My Rich Parents Pretended to Be Poor for 20 Years—Just to Make Me Lose to Their GoddaughterChapter 2

Over nothing but one absurd prophecy.

I stared up at my mother on that balcony.

"If Bella finds out the truth, aren't you afraid she'll hate us?" my father's voice drifted down.

My mother laughed softly.

The next second, my phone buzzed.

She'd sent me money through Venmo.

$7.36.

With a note attached.

Sweetheart, Mom just saw some students drinking Frappuccinos. Go get yourself one.

I know I can't give you a better life, but my daughter deserves the things other kids have.

I stared at the words.

My fingers slowly tightened around the phone.

On the balcony, my mother said, pleased with herself:

"She'll never find out. I send her these little random amounts, so she'll think that's all the money I have."

"She doesn't want me working myself to death, so she takes odd jobs to cover her own rent and food.

If she's using everything she has just to survive, she won't have the energy to go looking for the truth."

I stood there scrolling back through every transfer she'd ever sent me.

Every time I'd seen those amounts, down to the cent, I'd felt her love.

And guilt.

That was exactly why I'd worked myself to the bone and cut my own expenses to nothing.

It never once occurred to me that those numbers had been carefully calculated.

Just enough to make me feel loved.

And just enough to keep me trapped in guilt.

So I'd spend my whole life struggling in the mud.

Rage and despair and confusion came at me in waves, like they meant to tear me apart.

And still I didn't want to believe it.

I didn't want to believe my mother could be that cruel to me.

I took a deep breath and moved somewhere she couldn't hear me.

Then I took out my phone and called her.

Her gentle voice came through almost immediately.

"What is it, baby?"

I was silent for a long moment before I managed it, my voice hoarse:

"Mom, my professor has been harassing me. He keeps making me come to his office alone, and he's using my graduation as leverage."

My voice started to shake.

"The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. He sends me those kinds of photos every day. He keeps implying that if I don't go along with it, he won't let me graduate."

"Mom, can you help me?"

Dead silence on the other end.

I told myself that if she used this chance to tell me the truth—

or even just stood up for me, once—

if she did that, I could pretend I hadn't seen or heard a thing tonight.

In the end, she failed me.

"Bella, he's your professor. We don't have money and we don't have connections. It's been so hard for me to put you through school. Can't you just put up with it?"

"But Mom, he's putting his hands on me. He touched my thigh. He tried to drug me. If I hadn't—"

I closed my eyes.

All the fear, panic, humiliation, and disgust I'd buried for an entire semester came rushing back, leaving me unable to breathe.

"Then wear more clothes." My mother cut me off impatiently.

Silence.

Maybe she realized how hard that had sounded.

A moment later she coughed twice and her voice went thin.

"I'm sorry, Bella. Your mother is useless. If you're truly unhappy, then drop out. I'll support you."

"I raised you because I wanted you to be happy."

And then she started coughing violently.

As I listened to her cough, something suddenly clicked.