Chapter 1 · I Was The Atm, Not The Daughter

Chapter 1

I worked like a dog for ten years and saved up 300 thousand dollars. I transferred the money to my parents so they could have a comfortable retirement.

But when I got sick and needed emergency surgery, Mom said, "I used that money for Emily's down payment. You're not dead yet, so what's the hurry?"

Even while I was being wheeled into the operating room, Mom was sharing a video in the family group chat, showing off the designer handbag Emily had just bought for her. She wrote: [Better to have a good niece than a successful daughter.]

Lying in my hospital bed, I stared at the chat and smiled coldly. Then I called the police and filed a lawsuit.

*****

The hospital reeked of disinfectant. The smell was cold, the kind that seeped right into the bones.

It was like that old, stubborn smell of rust, which could never scrub away, no matter how hard one tried. It kept crawling up my nose.

I lay in the hospital bed with an IV needle taped to the back of my left hand, the fluid dripping down the tube one slow drop at a time.

It was agonizingly slow.

It felt like each drop was ticking away the seconds of my life.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a priority alert from my favorites.

I struggled to swipe the screen open with my right hand, the glare stabbing at my eyes.

It was a social media notification, with a clickbait headline: [How to Legally Transfer Your Ungrateful Daughter's Money to Your Sweet Niece.]

I was about to swipe it away. Such clickbait headlines from random accounts were everywhere.

But then I saw the username "Halcyon (Linda)."

It was my mom.

At that moment, it felt like ice was running through my veins instead of the IV fluid.

I tapped on it, my fingers shaking.

The post went on for thousands of words, dripping with smugness, like she was sharing some kind of life-changing wisdom.

[My husband and I figured it out a long time ago. So what if she's our own daughter? She makes some decent money in the big city and then comes home with an attitude. We barely see her all year.

[She's so ungrateful. If we kept the money, it would just end up with some stranger. Luckily, my niece is so sweet and always knows how to make me happy. So I came up with a plan.

[The 300 grand my daughter sent for our retirement? I lent it to my niece for her down payment on a house, but really, I gave it to her. Once the money's in our account, it's ours.

[Now my daughter's sick and wants the money back for treatment? Not a chance. That's my wedding gift to my niece. It's what gives her a future. Honestly, with my daughter's illness, treatment's not gonna change anything. It's just throwing good money away.]

The comments section was buzzing.

Some people called Mom out for being completely wrong, but a lot more agreed with her.

[The poster gets it. Young people these days can't be trusted. Just give your money to whoever actually cares about you.]

[A niece is still family. She'll be the one to take care of you when you're old. Once your daughter gets married, she's gone for good.]

Mom was all over the comments, chatting away like she was the star of the show.

[Exactly! My daughter only thinks about work and never bothers to call. But my niece is so thoughtful. She even gave me a foot bath last night.]

As I read, I suddenly started laughing.

I laughed so hard that the pain in my chest started throbbing.

I was scheduled for surgery to remove early-stage stomach cancer. The doctor said I caught it in time, and that if I could pay for the operation and follow through with chemo, I actually had a real chance at recovery.

But right now, I could barely scrape together the hospital deposit.

That 300 grand had come from ten years of bouncing around big cities. I had worked overtime day and night, living on instant noodles, crammed into packed subways, and pinching every penny I could.

I was a designer. Once, to meet a client's deadline, I went forty-eight hours straight without sleep.

All that grinding earned me my first real savings, but it also destroyed my stomach.

When I transferred the 300 grand to Mom, I made it clear. "Mom, please keep this money safe for you and Dad. Spend the interest if you need to, but don't touch the principal.

"If I ever get sick, or if you or Dad fall seriously ill, this is our safety net."

What did she say back then?

She grabbed my hand, tears streaming down her face, and looked at me with so much love. "Charlotte, I know how hard you've worked. I promise I'll keep it safe for you. Not one penny will be touched."

Her rough hands felt so warm back then.

Looking back now, that warmth was so intense, as if it could burn me.

I turned off my phone screen, and my pale face stared back at me from the black glass.

I looked like a ghost.

The woman in the next bed was eating an apple, crunching loudly and crisply.

She saw me glued to my phone and asked kindly, "Honey, your family still hasn't shown up? You need someone to sign for your surgery soon."

I forced a smile, my throat so dry that it felt like it was on fire. "They'll be here soon."

"Oh, your mom sure is calm about this," the woman said, shaking her head. "If I were her, I would've dropped everything and come running."

I didn't say anything.

*****

Mom showed up.

And not just her. My "thoughtful" cousin, Emily Lane, tagged along, too.

They were right outside the room, their voices so loud that I could hear every word through the door.

"Aunt Linda, this handbag looks amazing on you. You look just like a rich socialite."

That was Emily's voice, sickly sweet.

"Oh, Emily, you really have an eye for this stuff. Charlotte never thinks about buying me anything like this. All she ever does is throw money at me. What good is money if there's no real thought behind it?"

That was my mom's voice, full of energy, brimming with that smug satisfaction from showing off.

The door swung open.

They didn't knock or hesitate. They barged right in.

Mom walked in wearing a dark red silk blouse, wearing the gold bracelet I'd gotten her last year, plus a string of pearls around her neck.

Emily trailed behind, carrying several shopping bags with logos so big that one couldn't miss them—Chanel, Gucci, all screaming for attention.

Wow, they sure weren't holding back with my 300 grand.

"Oh, you're awake," Mom said.

She didn't even glance at my IV. She walked straight to the chair by my bed, sat down like she owned the place, and tossed her new handbag onto the table.

"The doctor said we need to pay 15 thousand for the surgery deposit, and sign some consent forms."

Her tone was so flat, as if she were just talking about the price of milk going up at the grocery store.

I stared at her. "Where's the money?"

"What money?" She played dumb, her eyes flickering away as she started running her fingers through her hair.

"The 300 grand I sent you." My voice was weak, but every word hit hard. "That was my lifeline."

Emily peeled a grape, popping it into her own mouth instead of offering it to me.

She chimed in, "Charlotte, you're being so dramatic. Aunt Linda already said that the money was for my down payment.

"You know how crazily expensive houses are in Sunnerton. If I don't buy a place, how am I supposed to get married? You wouldn't let me end up alone forever, would you?"

She said it like the money was hers by right, like it had always belonged to her.

Chapter 1

I worked like a dog for ten years and saved up 300 thousand dollars. I transferred the money to my parents so they could have a comfortable retirement.

But when I got sick and needed emergency surgery, Mom said, "I used that money for Emily's down payment. You're not dead yet, so what's the hurry?"

Lying in my hospital bed, I stared at the chat and smiled coldly. Then I called the police and filed a lawsuit.

*****

The hospital reeked of disinfectant. The smell was cold, the kind that seeped right into the bones.

It was like that old, stubborn smell of rust, which could never scrub away, no matter how hard one tried. It kept crawling up my nose.

I lay in the hospital bed with an IV needle taped to the back of my left hand, the fluid dripping down the tube one slow drop at a time.

It was agonizingly slow.

It felt like each drop was ticking away the seconds of my life.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a priority alert from my favorites.

I struggled to swipe the screen open with my right hand, the glare stabbing at my eyes.

It was a social media notification, with a clickbait headline: [How to Legally Transfer Your Ungrateful Daughter's Money to Your Sweet Niece.]

I was about to swipe it away. Such clickbait headlines from random accounts were everywhere.

But then I saw the username "Halcyon (Linda)."

It was my mom.

At that moment, it felt like ice was running through my veins instead of the IV fluid.

I tapped on it, my fingers shaking.

The post went on for thousands of words, dripping with smugness, like she was sharing some kind of life-changing wisdom.

[My husband and I figured it out a long time ago. So what if she's our own daughter? She makes some decent money in the big city and then comes home with an attitude. We barely see her all year.

[She's so ungrateful. If we kept the money, it would just end up with some stranger. Luckily, my niece is so sweet and always knows how to make me happy. So I came up with a plan.

[The 300 grand my daughter sent for our retirement? I lent it to my niece for her down payment on a house, but really, I gave it to her. Once the money's in our account, it's ours.

The comments section was buzzing.

Some people called Mom out for being completely wrong, but a lot more agreed with her.

[The poster gets it. Young people these days can't be trusted. Just give your money to whoever actually cares about you.]

[A niece is still family. She'll be the one to take care of you when you're old. Once your daughter gets married, she's gone for good.]

Mom was all over the comments, chatting away like she was the star of the show.

[Exactly! My daughter only thinks about work and never bothers to call. But my niece is so thoughtful. She even gave me a foot bath last night.]

As I read, I suddenly started laughing.

I laughed so hard that the pain in my chest started throbbing.

But right now, I could barely scrape together the hospital deposit.

That 300 grand had come from ten years of bouncing around big cities. I had worked overtime day and night, living on instant noodles, crammed into packed subways, and pinching every penny I could.

I was a designer. Once, to meet a client's deadline, I went forty-eight hours straight without sleep.

All that grinding earned me my first real savings, but it also destroyed my stomach.

When I transferred the 300 grand to Mom, I made it clear. "Mom, please keep this money safe for you and Dad. Spend the interest if you need to, but don't touch the principal.

"If I ever get sick, or if you or Dad fall seriously ill, this is our safety net."

What did she say back then?

She grabbed my hand, tears streaming down her face, and looked at me with so much love. "Charlotte, I know how hard you've worked. I promise I'll keep it safe for you. Not one penny will be touched."

Her rough hands felt so warm back then.

Looking back now, that warmth was so intense, as if it could burn me.

I turned off my phone screen, and my pale face stared back at me from the black glass.

I looked like a ghost.

The woman in the next bed was eating an apple, crunching loudly and crisply.

She saw me glued to my phone and asked kindly, "Honey, your family still hasn't shown up? You need someone to sign for your surgery soon."

I forced a smile, my throat so dry that it felt like it was on fire. "They'll be here soon."

"Oh, your mom sure is calm about this," the woman said, shaking her head. "If I were her, I would've dropped everything and come running."

I didn't say anything.

*****

Mom showed up.

And not just her. My "thoughtful" cousin, Emily Lane, tagged along, too.

They were right outside the room, their voices so loud that I could hear every word through the door.

"Aunt Linda, this handbag looks amazing on you. You look just like a rich socialite."

That was Emily's voice, sickly sweet.

That was my mom's voice, full of energy, brimming with that smug satisfaction from showing off.

The door swung open.

They didn't knock or hesitate. They barged right in.

Mom walked in wearing a dark red silk blouse, wearing the gold bracelet I'd gotten her last year, plus a string of pearls around her neck.

Emily trailed behind, carrying several shopping bags with logos so big that one couldn't miss them—Chanel, Gucci, all screaming for attention.

Wow, they sure weren't holding back with my 300 grand.

"Oh, you're awake," Mom said.

She didn't even glance at my IV. She walked straight to the chair by my bed, sat down like she owned the place, and tossed her new handbag onto the table.

"The doctor said we need to pay 15 thousand for the surgery deposit, and sign some consent forms."

Her tone was so flat, as if she were just talking about the price of milk going up at the grocery store.

I stared at her. "Where's the money?"

"What money?" She played dumb, her eyes flickering away as she started running her fingers through her hair.

"The 300 grand I sent you." My voice was weak, but every word hit hard. "That was my lifeline."

Emily peeled a grape, popping it into her own mouth instead of offering it to me.

She chimed in, "Charlotte, you're being so dramatic. Aunt Linda already said that the money was for my down payment.

"You know how crazily expensive houses are in Sunnerton. If I don't buy a place, how am I supposed to get married? You wouldn't let me end up alone forever, would you?"

She said it like the money was hers by right, like it had always belonged to her.