Chapter 1: Slapped by Family, Betrayed by School

I was bullied. And the girl who made my life miserable? She was Sydney Parker—the daughter of one of my dad’s biggest suppliers. That made everything messier, and a whole lot more personal.

The air at home was always thick, like you had to wade through it just to move around. But that was nothing compared to how I felt that day—humiliated, raw. When my dad found out what had happened at school, he didn’t defend me. Instead, he barged into the principal’s office, his face flushed with anger. Before I could get a word out, he slapped me hard across the face. The sound of it seemed to hang in the air, ringing in my ears even after it faded. But honestly, the sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the shame burning inside me, making my whole body feel too small.

“Morgan is just a pushover, Sydney, don’t waste your time on her.” The homeroom teacher stood off to the side, arms folded, lips tight. My classmates avoided my eyes, pretending to scroll through their phones or study the motivational posters on the wall. It was like I didn’t exist—or worse, like I was the problem. I shrank into myself, wishing I could disappear. At my lowest, when I thought no one would ever help, Ms. Carter’s voice cut through the haze: “Morgan, you have to stand up for yourself. I’ll have your back.”

Whap! Another slap landed, sharp and sudden. My cheek burned, eyes prickling with tears. “You never study, just cause trouble. Is this what I pay for? Apologize to the teacher and your classmates!” My dad’s fury was a storm. He yelled at me, then spun around and offered up a syrupy apology to Sydney Parker, like he was auditioning for Father of the Year. The whiplash was dizzying—one second I’m his punching bag, the next he’s all smiles for Sydney. “Morgan is just a pushover, Sydney, don’t waste your time on her.”

“And teacher, sorry for all the trouble...”

“No, it’s no trouble at all...” The homeroom teacher, clearly rattled by the slap, waved her hands and let out a nervous laugh. “You really don’t need to apologize.”

She glanced at me with a look that made my skin crawl—like I was something she’d stepped in. Then she made up an excuse and left, her heels clicking away, leaving a cold emptiness behind.

Sydney Parker followed my dad out, her voice sweet as honey. “Sorry you had to come all the way here, Mr. Evans. Morgan’s just a little sensitive. I’ll look out for her in the future.”

Sydney was the picture of kindness and grace in front of adults—pretty, generous, polite. But just an hour earlier in gym, she’d pegged me with a dodgeball, laughing about it with her friends. She was all sugar with adults, pure poison with us. Like she switched faces the second grownups weren’t looking.

The moment my dad left, I made a beeline for the bathroom. But as soon as I stepped in, someone slammed me against the wall. Before I could scream, they jammed a wad of toilet paper in my mouth so hard I gagged. The flickering fluorescent lights made everything look warped and jumpy, shadows dancing on the grimy tiles. Sydney grabbed my chin, looming over me with a smirk. “Still got the nerve to tell the teacher? You want to die?” she hissed, pulling out a small pair of scissors from her bag and waving them in my face, her voice low and almost gleeful.

I struggled, panic making my arms and legs shake, but her friends held me down so tight I couldn’t move. My heart thundered in my chest. The scissors weren’t sharp enough to cut my hair clean, so Sydney sawed and yanked, tearing out chunks. My scalp throbbed from the pulling, and even though I tried to hold it together, tears streamed down my face. Humiliation burned hotter than the pain.

“That’s enough for now. If you tell the teacher again...” Sydney slowed her words, patting my cheek with the back of her hand, “it won’t just be your hair next time.”

She flashed her teeth at me, grinning like a predator.

“Hahahaha...”

The others cackled, but then a sharp, echoing slap rang out, louder than their laughter—another blow to my already burning cheek. When Sydney patted my face, a tear slipped onto her hand. “Gross,” she muttered, wiping it away with a tissue. Then, without warning, she slapped me again, even harder than before. My whole face was on fire, stinging from her and my dad’s earlier blows. She stuffed the used tissue in my mouth, shook out her hand, and sauntered off with her friends, leaving me alone.

A crowd had gathered outside the bathroom, just watching. I knew, if anyone asked, they’d say they saw nothing. But no one would ask. Not here. Not with Sydney.

Because this wasn’t the first time Sydney had bullied me.

Every time I ran into her, it was the same routine: she’d greet me with a fake smile, act like we were friends, and then—

My three-dollar bowl of plain mac and cheese would get doused in hot sauce. My carefully summarized notes would be soaked. My freshly cleaned clothes and shoes would get splattered with ink.

Whether it was on purpose or not, Sydney always had an apology ready, sweet as pie:

“Oops, my hand slipped. Just eat it anyway.”

“Sorry, the cup was too full and I didn’t hold it steady.”

“Wow, this pen is so crappy it leaked. I’m really sorry.”

...

Her apologies were as bright as her greetings—totally fake.

At first, I tried to stand up for myself. But the more I resisted, the worse she made it. After my dad found out her family had money, he only warned me harder: “If you don’t want to go to school, just drop out now.”

Eventually, I stopped fighting. But Sydney never stopped bullying.

When the bell rang for class, I tried to calm down. I yanked the tissue out of my mouth, rinsed out the metallic taste, and kept my eyes glued to the sink, trying not to lose it again. After most people left, I pulled my collar up to hide the handprint on my face and went back to class.

Head down, I bumped into someone without even realizing it. It was the new teacher, Ms. Carter. She took one look at my hair and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh my god, Morgan, what happened to you?”

What happened?

Those three words dangled in front of me, tempting me to spill everything. But I couldn’t. If I told her, it’d just be like before: I’d get punished, no one would take my side. I’d learned my lesson.

“I’m fine.”

Taking advantage of Ms. Carter’s concern, I slipped past her and went back to my seat, ignoring her calls. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it, but I kept my head down and tried to vanish into my chair.

But she wasn’t letting it go. She told the class, “This period is self-study,” and led me straight to the teachers’ lounge.

During class, the lounge was empty. She made me sit, then hurried to get a towel and some ice water. The cold pressed against my cheek, and for a second, it felt like the pain might fade. But the heat in my face wouldn’t go away, and my eyes blurred with tears.

Ms. Carter sat across from me, her own eyes red and watery. “I’m sorry. If I’d known it would turn out like this, I... I never would’ve gone to Ms. Walker. I didn’t expect...”

Last period was gym. Sydney had gone out of her way to peg me with the ball, over and over. Ms. Carter saw, called her out, and when Sydney didn’t care, Ms. Carter reported it to our homeroom teacher, Ms. Walker. She never expected Ms. Walker would call my dad directly—or that my dad would show up, see Sydney was involved, and slap me in front of everyone. She definitely didn’t expect Sydney, thinking I’d tattled, to block me in the bathroom with her friends and hack off my hair after my dad left. Now, both their slaps had made my right cheek balloon up.

“It’s not your fault, Ms. Carter, it’s mine...” I started to say, but the words stuck. What did I even do wrong?

Was it wrong to be born the wrong gender—or worse, to be born into this family?

Now, the new fried chicken shop at home was a franchise from Sydney’s family business. To keep them happy, my dad rushed to school and hit me right in front of her.

When the slap landed, I tried to ignore the little smile in Sydney’s eyes and the look of disgust from the homeroom teacher. But I couldn’t ignore the disgust in my dad’s eyes. I’d seen it so many times—like I was garbage he wished he could throw out, but couldn’t. It was so real, so deep, I couldn’t pretend it away.

The lounge was quiet except for our sniffling. Ms. Carter’s eyes were red and puffy. She brushed her hand gently against the side of my face that didn’t hurt. “I know. Even if you don’t say it, I know.”

Yeah, I didn’t say anything, and she was already crying for me.

“Ms. Carter, you look way better when you smile than when you cry...”

I tried to joke, but before I could finish, she pulled me into a hug. She was careful not to touch my swollen cheek, holding me tight. Her tears landed on my burning ears, cool and soothing. That did it—I lost it and sobbed in her arms.

For a long time, the lounge was just the sound of us sniffling together. Ms. Carter wiped her eyes, then left for the classroom to grab my bag. She came back with a hat she’d bought just for me. She set it on my head, fixed my hair as best she could, and took me straight to a barbershop. When I took off the hat, the mirror showed a mess—my hair all jagged, the shortest spot showing a patch of scalp. Ms. Carter asked if it was okay, then had the barber give me a crew cut.

Afterward, Ms. Carter took me out for noodles. The steam from the bowl curled up into my face, and I blinked, blaming the steam for my tears. I ducked my head, almost in the bowl, but Ms. Carter slid around to sit beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. She gently dabbed my tears with a tissue. “Morgan, you look best when you smile.”

Ms. Carter told me to smile, but her own eyes were brimming, and as soon as she tried, tears spilled down her cheeks. I couldn’t help but laugh, and then she did too. For a minute, it felt like things might be okay.

After we ate, Ms. Carter asked, “Morgan, what kind of family do you think I grew up in?”

First word that popped into my head: love. She had to have grown up with extra love, right? That’s why she had some to spare for me.

Ms. Carter smiled and shook her head. “I grew up in foster care. I was adopted in middle school. At first, they treated me well, but then my adoptive mom got pregnant—with a boy.”

“Once they had a son, my adoptive parents stopped caring about me. My classmates, knowing I was from foster care, started ignoring me too...”

“So, Morgan, what you’ve been through? I’ve been through it too. Even if you don’t say a word, I get it.”

She squeezed my hand. “I was even more timid than you. Back then, I didn’t want to live. I stood on the rooftop, but Ms. Stone from the next class talked me down, told me to trust her, and I did. So, Morgan, trust me too, okay?”

Even though she tried to sound casual, I could hear the ache in her voice. I felt sad for her, and for myself.

“Morgan, people live for themselves, not for others. No matter what, you have to be brave and learn to stand up for yourself. I’m behind you. I’ll protect you.” Ms. Carter’s words rang in my ears, steady and strong.

This was the first time anyone had ever told me they’d protect me.

Ms. Carter and I got back to school before the end of the day. As we passed the teachers’ lounge, we ran into Ms. Walker. Ms. Carter told me to head back to class and disappeared into the lounge with her. Before the door closed, I heard Ms. Carter’s voice: “Why didn’t you stop Morgan’s father from hitting her, Ms. Walker? Morgan didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Why all the questions? Ms. Carter, parents disciplining their kids—what can we say? You’re young. After you see this enough, you’ll get used to it. Don’t meddle too much.”

“What do you mean, outsiders? We’re her teachers, not outsiders! How can we ignore bullying? School bullying can’t just be swept under the rug!”

“Ms. Walker, I think you handled it wrong today. There were better ways...”

Ms. Carter kept going, but Ms. Walker cut her off. “Enough, I’m busy. If you think my way is wrong, then you handle it from now on.”

The last thing I heard was Ms. Carter’s voice, firm as ever: “Fine, if you won’t handle it, I will!”

That stuck with me, heavy and bright all at once.

I slipped back into the classroom before class ended. The moment I appeared in the doorway, everyone stared—at my face, my uneven hair, everything. When Ms. Carter called Sydney out, the whole room watched her too.

Class was almost over, and no one was really doing anything. Neither was I. I just laid my head on my desk and drifted. Usually, around this time, I’d be doing another set of homework. If it was Wednesday, I’d also be stuck with his chores, and after school, I’d help him pack his bag and drag him home from the arcade.

This “he” was my twin brother, Mason—born half an hour before me. He was always sick as a kid. My mom used to say, “You’re smart because you took your brother’s share. When I was pregnant, you absorbed his nutrients. You owe him. If he can’t get into a good school, you can’t go either.”

“Doing well in exams isn’t as good as marrying well. You’ll get married anyway, so studying is useless.”

Because of all that, I went to the same elementary and middle school as Mason. My parents insisted the teachers put us in the same class. That meant I missed out on the best high school and ended up in the worst middle school, in the worst class. I had to work for my food, win scholarships, do Mason’s homework and chores just to get to go to school... Eating and studying were the things I was most afraid of losing.

Maybe fighting back was the only way to get out of my family, like Ms. Carter did. She said she’d be my support.

After school, when I got home, my mom and sister were packing up. “What happened to your hair?”

The second she saw me, my mom rushed over. “Didn’t I tell you to grow it out? It’s worth more when you cut it! Now you’re grown up, got a mind of your own, don’t listen anymore, huh!”

She was flapping her arms, pacing like a mother hen gone mad.

“Everything you eat and wear costs money. Is it so hard to grow your hair long to sell? And you even spent money to get it cut!”

“Did I give you too much money and you have nowhere to spend it? Fine, your allowance will be cut in half next week!”

Cut in half? That’s ten bucks—a joke, considering Mason spends more than that on one meal. Watching my mom lose it, I almost laughed.

“Where’s the cut hair? Give it to me, I’ll sell it for whatever it’s worth.”

I shrugged. “A classmate cut it, ruined it, it’s gone.”

“Who cut it? Did she hit you too? Get her to pay!”

She only noticed the handprint on my face after yelling for a while. My mom could haggle for half an hour over two dollars, so I knew she meant it. She’d go fight for compensation, but she always knew the difference between small change and real money.

My mom called my dad to talk it over. “Compensate what? She deserved it! Always causing trouble at school, picking on the Parker kid. We’re lucky they don’t make us pay!”

“Tell Morgan, a slap from me is light. Don’t go causing trouble for me! Making the teacher call me again and again!”

“Damn it, ask her what she was doing at the police station a few days ago?”

Last Thursday, the homeroom teacher took us to a neighboring city for a school exchange. On the way back, she said we should have dinner together and asked everyone to chip in. I had no money, so she left me halfway, telling me to walk back myself. On the way, I ran into an old lady. I didn’t know what she was saying to a young woman, but I saw the woman shake off the old lady’s hand. The old lady lost her balance and was about to fall, so I ran over to steady her. Her speech was slurred, but I caught “pot pie... pot pie.” I thought she was hungry, but I only had three bucks, so I bought her a small chicken pot pie.

After she ate, I asked where her home was or if she had any family contact info, but she just pointed at billboards and repeated “pot pie” or looked at me and said “pie.” Getting nowhere, I took her to the police station. I got back to school late and was punished with two weeks of bathroom duty. Not wanting my parents to freak out, I just said, “I got lost and went to ask for directions.”

“Got lost? Why didn’t you just die out there?”

My dad cursed, but had to hang up when a customer came for fried chicken. As soon as he was done, my mom started up again. “Serves you right your dad hit you. Who told you to provoke her? If you really piss her off, even selling you won’t be enough to pay! And you dare make a fuss with the teacher?”

She kept at it until her lips were dry, but she didn’t make a dime off me, so she got mad and grabbed a hanger to hit me. I dodged.

“You dare dodge? I...”

“Mom, that’s a new hanger,” my sister piped up, taking it from her. “You broke one last time. I told you not to use hangers to hit.”

“Use this instead!” My sister pulled out a kitchen knife phone case from her bag, grinning.

“How do you hit with that!” My mom actually laughed, then turned right back to scolding me. “Get out, get out, you’re bad luck!”

Couldn’t wish for more! I scurried back to my room, shutting the door behind me. Not that it blocked out the noise.

Listening to the chaos outside, I felt weirdly calm inside.

I tried to settle in and do homework, but someone barged in. It was my sister, two years older, who was home again because business at the shop was slow. She plopped down at the desk, pressing on my books so I had to look up at her.

“You look grumpy as soon as I come in. Are you unhappy I’m back?”

Her eyes swept the room, landing on the desk. Her face went cold. “I was gone just a few days, and you treat this room as yours?”

“Clear all this off my desk!”

With one arm, she swept half my stuff onto the floor, then pointed around. “Closet, bed, window... clean up before dinner.”

What was there to clean? In this house, all I really owned were my books. Everything else—clothes, shoes—were hand-me-downs from her, and the few I could wear only filled the bottom of the closet. The top shelf was empty. I wiped off the dust, took down her bed curtain, and put the flowerpot from the windowsill back on the desk.

“That’s more like it.” She patted my head. “This haircut is so ugly, ugh, and prickly.”

My crew cut had grown out a bit. She grumbled, but kept ruffling my hair. “By the way, I changed my name to Riley. Nice, right!”

“Very nice!” I meant it. “Really nice.”

“Of course, ‘dew turns to frost.’” She launched into an excited explanation from some poem. “It’s a famous line.”

Before, she was Cindy Evans. Supposedly, when she was born, Grandpa heard it was a girl and took three minutes to decide: Cindy, as in ‘cinder,’ to prep for a younger brother. The eldest is cherished, the youngest is spoiled, the middle is the scapegoat. Since forever, we’ve all been girls, but my sister was clearly treated different. She had birthday parties, eggs to eat, pocket money, new clothes, didn’t have to work...

“Cindy means carrying the younger brother.”

Grandma’s favorite line—and my sister’s pride. She loved her name. Until one day, she knocked the bowl out of my hands.

“Cindy, Cindy, why do I have to have such an ugly name, and you get Morgan.”

My name was picked with Mason’s. The second pregnancy was twins, and finally a boy. The family was careful, even hiring a fortune teller. He said Mason lacked water, so he got that name. And me? My name, with water and wood, was supposed to help him. “Before the fortune teller left, he said you were extraordinary, and it came true!”

Grandma always started cursing here. “You were a curse in the womb, killed your brother, then your grandfather, now me!”

“What a sin, to have a disaster like you!”

The year I was born, Grandpa died. When I was sixteen, Grandma fell and broke her leg, paralyzed from the waist down, stuck in bed. You could hear everything in that house—walls might as well have been paper. When Grandma started cursing, I’d go pull weeds for the chickens. Now... whatever. At least it meant she was alive.

“Morgan, you wretched girl, where are you? Why aren’t you making food? Want to starve me?”

Grandma shouted from the other room. I didn’t want to deal, but she wouldn’t shut up. Mom was at the shop, Mason wasn’t back, my sister said she wasn’t hungry, so only Grandma needed food. I reheated her lunch and brought it over.

I set up her bed table, but as I turned to leave, she tried to grab my hair and, missing, threw her fork at my feet. “Why only one egg?” she demanded.

“There are only three left, one each.”

I picked up the fork and put it back, but she tossed it down again. “Who said you could eat? You wretched girl, what egg do you deserve?”

Ha. I raised those chickens, but I can’t eat the eggs.

I stared at the fork on the floor, said nothing, picked it up again. But before I reached the door, she threw it down once more. Once, twice. The third time, I left it there and walked out, leaving her to curse alone.

“Cindy, call your dad! Tell him to teach her a lesson. That wretched girl dares disobey me!”

“Busy! No time.” My sister ignored her. But then the phone rang.

My sister tossed it to me. It was Mom, on speaker, her voice loud enough to rattle the windows. “Morgan, where’s your brother? Why isn’t he home yet?”

Mason wasn’t home? I checked the clock. Almost nine. School ended at 6:30. Yeah, he was late. But I hadn’t watched him today, so I had no clue.

“I don’t know.”

Mom sounded like she couldn’t believe it. “Don’t know? Then why did you go to school?”

“To study, of course.” I kept my voice innocent.

“...” Mom was speechless. My sister snickered beside me.

“Fine, fine, you’ve learned to talk back. Morgan, if anything happens to your brother, you’re dead!”

She hung up. Less than half an hour later, they came home—Mason had sprained his ankle. Everyone fussed over him and put him in his room. Dad told me I didn’t have to go to school tomorrow.

“I’ve taken half a month off for you two. After half a month, depending on your brother’s condition, we’ll talk about school.”

Dad was about to leave. Not going to school meant I couldn’t leave the house. For the first time, I stood my ground. “I don’t need time off. I want to go to school.”

“What did you say?” Dad turned, like he couldn’t believe his ears. “You want to go to school? Then who’ll take care of your brother? He sprained his ankle because of you.”

But Mason had sprained it jumping steps, even pushed two others off, breaking their bones. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Just because I didn’t watch him go into the shop, his sprained ankle is my fault? Mason is seventeen, not seven.”

“You!” Dad raised his hand. I leaned forward, handed him half a broomstick. “Go ahead! Since I get hit all the time, might as well finish it in one go! Beat me to death and save trouble!”

The wind blew in, making the light bulb swing. In the flickering light, my face was red and swollen, hair cropped close. Guess if you don’t explode in silence, you just rot away in it.

No one said a word. After a long pause—bang! Dad threw the broomstick aside, sneering. “If I beat you to death, all these years of raising you would be wasted. Who would pay me back?” He looked me up and down, then met my eyes. “I think you’ve grown wild. I want two hundred thousand. If you can’t give it, you’ll never leave my hands in this life.”

He kicked the broomstick away. Mom took over, raising her hand to hit me. “Why talk so much with her...”

But her slap never landed, because suddenly my nose started bleeding and wouldn’t stop. Blood dripped onto my clothes, soaking them. I squatted by the faucet, but my throat itched and I coughed up blood. My sister, who’d been watching, jumped back and started shouting. “Dad, Mom, Morgan is coughing up blood!”

“What are you yelling for? She won’t die!” Dad said, but he and Mom came to look. “Is it still bleeding?” Mom asked.

“Not anymore, I think.” I ducked my head, spat out bloody saliva, and more blood dripped from my nose.

“Ah—her dad, there’s really blood in her throat. Should we go to the hospital...”

“Go for what? It’ll stop soon.” Dad cut her off. He gave me a cold look, told my sister to wait in the car, and told Mom to watch me at night.

Mom was a little scared. “That kid in the next trailer died suddenly from nosebleeds. They said it was leukemia or blood cancer. Maybe we should go to the hospital, or the neighbors will talk.”

“No, that kid’s treatment cost hundreds of thousands. I’ve raised her for over ten years and haven’t made a penny, and now she wants me to spend money? Dream on!” Dad snapped, glared at me, and drove away.

Mom came over, checked my forehead. “Not bad, go lie down and see if it stops.”

“Okay!” I obeyed, went to my room. Not allowed to go to school, but at least I didn’t have to work. I slept better than I had in ages.

When I woke up, Mom was already making chicken soup. She kept an eye on the stove and called Dad. “Looks like she’s fine. Mom said if this wretched girl dies at home, it’ll affect Mason’s luck, maybe even take him with her. I thought all night, she suddenly had a nosebleed, Mason got hurt, we had to pay his classmates, and business is bad... Must be her...” She paused, then her voice got louder. “Mom said as long as we transfer her to someone else’s family, she’s not our family, so if she dies, it won’t affect Mason. You hurry up, this girl can’t stay!”

Figures. They wanted to pay off Mason’s classmates, didn’t want the neighbors to talk, and were worried I’d mess up their precious son’s luck. So, to kill three birds with one stone, they wanted to sell me off.

I waited for the call to end. The chicken soup was ready; Mom served Mason. She told me to bring some to Grandma. Grandma, knowing her precious grandson had sprained his ankle, started cursing me as soon as she saw me. “Mason isn’t home, how can you be?”

“Didn’t I come back to serve you?”

She threw something at me. “I’m your grandma! What’s wrong with serving me? Isn’t it your fault I’m like this?”

Here we go again. Everything bad in this family gets blamed on me. But honestly, if I hadn’t gone up the hill to find her, Grandma might have died there instead of just being paralyzed. I didn’t bother arguing, just went out to do laundry.

Halfway through, someone called my name: “Morgan!”

It was Ms. Carter! I ran over, then slowed, barely daring to believe it. “Ms. Carter...?”

She’d come just to see me. Once inside, her face got serious. “Morgan, why have you taken so much time off?”

I explained quickly, and she asked, “Do you want to go to school?”

I nodded, then shook my head. Ms. Carter got it. “I’m at school, don’t worry.”

She told Mom she wanted me back in school, but Mom refused. “Then let Morgan come to school to bring her books home. I’ll tutor them.” Ms. Carter tried a different angle. “Mason can’t stop studying at home.”

“That’s true. But tutoring is your idea, don’t ask us for money.” Thinking of her precious son, Mom agreed to let Ms. Carter tutor us at home.

Ms. Carter taught in the afternoons, so she came in the mornings to tutor me, then rushed back for her classes. All that running around made me feel guilty.

“Ms. Carter, I’m troubling you...”

“Troubling? No, no, Morgan is so obedient and hardworking, how could it be trouble?”

She saw I was embarrassed and changed the subject. “Did you take an old lady to the police station two weekends ago?”

“Yes, why?” I didn’t know why she asked. “Have they not found her family?”

“No, it’s just a coincidence. The old lady you helped was my teacher—Ms. Stone. I told her son about you, and he wants to meet you. Do you want to go?”

“What do you think, Ms. Carter? I’ll listen to you.”

“Then let’s meet.” She patted my head.

She took me to meet Mr. Stone. He was a gentle, scholarly man. He greeted us, then introduced himself. “You must be Morgan. I’m Daniel Stone. The old lady you brought to the police station is my mother. Sorry I couldn’t contact you earlier. I’m here to thank you.”

He pulled out some fancy boxes and a kraft envelope. “This is a small token.”

It was money! I’d never been treated so seriously before. “No, no.” I pushed it back. “I can’t accept this.”

“Please take it.” Mr. Stone insisted. “You probably know, my mother is difficult to deal with.” He looked a little sheepish. “If possible, I’d like to ask you to visit her occasionally.”

“Huh?” Now I was really lost.

“It’s like this...” he explained. “My daughter and I are busy at work. My mother misses my daughter. The housekeeper let her slip out. She has Alzheimer’s. Luckily, you found her. Since coming home, she’s been talking about you. If possible, just come to play... She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Sorry, I can’t for now.”

I wanted to see Grandma Stone again, but with my family... I explained my situation to Mr. Stone. He was clearly angry after hearing my story. “I’m a father too, I can’t believe there are parents like yours!”

He looked at me, hesitated, then said, “Morgan... if you want, you can come live with us. Rest assured, it’s not just to keep my mother company...”

“Mr. Stone, I understand.”

Ms. Carter said there are good people in the world. I could tell Mr. Stone was sincere. But I still refused. We were strangers, and I couldn’t just accept his kindness—especially since my dad wanted a big payout.

Ms. Carter asked, “Morgan, are you worried? Mr. Stone is a good man, and his family is good.”

I explained to Ms. Carter, and Mr. Stone jumped in. “Morgan, you’re a good kid. Don’t worry about the money.”

Ms. Carter said, “Don’t worry about the money, you still have me!”

She told me she’d originally wanted to adopt me, but since Mr. Stone had the same idea... she thought I’d have a more complete family with the Stones than with her. People came and went at the next table while we talked. Hard to believe that in the morning my parents wanted to sell me, and by afternoon I’d found my own adoptive family.

The next day, as planned, Mr. Stone put on a set of old, faded clothes and came to pick me up at the shop. He told my parents about me helping Grandma Stone. “I’m here to take her to care for my mother...”

There’d been no business all morning. Dad was cranky. “We pay for Morgan to study so she can be your family’s maid?”

“No, you’ve misunderstood.” Mr. Stone was patient. “My mother wants to adopt Morgan as her granddaughter.”

“Granddaughter? Really? Can her legal guardianship be transferred to your family?”

“Really! All the adoption paperwork will be in order.”

Hearing this, my parents exchanged a look. They tried to hide it, but their smiles were huge, eyes darting to Mr. Stone’s bag. Mom leaned in. “How much can you give?”

“How much do you want?” Mr. Stone volleyed back.

“Two hundred thousand! Not a penny less!”

As planned, Mr. Stone pretended to balk. “So expensive? That money could hire a professional nurse. Sorry...”

Mom grabbed his arm. I made a show of tilting my head, grabbing tissues, and coughing as I walked to the bathroom. “Sorry, I have another nosebleed.”

All the adults stared at me.

“Does Morgan do this often?” Mr. Stone asked.

“No, she’s fine. Please, Mr. Stone, have a seat.” Mom said, dragging Dad away. “Let’s go check on her.”

In the bathroom, I heard them whispering. “That Stone guy doesn’t look rich. Let’s ask for less and get rid of this jinx! After paying off Mason’s classmates, we’ll still have some left.”

I washed my face and took my time. By the time I came out, they’d settled on a price—one hundred eighty thousand!

Dad promised, “Once we get the money, she’s yours. We won’t bother you.”

Mr. Stone nodded. “Yes, once Morgan turns eighteen, it’s easy to transfer guardianship. After her birthday, I’ll handle the adoption, just as the semester ends and she can change schools. I brought twenty thousand as a deposit. Morgan...”

As Dad took the money, Mom hugged me. “We can’t bear to part with her, but until the money is all paid, let her stay home.”

Mr. Stone and I both knew what they were up to—they wouldn’t let me go until they had every penny. But we didn’t call them out. Mr. Stone smiled and said, “Please take care of her.”

After he left, Dad transferred money to my sister. “They want money, right? Give it to them and settle it.”

“Really? That’s over ten thousand!”

My sister hadn’t been there for the negotiation, so she didn’t know they’d just pocketed twenty grand.

“Just do it.” Mom said, grinning from ear to ear.

With no customers around, I didn’t want to see Dad’s sour face, so I went back to school that afternoon.

During break, Ms. Carter called me over to ask how things went. “Everything went smoothly!”

“That’s good!” Ms. Carter was happy, but tears welled up anyway. Not wanting her to cry, I teased, “If you can’t bear to part with me, then I won’t go to Mr. Stone’s.”

“No way! Silly girl, even if I can’t bear it, I can’t hold you back! You need to know, going to the Stones is better than staying with me! My teacher was a great person.”

“Morgan, be good. Don’t say you won’t go to the Stones again. Go obediently, I’ll visit you!”

I nodded hard. “Ms. Carter, thank you!”

After that, my nosebleeds stopped. The last one was just a fluke. I waited for my eighteenth birthday and for Mr. Stone to come get me.

During this time, besides Ms. Carter, no one was happier to see me back at school than Sydney Parker. Ms. Carter kept a close eye on me, calling me after class, so Sydney never got the chance to mess with me. She had to settle for tearing my notes when I wasn’t around. I’d “accidentally” spill water on her book out of fear. She’d add hot sauce to my mac and cheese, but when it tasted off, I’d spit soup all over her. She tried to tattle, but Ms. Carter was fair—punished us both. If she didn’t want to get in trouble, she had to keep quiet.

Honestly, watching Sydney get so frustrated was kind of hilarious.

At home... I became invisible. No more waking up early to cook, just breakfast and lunch for Grandma. No more bathing her every three days, or washing her dirty sheets and clothes. No more Sunday afternoons cleaning the shop, then walking home by moonlight. No more double homework and chores, lugging two backpacks...

I felt a freedom I’d never known. So did my parents. Business wasn’t great, but Dad could handle the shop alone, so Mom stayed home. My sister didn’t do well on the SATs, and college was too expensive, so after high school she started working. When the shop first opened and business was booming, they called her back to help. Now that business was bad, she was leaving again. Knowing we might never meet again after I left for the Stones, I bought her a watch as a farewell gift. Silver—just her style.

She lit up when she saw it. “You remembered, thanks, I really like it.”

She used to have a silver watch. It was her fifteenth birthday gift, but Mason broke it the next day. She demanded he pay for it; he refused, they fought, and of course, my parents sided with Mason and even slapped her.

But I remembered that day because it was also when I got my first period. I had no clue what to do, ruined my pants, and since we shared a bed, she freaked. “Ah! Morgan, you’re gross.” But she gave me her pads, showed me how to use them, and handed over her little mat. “Put this under your butt at night so you don’t mess up the bed, but you better not dirty it or you’ll have to wash it! ...And don’t use cold water, or it’ll hurt!” She said it like a threat, but it was pure sisterly care. She ruffled my hair hard, then left for the bus station with her luggage. When I tidied her bed, I found a dark green jacket—brand new, my size.

The wind stung my eyes, and before I could wipe them, Mom burst in and ruined the mood with a single line. “Why hasn’t that Stone guy come yet? It’s been over twenty days!”

I shook my head, smiling to myself. She could ask for 180,000 without flinching, took 20,000 on the spot, and now can’t wait for the rest. Does she think money grows on trees?

My mom asked what I was laughing at, but before I could answer, Grandma called her. “Sharon, Sharon...”

“Coming, Mom, keep your voice down, Mason is sleeping!”

Mom left, and minutes later I heard her retching in the yard. Grandma kept yelling in the house, “Sharon, come clean up! Ugh—”

Mom looked back at me, eyes red from gagging. “Morgan, you go...”

“No, I have homework! The deposit’s been paid.” I shut the door, and soon Mom was retching again. Mason was woken up and cursed from his room. “What the hell! It stinks! Gross!”

“Gross? Forgot how you ate candy in my arms? Ugh—” Even though she couldn’t stand it, Grandma kept blaming everyone else. “It’s your mom’s fault for not changing me in time, ugh—Sharon, there’s more...”

“Coming, ugh—ugh—”

Listening to the triple chorus outside, I was suddenly grateful my room was farther from the main house and water tank—the only place that didn’t smell.

After that, Mom cooked less, stopped preparing water for Grandma. Grandma complained of hunger, Mom would say next time she’d make more; thirsty, she’d say next time she’d boil water. Always “next time.” After a few rounds, Grandma started refusing to eat. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. Fine, you got guts now, dare treat me like this! I’ll starve and dehydrate myself to death!” She cursed, then started crying, wailing for her late husband. “What’s the point of living? Might as well die.” She pretended to bang her head on the nightstand. I used to give in, never fought back. But today, no one stopped her, and she fell for real, cutting her face. Mom panicked, called Dad, and they rushed to the hospital.

Mason and I waited at home. He played games on Mom’s phone, I read in my room. Then he called me to answer the phone.

“Are you Sharon Evans’ family? Sharon’s family was in a car accident, they’re at the hospital.”

The police said Dad ran a red light, a truck couldn’t brake and hit the car. Dad, in the driver’s seat, was seriously hurt; Grandma and Mom in the back were only scratched up. They called for someone to handle the bills—meaning money, since the hospital wouldn’t keep them for free. After hanging up, I asked Mason what to do. He closed his eyes, silent. Fine. The whole call was on speaker, so he heard everything. As the family’s precious son and future “pillar,” if he didn’t care, I, the soon-to-be outsider, had even less reason to. I tossed him the phone and went to bed.

The next day was Monday. I went to school as usual, had dinner with Ms. Carter, then went home. My sister was there—Mason had called her back. When I got home, she called Mom. Mom sounded fine on the phone. “Morgan, did that Stone guy leave you a number? If so, call him for money!”

“No, but Mr. Stone will be here tomorrow.”

“Good, bring him to the hospital as soon as he arrives.” She repeated it several times, reminding me before hanging up. “Don’t forget!”

Totally unnecessary. Tomorrow was the day I’d get a new life—I’d never forget it. After hanging up, I wanted to pack, but looking around, there was nothing that belonged to me. As I sat there, my sister came in with a small box. “It got smashed on the way, just eat it.”

Inside was a small cake, my first birthday gift from family. I just stared, didn’t take it. She tossed it over. “I knew you couldn’t be tamed! You’re leaving tomorrow for a better life! So eager, huh?” She stepped closer. “Can’t you wait until Dad’s out of danger, until Mom and Grandma are discharged? Fine! Remember, once you leave, don’t come back. This family has nothing to do with you!” She slammed the door and didn’t come back all night.

I ate the strawberry cake. It was sweet, but mixed with tears, tasted weird. The next day, my sister and I left together. On the way, she hefted my bag. “So light?”

At the village entrance, I looked back and shook my head. “Not light.” She didn’t say anything else, and we walked in silence toward the sunrise.

Mr. Stone was waiting at the police station. My sister brought all the documents, so the paperwork went smoothly. It would be done in a few days. During those days, Mom used the fifty thousand Mr. Stone gave to pay hospital bills and compensate the truck driver. When the money was gone, Dad finally kept his leg. But he never learned. Business was bad, but when someone finally came to buy fried chicken, he sold spoiled stock. Four kids ate it and ended up in the hospital that night. One kid’s parents worked in food safety, and used the case to make a public safety video. Mom cursed, “Shameless! We paid compensation and they still badmouth us.”

They were right, but my parents never saw their own faults. The video went viral, and people found out our franchise had done this before. Investigators traced the source to the main warehouse—Sydney Parker’s family’s main store.

Sydney had transferred here, and so had their brand. Online, everyone said their fried chicken shop was a shady brand, and after ruining their reputation elsewhere, they came to our small town. At first, with good quality and low prices, and lots of advertising, business boomed and attracted franchisees. But once enough joined, prices were hiked, sales dropped, and with poor storage, problems arose. My dad and the parents of Sydney’s clique joined at similar times. My dad had to close and pay compensation; they probably did too.

On the day I left town, Ms. Carter came to see me off and said Sydney had also been blocked in the bathroom. Her former followers, whose families also lost money, ganged up on her and used her own bullying tactics on her. Sydney couldn’t walk out of the bathroom. A girl got scared and called the homeroom teacher, who scolded her instead. The homeroom teacher’s family had also joined the franchise, and after losing money, she treated Sydney badly. In the end, it was Ms. Carter who called 911. Those girls copied Sydney by cutting her hair, but she resisted, and in the chaos, the scissors cut from her temple to her chin. The Parker family sued for group assault and intentional injury. They were all adults, so they faced criminal charges. Those who just watched were fined and detained; the main attackers were sentenced. But no matter what, Sydney’s face would never recover. The scar would be with her for life.

Serves her right! Did Sydney ever think her followers would turn on her? Did those who bullied others with her ever think they’d pay the price? What goes around comes around—no one escapes!

After saying goodbye to Ms. Carter, I followed Mr. Stone to the bus station. He packed snacks in my bag, then pulled out a jacket. “The air conditioning on the bus is cold, wear this.” I nodded and put it on. It fit perfectly. Dark green, just like my sister’s gift.