Chapter 1

After my mom remarried, I sent her 30 thousand dollars every month for living expenses.

I even arranged for the daughter of her new husband, Leo Grant, to work as my husband's assistant.

One weekend, my mom came to see me wearing a sweater with nine holes in it.

At first, I thought she was just being frugal.

But when I checked her bank account, there was only 1.5 dollar left.

I immediately asked her, "Mom, did someone scam you into buying supplements? Or did you put it into some kind of investment scheme?"

She hesitated, refusing to answer.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so I decided to call Leo's daughter, Sylvia Grant, to ask what was going on.

But then she suddenly grabbed my hand. "Don't call Sylvia. I'm just getting old and useless. I just can't figure out this split-the-bill stuff!"

*****

"What do you mean, split the bill?" I asked, confused.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

My mom kept her head down. "Sylvia said her family has this split-the-bill tradition. Everything in the house, food, drinks, and daily stuff, all gets divided up. She said that's the only fair way."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "How much do you have to pay every month for this split-the-bill thing?"

My mom hesitated. "About 30 thousand dollars."

My mind went blank. 'What kind of family expects you to split 30 thousand dollars a month?'

Just then, my mom's phone buzzed. I grabbed it.

It was a family group chat for splitting expenses.

Sylvia had sent a screenshot of a rowing machine order, priced at 5,500 dollars.

She wrote: [Lorna, this is for working out in the living room. Since it's a shared space, you'll need to cover half—2,750 dollars.]

I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling.

My mom had a herniated disc, and the doctor had told her not to do any strenuous exercise.

And Sylvia wanted her to split the cost of a rowing machine?

I kept scrolling up, and the more I saw, the darker my expression got.

There was an imported seafood gift box, priced at 1,200 dollars, and my mom was expected to cover half.

Then, a king crab for 900 dollars. Again, she was told to pay half.

And an imported cherry gift box, 350, dollars, with my mom expected to cover half of that too.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep hold of the phone.

My mom suffered from gout, so seafood was totally out of the question.

She had high blood sugar, so she couldn't even touch cherries.

Not a single thing here was something she could eat, use, or even go near.

I opened the shopping app and checked a few of the items.

The seafood gift box was listed at 400 dollars on the official site, but Sylvia was quoting 1,200 dollars.

The king crab was 300 dollars on the market, but she was quoting 900 dollars.

The cherries were 130 dollars on the official site, but she was quoting 350 dollars.

*****

Every single thing she listed was at least twice as much as the real price.

Now I understood.

This wasn't some split-the-bill tradition at all. Sylvia was just making my mom pay for stuff she couldn't even use, then charging extra and keeping the difference for herself.

I handed the phone to my mom. "Mom, didn't you tell her you can't have or use any of this stuff?"

She glanced at the screen and whispered, "I did, but Sylvia told me not to expect any special treatment. She said they're not going to accommodate just me."

I was so furious that my voice was trembling. "She buys all this for herself, makes you pay for it, and even charges you twice as much!"

My mom's eyes welled up with tears. "I really thought that's what splitting the bill meant."

"Mom, how much has she made you pay for this split-the-bill thing over the past three months?" I asked.

She looked down, calculating, her voice getting quieter. "About 100 thousand dollars."

I sent her 30 thousand dollars every month, but she couldn't bring herself to buy a new sweater. She came to see me in that worn-out, hole-ridden one.

All the money I gave her? It went straight into Sylvia's pocket.

I opened Sylvia's Instagram.

She posted a seafood banquet, boxes of cherries, and fancy workout equipment, all courtesy of my mom's wallet.

I put my phone down, my anger boiling over.

"Mom," I said coldly, "we can't just let this go."

My mom quickly grabbed my hand. "Just drop it, please. Don't make a fuss."

"This isn't about arguing," I said, standing up. "She's bullying you."

I snatched up my phone and dialed Sylvia, but she immediately hung up on me.

I called again, and she still refused to answer.

I tried five times in a row—every single call got ignored.

Just then, my phone rang. It was my husband, Alex Cole.

I picked up, but before I could say a word, he immediately started chewing me out.

Are you out of your mind? Sylvia and I are

I tried to keep my cool. "My mom's been taken for 100 thousand dollars by her. Why can't she just answer the phone?"

"Taken?" Alex let out a cold laugh. "Sylvia explained it to me. It's just splitting the bill. Your mom went along with it!"