Three Million From My Frozen Mother

My daughters ballet slippers had three holes worn straight through the toes, yet she refused to let me bring a new pair to her school.

She kept her head low, her voice barely a whisper.

Mom, all the other girls' moms wear haute couture when they come to our shows.

Your hands are covered in chilblains and grease. Please, just dont come.

Later, she received her acceptance letter from the elite academy of dance.

I practically jumped for joy, but she threw the envelope straight into my face, her eyes rimmed with angry red.

We couldn't afford the tuition.

"Mom, I wish you were like other moms. Just a gentle push from them, and their kids are flying high in the clouds."

"But with you? We fight with everything we have, and we still end up suffocating in the mud."

I stared at her scarred, calloused toes, my chest aching as if a dull blade were carving through my heart.

I didn't have the courage to tell her that the chronic headaches I'd been suffering from had finally been diagnosed the day before.

A brain tumor. Terminal.

Quietly, I pulled out that old, dust-covered organ donor agreement and my high-payout accidental death insurance policy.

Evie, sweetheart. Your mom doesn't have much to offer.

But I can give you my life to buy you a ticket to a bigger stage.

...

"Youve flipped that damn fish eight hundred times! Are you going to buy it or are we just wasting my time here?"

The fishmongers sharp, grating voice snapped me out of the blinding pain in my temples.

I forced a polite, pleading smile, holding back the throbbing agony of the tumor.

"I'll take it, I'll take it," I murmured. "Could you maybe give me a small discount on this one, Lou?"

"My daughter has her preliminary ballet showcase today. I wanted to make her some fish soup to keep her strength up."

"A discount? I have bills to pay too, Helen! Look at youliving on pennies, and your kid is doing ballet? You sure she isnt just taking you for a ride?"

Her eyes swept over me with pure disdain.

I squeezed the crumpled diagnosis slip tucked deep inside my pocket and handed over the cash.

"Just this one, please."

The tumor in my brain was a ticking time bomb. I didn't know when it would finally go off.

But before it did, I had to pave the way for my Evelyn.

Taking the meager change, I hurried home first, then carefully packed a pair of pristine, snow-white ballet slippers. I made my way to the theater, keeping out of sight.

Evelyn never wanted me near her school, and she certainly didn't want me delivering shoes.

She said it was humiliating.

But today, I just wanted to steal a single glimpse of my beautiful daughtermy graceful swanfrom the lobby doors.

Just one look.

But the moment I reached the backstage entrance, a security guard stepped in my way.

"Whoa, hold on. Where do you think you're going? No unauthorized personnel back here."

"I... I'm looking for my daughter, Evelyn. Evelyn Daviesshe's in the showcase."

"Families belong in the audience seats!"

"And what is that smell on you? Step back, lady."

He pinched his nose, grimacing.

The smell of raw fish was a permanent fixture on my skin, baked in from years of working the docks and fish markets.

Once, that smell had been my badge of honorthe proof that I could pay for her classes.

Now, it was the barrier keeping me from her.

As we argued, a group of young girls in beautiful, matching leotards walked out.

Right in the center was Evelyns classmate, Chelsea.

She spotted me immediately. Covering her nose, she let out an exaggerated gasp.

"Oh my god, Evelyn, is that your mom?"

"Why does she smell like a rotting pier? Did she come backstage to scale some fish for us?"

Dozens of eyes locked onto me instantly.

I watched the color completely drain from Evelyns face.

She stared at me. It wasn't sadness in her eyes; it was raw, burning humiliation.

I stood frozen, clutching the cardboard box with the new slippers to my chest.

"Evie..."

"What are you doing here?! Who told you to come?!"

She lunged forward, her voice shrill and trembling.

"I... I was worried your old shoes would tear. I brought you a new pair."

I held out the box, hoping shed take it.

She didn't even look at it. Instead, she shoved me away with a violent push.

"I don't have a mother like you! Haven't you embarrassed me enough?!"

The shove caught me off guard. My foot slipped, and I crashed hard onto the concrete.

The shoe box flew out of my hands, landing right in a murky, oil-slicked puddle nearby.

Water seeped through the cardboard caught in the puddle, ruining the pristine white satin.

Evelyn stared at the ruined slippers, the disgust in her eyes intensifying.

"You can't even hold a shoe box straight. Is there anything you can do?"

Sprawled on the freezing ground, the blinding pain in my head flared up again.

But it was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

The hallway erupted in snickers, Chelseas laughter ringing loudest.

"Wow. Such a beautiful family moment."

Evelyns face burned crimson.

She didn't help me up. She didn't even look at me again. She just turned around and ran back into the theater.

I struggled to push myself up from the cold floor.

Under the mocking stares of strangers, I gathered the wet, muddy box.

These slippers had cost four figures.

It was more than I made in an entire month of scaling and gutting fish in the freezing market.

They were dirty, yes. But maybe I could wash them. Maybe they were still salvageable.

That evening, I prepared a feast of all her favorites.

Roasted pork ribs, garlic bread, corn cream soup

"Evie, honey, wash your hands. I made everything you like..."

Before I could even finish, she violently slapped my hand away.

"Are you trying to ruin my body with this garbage? As if you didn't humiliate me enough today!"

She grabbed the plate of pork belly and dumped it straight into the trash can.

Then the ribs, then the fish... plate after plate, gone.

"What are you doing?!"

I couldn't hold it back anymore. My voice shook with exhaustion.

"What does it look like? I'm throwing out the trash!"

With a bitter sneer, she pulled a document from her bag and flung it directly at my face.

"Look at it. The acceptance letter from the Royal Ballet Academy. Happy now?"

My hands shook as I smoothed out the paper.

"You got in? Evie, you actually got in!"

"What is there to be happy about? Look at the tuition!"

She pointed a trembling finger at the exorbitant figures listed at the bottom, her voice rising to a scream.

"Fifty thousand dollars! Where are you going to get fifty thousand dollars?!"

"Do you think I'm like Chelsea? Her mom can write a check with a single phone call!"

"And what about you?"

"What can you do besides make a fool out of me?!"

My head felt like it was splitting in two.

I leaned heavily against the dining table, barely able to keep my balance.

"Evie, listen to me. Your mom..."

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say I was sickterribly, desperately sick.

"All you ever do is cry! All you ever do is play the victim!"

She cut me off, her eyes dripping with pure contempt.

"If you couldn't afford to raise me, why did you even have me? Why don't you just die?"

"Why don't you sell your life to get me the money?!"

Sell your life to get me the money.

Those words were like a key turning in a lock, releasing the final chain in my heart.

She slammed her bedroom door shut, leaving me standing alone in the ruins of the dinner I had spent hours preparing.

A sudden wave of warmth rushed up my throat. I covered my mouth, coughing violently.

When I pulled my hand away, my palm was smeared with bright, crimson blood.

I stared at the blood, then looked toward my bedroom where the terminal brain tumor diagnosis lay in a drawer. A strange, quiet smile crept onto my face.

Of course. Why hadn't I thought of it before?

My life could buy her future.

Evelyns father had walked out before she was even born; I had never been able to give her a proper family or a comfortable life.

But now, I could give her this one final gift.

I walked over to the old chest of drawers, unlocked the bottom panel, and pulled out the accidental death insurance policy alongside my organ donor registry form.

On the policy, the sole beneficiary was listed in clear print: Evelyn Davies.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I gathered every single dollar of cash I had hidden around the house.

Bill by bill, I smoothed them out and stuffed them deep into her old, torn ballet slippers.

She always called those shoes her ultimate shame.

But I knew they were where her dream began. She would never throw them away.

The next morning, Evelyn dragged her suitcase toward the door, ignoring me entirely.

"I'm leaving. I'm staying at Chelseas place for a few days."

"Her house has a private dance studio. It's infinitely better than this dump."

I held a warm bowl of oatmeal, my hands trembling.

"Evie, don't go. Eat some breakfast first."

"I'm not eating that. Just looking at your cooking makes me sick."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"And don't you dare show up at my school again. If you embarrass me one more time, I swear I will never call you my mother again!"

The front door slammed shut.

I slowly finished the bowl of oatmeal by myself, then walked out into the cold morning toward the fish market.

"Lou... could you... is there any way I could get a three-month advance on my pay?"

I kept my head down, unable to meet her gaze.

"An advance? Are you out of your mind, Helen?"

Lou shoved my shoulder roughly.

"You've been getting slower and slower lately. I was actually thinking of cutting your hours!"

The shove sent me stumbling back, nearly losing my footing.

Right then, a cold, horribly familiar voice cut through the noise of the market.

"Mom? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Do you have no shame at all?!"

I spun around. Evelyn and Chelsea were standing just a few feet away.

Chelsea had a smug, mocking smirk plastered across her face.

"Oh, wow. If my mom hadn't insisted we get fresh king crab for the party tonight, we would have missed this little performance."

Evelyns face burned a dark, furious red as she marched over.

"Are you trying to make sure everyone knows my mother is a beggar at a fish market?"

"No, Evie, that's not it. I was just..."

I reached out, desperate to grab her hand and explain.

"Don't touch me!"

She violently slapped my hand away, her eyes flashing with pure revulsion.

"Your hands are filthy. It's disgusting!"

A small crowd began to gather, whispering and pointing at us.

With every word she spoke, my heart was slowly torn to shreds.

Chelsea crossed her arms, taking a slow step forward.

"Honestly, Evelyn, don't be too hard on her. People from her class just don't know any better."

"Unlike my momshe gives me a credit card, and the pocket change on it is more than your mom could make gutting fish for a lifetime."

Evelyns expression grew even more humiliated. She leaned in close, her voice a harsh, venomous whisper.

"Are you happy now?"

"Do you only get off on stripping away every shred of dignity I have in front of my friends?!"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Chelseas arm and walked away.

I was left standing alone, surrounded by the quiet murmurs and mocking snickers of the crowd.

...

It took me a long time to gather the strength to walk back to that silent, empty apartment.

I pulled out the insurance policy. With a hand that wouldn't stop shaking, I traced my finger over the letters of her name in the beneficiary column: Evelyn Davies.

Then, I carefully tucked the document into her bedroom drawer.

Once that was done, I picked up my phone and sent her one last text message.

My sweet girl, Mom is finally going to give you those wings to fly.

The screen lit up almost instantly with her reply.

What kind of dramatic nonsense is this now?

I'm telling you, I am sick of your guilt trips. They don't work on me anymore!

I didn't reply. I just stared at the text as tears blurred my vision, spilling over my cheeks.

Then, another soft chime echoed in the quiet room.

For a brief, foolish second, my heart leaped, hoping she was checking on me.

But when I opened the message, a single line stared back at me:

Unless you die, I will never be able to stand on the same level as Chelsea.

I stared at the cold words on the screen until a hollow, breathless laugh broke from my throat, tears streaming down my face.

So, that was her final wish.

Then I would grant it.

I wiped my face, changed into my cleanest outfit, and walked out the door.

The fish market at night was much quieter than during the day, smelling heavily of damp concrete, salt, and raw scale.

I walked all the way to the back of the facility, stopping in front of the massive, decommissioned industrial freezer unit.

The iron door was incredibly thick.

Once locked from the inside, it couldn't be opened from the outside even with a key.

It would require a heavy-duty circular saw to cut through.

I took a deep breath. The sharp, cold scent of the fish market suddenly felt like the scent of freedom.

I stepped inside, grabbed the heavy iron latch, and pulled it shut.

Click.

Locked from the inside.

"Evie, Mom is going to make sure you fly high."

The temperature inside the freezer began to plummet rapidly. I shook violently, my teeth clicking together.

The blinding pain of the tumor flared in tandem with the biting, razor-sharp cold.

I curled into a tight ball in the corner, my consciousness slowly slipping away.

Just when I thought my body was finally giving up, I felt a strange lightness. It was as if my physical form no longer held me down, and I began to drift upward.

I floated right through the heavy iron door, past the darkened streets, until I came to a halt outside a magnificent, brilliantly lit estate.

The thumping bass of music and the sound of laughter spilled out from the windows.

I drifted through the walls, and there she was. My daughter, Evelyn.

She was wearing an exquisite white cocktail dressone I had never seen before.

A group of teenagers had gathered around her, hanging onto her every word.

She looked beautiful.

"Evelyn, you look like an actual princess tonight."

"That routine you showed us was incredible! You're going to dominate at the academy!"

Evelyn smiled modestly, basking in the warmth of their praise.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand.

She glanced at the caller ID, her brows knitting together in irritation. She stepped into a quiet hallway to answer.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

On the other end, Lous voice sounded panicked and breathless.

"Evelyn! Have you seen your mother?"

"I was doing inventory, and someone turned on the main breaker to the abandoned freezer. The door is locked from the inside, and no one is answering when I knock!"

"Is your mother in there?!"

My spirit form tensed, hovering close to her face.

Evelyn, please. Come save me.

But in the next second, a mocking, cold laugh slipped from my daughter's lips.

"Lou, don't let her fool you."

"She's just putting on another one of her pathetic guilt shows. She'll say anything to force me to come home."

"No, I'm serious! I think I heard a faint scratching sound from inside!"

"You need to get down here. If she's actually in there..."

"Let her scratch," Evelyn cut her off, her voice dripping with ice. "When she gets tired, she'll come out on her own."

"I've dealt with her manipulation my entire life. I'm sick of it."

She hung up the phone without another word, immediately blocking Lou's number.

Hovering in the air, my soul watched as she severed my very last lifeline.

My heart died in that moment.

She adjusted her dress, painted a perfect, dazzling smile back onto her face, and walked back into the center of the party.

Chelsea strolled over, holding a glass of champagne, raising her voice so everyone could hear.

"Evelyn, it's such a great party. Why didn't you invite your mom to come see how the other half lives?"

I saw Evelyns shoulders stiffen for a fraction of a second.

Then, she casually tossed her hair back and laughed.

"Oh, you mean Helen, our housekeeper?"

"Her family had an emergency today, so she couldn't make it."

"My actual mom is overseas most of the year managing her international business. She's so busy we barely see each other."

Our housekeeper.

Even though I knew she was only trying to save face in front of her wealthy classmates, the words cut like a knife.

To her, I wasn't even worthy of being called her mother.

Slowly, my spirit form began to turn translucent, drifting away.

...

The next morning, Evelyn woke up in a guest room at Chelseas mansion.

She reached for her phone, habitually checking to see if I had sent any more pathetic messages.

Nothing.

Not a single text.

She smirked, thinking I had finally learned my lesson.

Ding.

An automated notification popped up. It was a tuition reminder from the ballet academy.

Staring at the cold, clinical demand for fifty thousand dollars, Evelyn felt a wave of frustration. She opened our chat and began typing furiously.

Where's the money? Did you get the fifty thousand dollars yet?

Don't play dead with me. If I don't have the tuition by the end of the day, I am cutting you out of my life for good!

She hit send, expecting me to immediately beg for her forgiveness as I always did.

But minutes turned into hours, and the screen remained blank.

Are you dead? Answer me!

I'm counting to three. If you don't reply, don't ever expect to see me again!

Helen, I am warning you!

Her messages vanished into a silent void.

Evelyns patience finally snapped. A blind fury took over. She threw herself out of bed, determined to go back to the apartment and tear into me in person.

She kicked the front door open.

"Helen! Get your ass out here right now!"

The apartment was freezing. The stove was cold; there was no smell of food, no sign of life.

"Where are you hiding? Do you think hiding means you don't have to take responsibility?!"

She began tearing the place apart, throwing water glasses against the wall and throwing cushions onto the floor to vent her rage.

In the middle of her tantrum, a heavy knock sounded at the door.

Thinking I had finally crept back home, she lunged at the door and ripped it open, her face twisted in anger.

But standing on the threshold were two solemn-faced police officers.

"Are you Evelyn Davies?" the older officer asked.

"Yes. What do you want?" Evelyn snapped.

The officer verified her ID, his expression turning grim.

"Miss Davies, we are very sorry to inform you, but your mother, Helen Davies, has passed away."

Evelyn froze for a second. Then, a sharp, cynical laugh escaped her lips as she crossed her arms.

"Officers, you must have the wrong person."

"My mother is fine. Did she hire you to play along with her little act?"

"I've seen her sob stories my whole life. I know exactly what she's doing."

The older officers jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a quiet, suppressed fury.

His younger partner, unable to maintain the same restraint, reached into an evidence bag and held an item out to her.

It was a pair of old, worn ballet slippers.

I had hand-stitched the tears in them multiple times; the satin at the toes was worn down to a dull grey.

"This was recovered next to your mother's body."

Looking at those slippers, Evelyns laugh withered on her face. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

But she kept pushing. "She really went all out this time, didn't she? Even got the props right."

"Where is she? Is she waiting around the corner to see my reaction?"

"That is enough!" the older officer barked, his voice echoing in the small hallway.

"Evelyn, your mother was trapped in a sub-zero industrial freezer for over eight hours!"

"The metal door was covered in her blood where she clawed at it with her bare fingernails!"