours."

I hung up, wiped the tears off my face, and sat on the edge of my bed for about thirty seconds.

Then I stood up, grabbed my phone and my ID, and walked out the door.

The nearest internet café was across the street from campus. I went in, found a corner, and sat down.

I typed in every keyword I could think of.

"Student loan application, home county."

"City Charitable Foundation, student emergency aid."

"Weston University hardship waiver enrollment."

I opened page after page, reading line by line, fingers flying across the forms. Every document I could upload, I uploaded. Every channel I could apply through, I applied.

Halfway through, my phone buzzed again. A voice message from my mother. I tapped it open.

"When are you getting me that invoice? When is the money hitting your account? Without an invoice, you could drag the president of Weston himself over here and I still wouldn't transfer a cent. You're the one who didn't handle the paperwork. That's not on me."

I listened to the whole thing. My finger hovered for two seconds.

Then I scrolled to the bottom of her chat, tapped "Mute Notifications," and set the phone down.

The screen went dark. I lowered my head and went back to the forms.

Outside, the streetlights lit up the glass window bright as day. I could see the faint outline of my own face floating on the surface. My eyes were red. But the expression looking back at me was calmer than it had ever been.

Fine. You won't pay.

Then this is where it ends.