Starved by My Mother The Sister She Chose Over Me

She looked me up and down—the ill-fitting secondhand clothes, the grease-stained apron, the sweat plastering my hair to my forehead, my face pale enough to scare someone.

"What are you doing here?" Ms. Finch's brows knitted together, her voice thick with concern. "I could tell something was off in class these past few days. Why are you out here working? Is your family..."

I stood rooted to the spot, the plate in my hands suddenly weighing a thousand pounds.

Before I could get a word out, she grabbed my wrist, and her voice dropped low.

"Your hands are freezing. Clementine, tell me the truth. Did something happen?"

I opened my mouth, about to speak, when a shrill commotion erupted at the front door.

"There you are, you little wretch! Get out here!"

A shriek, and then a hand seized a fistful of my hair.

Before I could react, I was wrenched violently backward. The bowl of noodles flew from my hands and hit the floor with a crash, scalding beef broth splashing across the tiles and searing my ankles.

"Eating! You're not dead yet and you're eating like a queen!"

My mother looked deranged, dragging me backward by my hair.

"Your sister is home crying so hard she nearly passed out, and you're hiding in here stuffing your face? Where did you get the money? Did you steal your sister's phone and transfer it out?"

"Let her go!"

Ms. Finch reacted instantly, clamping down on my mother's wrist and pulling me behind her.

At the same time, Rosa slammed a cleaver flat against the table so hard the dishes rattled, her broad face twisted with fury.

"You come in here causing trouble in MY restaurant? Get out! I bought that girl her meal. Touch her again and see what happens!"

My mother's eyes darted from the gleaming cleaver to the fierce-looking counselor, and she flinched.

She clearly hadn't expected anyone to stand up for me.

She released her grip and jabbed a finger at me and Ms. Finch, venom dripping from every word.

"So that's how it is. Teaming up with strangers against your own mother? A teacher, huh? Fine. You protect this thief. Let's see if you can still protect her tomorrow!"

She spat on the floor and stormed out.

I collapsed into a chair, thinking the worst was over.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by wailing from below the dormitory.

"Come look, everyone! Ashford University's star student is driving her own sister to death!"

I rushed to the balcony. My mother was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the girls' dormitory, and she was holding a megaphone.

It was right at the start of the eight o'clock rush. Students crowded around in layers, three and four deep.

I was shaking as I ran downstairs. The moment I appeared, my mother lunged at me.

"You have the nerve to show your face!"

She charged forward to slap me, but Ms. Finch was already there, stepping between us.

My mother seized the moment, crumpling dramatically to the ground. She slapped her thighs and launched into a full performance, tears and all.

"There's no justice in this world! What did I do to deserve this? Everyone, judge for yourselves! Our family can barely put food on the table. Her sister is in the hospital with a serious illness, waiting for money to save her life, and what does she do? She steals the money meant to save her sister and blows it! She blocks her own parents' numbers!"

The whispers surged around me like a rising tide.

"Stole money meant for medical bills? That's cold..."

"She looks so quiet, too. Guess you really can't judge a book by its cover."

I trembled with rage, my nails digging crescents into my palms. "I don't have any money. You even cancelled my meal card!"

"Still talking back!" My mother shot to her feet, pointing at Ms. Finch, then at me, her eyes venomous. "Teacher, look at her! I only put money on her meal card every month. Where is she getting money to eat out at restaurants? Where is she getting money for new clothes?"

Her voice dropped suddenly, pitched just loud enough for everyone around to hear, dripping with malice:

"The neighbors told me everything—they saw her getting into some fancy car! She's out there being kept by some man! Taking that filthy money and coming back to humiliate her own mother! How did I give birth to such a shameless little tramp!"

My mind went blank.

To clear Patricia's name, to destroy me, she was willing to throw the filthiest accusations imaginable at her own biological daughter.

Just as my mother was gloating, ready to pile on more slander—

A voice cut through the crowd from beyond its edges, cold and commanding:

"Ms. Fox. Since you're here, that saves us the trouble."

The noise died instantly. The crowd parted on its own, opening a path like a sea splitting down the middle.

The university's notoriously iron-fisted Dean of Student Discipline came striding through, his face like a thundercloud.

Two campus security officers flanked him, and in his hands was a thick folder. His eyes locked onto my mother where she stood.

Dean Hargrove walked up to me, then hurled the folder into my mother's arms.

"Regarding the fraudulent poverty certification documents you have submitted to this university every year, and your interception and embezzlement of Clementine Fox's federal merit-based financial aid—the university's legal department has officially filed a report with the police."

"Ms. Fox, your conduct has gone far beyond moral failure. You are suspected of forging official government documents and committing large-scale fraud. These are criminal offenses that carry prison sentences upon conviction."

"The police are waiting for you in my office right now. You can walk there yourself, or I can have security escort you. Your choice."

Inside the office, Dean Hargrove slammed the folder down on the desk.