Escaping The Woman Who Birthed Me

Ever since the divorce, my mother had become a stranger.

For three agonizing months, she had been playing a relentless, twisted game, putting my love for her through one bizarre stress test after another.

The first time, she faked food poisoning during my lunch period, sending me into a blind panic just to drag me home.

The second time, right in the middle of gym class, she called sobbing, claiming shed been mugged and beaten on the street.

And this timeright in the middle of my AP Calculus midtermshe claimed shed been in a horrific car crash. She told me she was hanging by a thread.

I sprinted through the pouring rain, my lungs burning, running through every catastrophic scenario in my head.

But when I finally threw open the front door, gasping for air, I found her sitting on the sofa, popping fresh cherries into her mouth and binge-watching a Netflix show.

I stood there, my face drained of color, my lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. "So. Your legs aren't crushed after all."

The hand lifting a cherry to her mouth froze. Instantly, her face twisted into a mask of pure indignation.

"What kind of nonsense is that? Why would my legs be crushed? I'm warning you, Harper, don't you dare curse me!"

She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, shouting, but then she paused, taking in the sight of my mud-splattered clothes and dripping hair.

"Why do you look like a drowned rat? You didn't even bring an umbrella."

Then, she gasped. "You got my soup all wet!"

She snatched the plastic takeout container of butternut squash soup from my trembling hands, her face etched with exaggerated heartache, muttering a string of complaints about my carelessness.

I stood rooted to the spot. Frozen.

After a long moment, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. "Mom. I walked out of my midterm for this. I ran the whole way. Why..."

Why would you lie to me?

For a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. But it vanished just as quickly. When she looked back up, she was the victim. She slammed the container of soup onto the hardwood floor.

It burst open, orange liquid splattering everywhere.

"What's more important? Your little test, or me?"

"Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Now Im so upset Im going to skip dinner entirely! If I get an ulcer from starving, itll be your fault!"

"You just don't care about me enough! If your father were still here, hed never treat me like this!"

As she screamed at me, the phantom text began to materialize in the air in front of me again, scrolling like a live-stream chat only I could see.

[She just loves you too much. Shes terrified of losing you. Look at her hands shakinggo hug her and apologize.]

[Its not easy being a single mom. Even if you're hurting, she's hurting more. If your dad hadn't cheated and left, she wouldn't have to carry this burden all alone.]

I collapsed to the floor, my knees hitting the wet wood, and sobbed uncontrollably. Even the simple luxury of getting angry had been stolen from me.

My parents' marriage had shattered without warning. I had spent my sophomore year living at a boarding school, and the weekend I came back, my dad abruptly packed his bags.

I still didn't understand the logistics of what had happened. All I knew was my mother shoving me toward the door, hitting my back over and over, begging me to be the one to fix it.

"Youre his daughter!" she had shrieked. "He won't abandon you! Go stop him!"

So I cried. I begged. I wrapped my arms around his waist.

It didn't work.

Right before he walked out, he knelt down and looked me in the eye. "Harper, I can't do this with your mother anymore. Its not a sudden choice. I've wanted to leave for years."

That night, my mother held me, weeping until she was hoarse.

"He doesn't want us anymore. Its just you and me now, Harper, do you hear me? He let some homewrecker sink her claws into him, and he threw us away."

"You're all I have left!"

From that day on, I became my mother's new husband.

I was required, hour by hour, day by day, to patch up her bottomless insecurities with a suffocating, breathless brand of love.

Today was the final day of midterms. Halfway through the test, Mr. Harrison had pulled me into the hallway.

"Harper, your mother called. She said she was in a terrible pile-up on the North Bridge... she said its life or death. Her legs are broken. You need to go, right now!"

I hadn't even stopped to think. I grabbed my hall pass and ran.

By the time I reached the bridge, sweating and hyperventilating, there was no sign of her. No ambulances. No shattered glass. Nothing.

Dizzy and disoriented, I dialed her number with shaking fingers.

Over the line, her voice came out muffled and childishly stubborn. "Harper, I want butternut squash soup from that place downtown. Go get it, or I'm not telling you what hospital I'm at."

The woman had scoffed, playing hard to get.

I had scrounged the last crumpled five-dollar bill from my backpack, ran another two miles, and finally bought the soup. When I called her back, she casually laughed and said she was just at home.

These were her obedience tests. They wrapped around my throat like ivy, tightening every day. And she loved every second of it.

Whenever a spark of rebellion flared in my chest, those floating phantom comments would appear, flashing across my vision, condemning me for being an ungrateful, unfilial daughter.

Because of the freezing rain, I caught a fever and was forced to stay in bed for days.

When I finally dragged myself back to school, the damage was done. My rank had plummeted from valedictorian track down to fifteenth in the class. My spot in the National Honor Society was gone.

At the Parent-Teacher Conference that evening, my mother sat in stony silence, gripping my hand so hard her nails dug into my knuckles.

I thought the worst was over. But just as the conference was winding down, she stood up abruptly.

She glared at my homeroom teacher.

"Mr. Harrison, I think Harpers drop in grades has a lot to do with you!"

Mr. Harrison blinked, totally caught off guard. I froze in my seat.

My mother triumphantly pulled a crumpled pink envelope from her designer purse. Her voice went up an octave, piercing through the quiet classroom. "Did you seriously not know? Theres some degenerate boy in this class sexually harassing my Harper!"

The room went dead silent.

Every single pair of eyes snapped toward that pink envelope in her hand. My face burned with the heat of a thousand suns. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I had never seen that letter in my life. I had no idea where she found it!

But her little stunt was practically a public execution.

I gripped the hem of my school uniform, my own fingernails biting into my palms.

A few parents in the front row started whispering. Someone discreetly held up a phone to record.

I caught snippets of the venomous murmurs: "Where there's smoke, there's fire. That girl doesn't look innocent either."

And: "That whole family is a mess. I know herever since her husband dumped her, she's been totally unhinged..."

My chest tightened painfully. I grabbed my mother's arm, my voice dropping to a desperate, pathetic whisper. "Please. Can we just go home and talk about this?"

"Maybe it's just a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?!" she shrieked. "You bombed your midterms because youre too busy whoring around with boys! Youre just a teenager, Harper! Have you no shame?!"

"Is this how you repay everything I've done for you?"

She paused to take a ragged breath, then went in for the kill.

"Do you know I bragged to the whole family about you? I bet them all you'd be number one again!"

"But no, you're just worthless! You're exactly like your cheating, garbage father!"

"Go on, then! Go sleep around! Let's see who takes care of you when you end up knocked up!"

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Her voice echoed off the cinderblock walls, every single word plunging into my chest like a serrated knife.

My hand went limp and fell from her arm. Tears pooled in my eyes, refusing to fall.

The murmurs grew louder. Someone in the back actually scoffed.

I stood there for a long time. Just breathing.

Then, I slowly lifted my head.

"But Mom... didn't I fail those tests because of you?"

Mr. Harrison stood awkwardly at the podium, looking entirely out of his depth.

He tried to run interference. "Harper has always been a stellar student. Her grades only slipped because she had to walk out of her final exam. It was an emergency absence. That's why her rank dropped."

"Mrs. Davis, I think you're really misunderstanding the situation."

My mother scoffed loudly. "At the end of the day, shes just a failure. How come those kids on the news can miss an exam and still get into the Ivy League?"

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

I couldn't take it anymore. The urge to flee was overwhelming. I turned toward the door.

She blocked my path, her eyes cold and hard. "If you walk out that door, you are no longer my daughter."

"I yell at you a little bit and you throw a tantrum? Who do you think you are?"

The phantom comments flickered to life in my peripheral vision:

[Just apologize to her! Your mom is harsh, but she means well.]

[No matter what your mom does, you can't talk back to her. She's your mother.]

[There's no such thing as holding a grudge against your own family. Say you're sorry!]

Oh, please.

I let out a dry, bitter laugh.

Right in front of everyone, I walked out. I didn't look back once.

That night, I didn't go home. I sat by the concrete pylons of the North Bridge until the sun came up.

For some inexplicable reason, I missed my dad. I just wanted to crawl into his lap like I did when I was a little kid and pour out every single grievance I had.

But my mother had spent the last year drilling it into my head: He was the villain.

If he hadn't abandoned us, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have lost her mind, and I wouldn't have been subjected to this daily psychological torture.

Yet, looking back, it was only ever my dad who had protected me unconditionally. He was the only one who made sure I wasn't bullied. He was the one who hid birthday presents for me weeks in advance.

The day he left, he looked so thin. His coat hung loosely on his shoulders. His footsteps had been so quiet.

Exhausted, I curled up against the concrete wall and fell asleep.

When I woke up, my phone screen was lit with a text from my mother.

[Since you think you're so tough, I'm cutting you off. Not another dime.]

[Let's see how long you can survive with that attitude.]

Living without money was hell. I couldn't afford meals. I couldn't sleep.

My phone service was disconnected. My cafeteria card was zeroed out. I couldn't even pay the homeroom club fees.

I found myself hoarding quarters just to buy a bottle of water.

When the hunger pangs made the world spin, I would stand outside the school cafeteria, swallowing dryly as I smelled the hot food.

Left with no other choice, I swallowed the last shred of my pride and started walking down the commercial strip, begging shop owners to hire me.

I don't know how far I walked before I stopped outside a brightly lit storefront: Lotus Day Spa.

There was a handwritten sign taped to the glass: Nail Techs & Massage Therapists Wanted. Room & Board Negotiable.

I clutched the crumpled sixty dollars I had left in my jacket pocket.

Raindrops dripped from my bangs onto the glass door, smudging the neon reflection.

I walked in and asked the manager, "Are you hiring part-time?"

She clicked her tongue, looking me up and down. "You eighteen?"

I nodded frantically.

"Hundred bucks a day, under the table. Plus tips. Can you work weekends?"

"Yes!"

The job was simple, though physically grueling. I soaked feet, scrubbed calluses, and gave deep-tissue foot massages.

I was terrified and humiliated. I lived in constant fear of a classmate walking in and starting rumors, yet I was overwhelmingly grateful just to have a job that let me buy food.

I ate little, meticulously rationing my grocery budget each week.

The money I made was enough to keep me afloat, with a little left over.

Until one afternoon, a familiar customer walked through the door.

It was my mother.

I was wearing a surgical mask, so she didn't recognize me right away.

She and a friend were lounging in the plush pedicure chairs, chatting away while their feet soaked.

"Are you really going to just let the kid starve?" her friend asked. "She's your own flesh and blood. What if something happens to her at school?"

My mother scoffed, waving her hand dismissively.

"That little ungrateful brat is useless. Her heart isn't even with me anyway."

"This time, Im going to teach her a lesson shell never forget."

She leaned her head back against the leather headrest, closing her eyes. "A while ago, I bet the family shed be top of her class. I told them if she didnt get first place, Id marry her off to my cousins slow-witted son. And then look what she did to her grades."

"If that idiot boy actually shows up at her door, its her own fault. I'm certainly not paying for her college tuition anymore."

My hand froze in mid-air. The glass bottle of eucalyptus oil nearly slipped from my fingers.

I barely caught it, my entire body trembling.

I kept my head down, staring at the tiled floor.

My mother kept talking. "Her dad called again the other day. He wants custody. Do you know what I told him?"

"I told him Harper wishes he were dead. When he heard his own daughter said that about him, you should have heard the silence on the line. It felt so damn good. Thats what he gets for divorcing me! Claiming he couldn't do it anymore!"

"The more he wants Harper, the more Im going to make her life miserable! And I'll make sure he sees every second of it!"

I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper.

A loud, rushing noise filled my ears.

"God, that poor girl must absolutely despise her father by now," her friend muttered.

My mother's smug, triumphant laugh grated against my nerves like a rusted blade.

I took a shaky breath. The room tilted.

I couldn't laugh. I couldn't breathe.

Tears completely blurred my vision.

So my dad hadn't abandoned me?

He had been trying to find me this whole time?

The glass bottle slipped. It shattered against the tile floor, shards of glass and sharp eucalyptus oil exploding outward.

The woman finally leaned forward, peering at my face over the mask. Her expression twisted in horror. She practically leaped out of the chair. "What are you doing here?!"

Her friend looked confused. "Who is this?"

My mother stammered, a panicked, awkward laugh escaping her lips. "Nono one. Just my cleaning ladys daughter."

I stayed completely silent.

Then, a hollow, broken laugh spilled out of my chest.

My mother looked frantic. After quickly ushering her friend out to the lobby with some excuse, she spun back to me, her eyes ablaze with sheer rage.

"Just how desperate for cash are you to end up working in a sleazy joint like this?!"

I pressed my lips together and looked her dead in the eye.

"You cut me off. Did you forget?"

That made her even angrier.

She grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the front counter to scream at the manager. She kicked over a stack of magazines and knocked a display of lotions off a shelf.

She caused an absolute scene.

"Who hired her?! Do you realize shes a minor? You people are basically running a brothel, forcing young girls to sell their bodies!"

The manager was terrified.

She tried to placate my mother. "Ma'am, please lower your voice. Let's go to the back office and talk about this."

My mother refused.

She screamed, "You run a filthy business and you're scared of a little noise?! I'm going to let everyone in this town know you're exploiting children!"

The manager lost her patience.

"Look, lady! The kid begged me for a job! Don't come in here throwing around accusations like that!"

My mother's face turned purple.

"Harper Davis, you are a shameless little tramp! Do you have any dignity left?! How could you beg for a job washing strangers' feet?! All the money I spent on your education, completely wasted!"

Oh, right.

When you haven't eaten a full meal in three days, dignity is the last thing on your mind.

A wave of severe dizziness hit me. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs.

It hurt to breathe.

A crowd had gathered outside the large glass windows. I even spotted a girl from my AP History class standing on the sidewalk, whispering to her friends, a malicious smirk playing on her lips.

When our eyes met, I went entirely numb.

As my mother continued her self-righteous tirade, spitting venom in my direction, a dark, radical thought bloomed in my mind.

The next second, I turned and sprinted straight out the door, aiming directly for the busy street outside.

My mother screamed in terror. "Harper! What the hell is wrong with you?! Get back here!"

"You think you can threaten me with this?! It won't work!"

The manager was tearing her hair out in a panic.

"Ma'am, just stop screaming at her!"

"Harper, sweetie, come back inside! We can talk this out!"

SCREECH CRASH!

As I turned my head, an immense, crushing force slammed into my side.

The sky flipped upside down. I hit the asphalt, my vision tinting red as blood pooled around me.

Through the haze, I saw my mother standing on the sidewalk. Her face was frozen in a mask of absolute, unadulterated horror. Her eyes were blown wide, unable to process what she was seeing.

And as my consciousness began to slip away, I saw the man jumping out of the silver sedan that had slammed its brakes.

It was my dad.