Starving in a Wealthy Home

I was in the school cafeteria, sipping the free broth they offered and picking at a cheap plain oatmeal bowl, when the administrators showed up for a surprise inspection.

The principal noticed my bare, modest tray and asked gently why I hadnt gotten any real food.

I had no choice but to be honest: I was short on cash.

That night, my mom called, her tone sharp and accusatory.

She demanded to know how I could be so ungrateful. The family gave me a generous monthly allowance of a hundred thousand dollarsso why was I going around telling people I was broke?

I knew all about that allowance, of course.

But the money was held in a managed trust. Under the legal terms, I couldnt withdraw a single dollar until I turned eighteen.

And I was only a freshman in high school.

My mother's yelling continued. "You deliberately told everyone you had no money

for food, right in front of all those people. You're trying to make your father

and me look bad, aren't you?"

"Hannah, I've always thought you were manipulative. Ever since you were a little

girl, you've known how to play the victim to get sympathy."

She paused, then her voice turned sharp with sarcasm. "I've given you a life of

luxury, never let you suffer. And you're still not satisfied. What a thankless

child."

"Just like your grandmother. You're both here just to make my life miserable."

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. For years, any little thing I did to

displease her, she would somehow link back to my grandmother.

My grandmother was a traditional woman, with a strong preference for boys. When

I was born, the moment she heard I was a girl, she turned around and left.

They say the grudges formed during the postpartum month are never forgotten. My

mother had hated my grandmother ever since.

I tried to explain, but she had already hung up.

A moment later, a screenshot of a bank transfer popped up on my phone.

[There. Another hundred thousand. That's enough for you to eat and drink

whatever you want.]

[You're still growing. Don't eat that unhealthy, cheap junk just to save money.

You need a balanced diet]

It was a performance of care and concern, as if the argument moments before had

never happened.

I stared up at the clear blue sky, a chill running through me.

After a long silence, I finally gathered the courage to type a reply.

[Could you transfer the money directly to me instead of the trust company? I

don't need that much. Two thousand a month would be enough.]

The "typing" indicator flickered on and off for a long time, but no message came

through. Just as I thought she wouldn't reply, my phone rang.

My mother's furious voice exploded in my ear. "Hannah, what are you trying to

pull? Are you just looking for trouble?"

"Have you been hanging out with the wrong crowd at school? A hundred thousand a

month isn't enough for you?"

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. I forced myself to explain. "But Mom, I

can't access that money until I'm eighteen. I'm only sixteen. What am I supposed

to do for the next two years?"

"I'm starving. I can't even afford a fifty-cent bowl of congee anymore."

"Mom, please, just give me some living expenses. I don't need much. A thousand a

month no, five hundred would be fine. I just don't want to be hungry anymore"

I was so hungry. At my age, I was going through a growth spurt, and with all the

physical activity at school, I was hungry all the time. Even with the free soup

at every meal, I was still starving.

At my worst, I had resorted to drinking water from the tap to fill my stomach.

But my mother was unmoved. Her voice grew even sharper. "I fought for you, went

against the family to set up that trust for you because I felt sorry that you

weren't valued. There's over five million in there by now. What more could you

possibly want?"

"Always demanding more, just like your grandmother. You're both here to collect

a debt. What did I do to deserve this?"

I tightened my grip on the phone. In that moment, I finally understood.

My mother was taking out all her resentment for my grandmother on me.

She was deliberately withholding money from me, all while maintaining the facade

of a "good mother."

The call ended. I went to the sink on the balcony and gulped down more water.

A roommate walked in and saw me, startled. "Hannah, you're drinking tap water

again."

I nodded.

She frowned, studying me for a long moment before hesitating. "But your cousin,

Iris, says your family is really rich. How can you not have money for food?"

My heart stuttered.

Iris was my cousin. She had lived with us since she was a child. My mother

adored her.

All the maternal love I had never experienced was showered on Iris.

Iris had the biggest, prettiest bedroom in the house, with its own piano room.

Her closet was overflowing with beautiful dresses she never had a chance to

wear.

And when it came to spending money, there were no limits. My mother had given

her a supplementary credit card with no spending cap.

I looked up, meeting my roommate's eyes. "Not all mothers love their children."

She was stunned into silence.

Just then, Iris bounced into the room, holding a small cake.

It was strawberry. And I was allergic to strawberries.

Iris smiled at me, a look of condescending charity in her eyes, and held the

cake out. "Here, for you."

I didn't move. We had known each other for years. She knew about my allergy.

Iris's face fell. "Come on, eat it. I waited in line for two hours to get this."

"You know I'm allergic," I said flatly.

"What allergy? I think you're just trying to make things difficult for me." The

smile vanished from her face.

The next second, she slammed the cake into my chest, her eyes red with anger.

"What is your problem? Just because I'm the poor relative living in your house,

you look down on me? You won't even accept a cake I bought especially for you?"

Ten minutes later, Iris and I were in the dean's office.

Iris's hair was a mess, a clear handprint on her cheek. Her eyes were red and

swollen from crying.

I stood there, my face a mask, but a closer look would reveal scratch marks on

my arms and hands, and my clothes were smeared with cream. We both looked like

we'd been through a war.

Iris sobbed, pointing at her face. "Sir, I just wanted to give her a cake, and

she hit me."

The dean frowned, not immediately taking her side. He turned to me. "Hannah,

tell me what happened."

I recounted the events of the last ten minutes. Iris had not only thrown the

cake at me, but had also lunged at me with her long nails. I hadn't just stood

there and taken it; in the scuffle, I had slapped her. That was when she had

finally backed off and started crying.

And that brought us here.

Iris kept crying, occasionally interjecting, "Sir, I was just so angry! Why

couldn't she just accept my kindness?" She was so self-righteous.

The dean looked at her with displeasure, about to speak, when the office door

was thrown open.

It was my mother.

She strode in and, without a word, swung her arm and slapped me across the face.

The office fell silent.

The dean was the first to react, pulling me behind him and confronting my

mother. "Ma'am, you can't just hit a student!"

My mother pointed at me, her eyes blazing. "She's a menace! Bullying her own

cousin. Better I beat some sense into her now before she goes out into the world

and does something truly terrible."

From behind my mother, Iris stuck her tongue out at me.

I remained frozen, my head still turned from the force of the slap.

The dean's expression had darkened. "Mrs. Zhou, you need to be more patient with

your daughter. You should have asked her what happened instead of just resorting

to violence."

My mother didn't seem to hear him, her eyes still locked on me with

disappointment.

The dean continued, "I've heard both sides. It seems Iris threw the cake at

Hannah first and then tried to scratch her. Hannah was just defending herself."

My mother looked surprised, but only for a moment. Then, as if she'd heard the

funniest joke in the world, her voice became even more shrill. "I gave birth to

her. I know her best. She's been a manipulative little thing since she was a

child. And Iris has always been so well-behaved. Why would she attack someone

for no reason?"

"Hannah must have done something to provoke her."

At that, Iris buried her face in my mother's side and started crying even

harder. "It was sister she's always calling me a poor relative, a freeloader I

just couldn't take it anymore."

That was all the fuel my mother needed. She struggled against the dean's

restraining arm, trying to get to me again. "You ungrateful brat! I'll kill

you!"

Just as another slap was about to land, I snapped my head up and met my mother's

eyes. "With a mother like you I'd rather be an orphan."

You could have heard a pin drop in the office.

My mother's hand froze in mid-air. She stared at me in disbelief, clearly

shocked that the daughter who had always tried so hard to please her would dare

to say such a thing.

"Are you insane?"

After a moment of shock, her anger erupted. She slammed her hand on the desk.

"Fine! You really are your grandmother's granddaughter, rotten to the core!"

Even Iris seemed taken aback by the venom in her words.

Seeing the color drain from my face, my mother's voice rose to a shriek.

"Hannah, what could you possibly be dissatisfied with? I give you a hundred

thousand a month! Most families don't even save that much in a year."

"And Iris, she never complains about money. She even buys me little gifts. Such

a considerate child. Is it so wrong for me to dote on her a little more?"

I couldn't take it anymore. Years of pent-up resentment came pouring out.

"Because she's not the one who's broke! I'm the one who can't even afford to

eat! Yes, you give me a hundred thousand a month, but it's all locked up in a

trust! I can't touch it until I'm eighteen."

"I'm only sixteen! You won't give me any living expenses, and I can't get the

money from the trust. What am I supposed to do?!"

My mother just looked at my breakdown with cold disdain. "You're so ungrateful.

You have no appreciation for what your elders do for you."

The dean could only sigh.

As we were leaving, he called me back. "Hannah, if you're having financial

difficulties, please don't hesitate to come to me."

He handed me a financial aid application form.

Tears welled in my eyes. I bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir."

I had tried to apply for aid before, but the school had rejected my application

after looking into my family's financial situation. My classmates often teased

me, calling me a "rich miser."

It was a Friday. I usually worked on weekends and didn't have time to go home.

But with my mother here, I had no choice but to go with her.

When we got home, she shot me a sideways glance and started complaining to my

father, who had just arrived. "Richard, I can't handle your daughter anymore."

My father rubbed his temples, annoyed. "What is it now?"

Iris pouted, her eyes welling up with tears. "I bought sister a cake, and she

got mad" she mumbled, her words vague and misleading.

My father sighed and tried to reason with me. "Hannah, just try to get along,

will you?"

My shoulders slumped. My voice trembled. "Give me my living expenses."

At that, my mother, who had been heading upstairs, stormed back down and pointed

a finger at my nose. "Hannah, your father and I have given you everything, and

not only are you ungrateful, you resent us for it!"

"I've already transferred the money to you. It's not my fault if you're not

capable enough to access it."

She then pointed at my father. "Look at your father! He works so hard to provide

for this family that his health is failing. And look at me! I've gotten so many

wrinkles because of you. Do you even see any of that?"

I looked at my father. His lips were tinged with blue, and he looked exhausted.

I felt a pang of guilt.

But that guilt quickly vanished when I heard him sigh and, as he had done so

many times before, try to smooth things over. "Alright, Hannah, your mother is

just looking out for you. She's afraid you'll waste the money if you get it all

at once."

I fought back tears and screamed, "Are you both insane? I can't touch that money

until I'm eighteen! What am I supposed to do until then? Do you want me to

starve to death?"

"To survive, I've had to work in illegal factories every break, working until

one in the morning for less than a thousand a month! And all the while, Iris is

living like a princess in this house! Who is your real daughter?!"

My mother stared at me, her chest heaving. She was furious, her parental

authority challenged. But she couldn't refute what I said. It was all true.

My father clenched his fists, hesitating as he looked at my mother.

She exploded. "Richard, if you dare give her a single cent behind my back, we're

getting a divorce!"

That night, like so many nights before, ended in a bitter fight.

I spent the weekend working. On Monday, I went to the school's financial aid

office to apply for a student grant. With the dean's help, the process went

smoothly.

The grant wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me from starving.

Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, I got a call from my homeroom teacher.

"Hannah, the school has given your grant to another student."

"Why?"

"Your mother came to the school and went straight to the principal. She told him

she gives you a hundred thousand a month and that you've always been a spoiled,

greedy child. The dean and I tried to reason with her, but it was no use"

My homeroom teacher's regretful, helpless voice continued on the other end, but

I couldn't hear it anymore. My head was buzzing.

A few of my classmates had overheard. They started pointing and whispering.

When I got back to my dorm, my roommates looked at me strangely. The one I had

been closest to deliberately bumped into me with her shoulder. "Wow, Hannah,

you're really something else. Your mom just pulled up in a Rolls-Royce, decked

out in designer everything and here you are, a rich kid, playing poor for

sympathy. It's disgusting."

"You know who got the grant instead? Iris. Bet that just kills you."

My blood ran cold. I couldn't take it anymore. I bolted from the dorm, out of

the school gates.

The family car was parked on the side of the road. The windows were down, and I

could see my parents sitting inside.

I walked up to them, my voice hoarse. "Why?"

My mother didn't even look at me, busy admiring her manicure.

My father had that same helpless look on his face. "Hannah, your cousin has

never had her real parents to look after her. She's a guest in our home. She's

had a hard life"

Iris's mother was a single mom who had died in a car accident when she was four.

No one knew who her father was.

"Iris has had it tough, so you have to be the bigger person." I had heard that

line my entire life.

I stood there, a bitter smile on my face. "Yes, she doesn't have parents. But

she has you two, her fake parents, who love her more than anything. I have

parents, but what's the difference between me and an orphan?"

My parents stared at me, stunned. My voice was eerily calm when I spoke again.

"From now on, just pretend you don't have a daughter. You don't deserve to be

parents."