Chapter 4
The next second, a bunch of super contrasting photos started flashing by.
Every single one was a screenshot from my mom's social media.
On the left was her, with flawless makeup and tight skin, looking even younger than me.
On the right, it was me, edited to look gaunt, chubby, totally spaced out, and completely out of style.
The visual shock was so intense that the entire classroom fell completely silent.
Then, there was an explosion of whispered chatter.
Someone said, "Damn, with Photoshop skills like that, she could totally pull off being a fraudster."
Another echoed, "No wonder her daughter had to stream and clap back. This mom is a total nightmare."
A third chimed in, "If my mom was like that, I'd be out of there in a heartbeat."
All the color drained from my mom's face in an instant.
She froze in place, staring at her own vanity and malice magnified on the screen, feeling as if she had been stripped naked and exposed in front of everyone.
My dad was sitting in the back row, his face ashen and his fists clenched tightly.
Even in such a public setting, he couldn't help but feel ashamed of what my mom had done.
When the slideshow wrapped up, the whole room burst into thunderous applause.
Then it was time for the student representative to speak.
Archie made his way to the podium, scanning the crowd before his gaze settled on me.
"Real beauty comes from confidence and kindness within, not from editing apps or putting others down just to feel good about yourself," he said.
My mom couldn't take it anymore.
Under the stares of all the students and parents, she covered her face and fled the classroom like a stray dog.
As soon as the parent-teacher meeting ended, the biggest fight in the history of our family broke out.
"Harley Lincoln! What the hell do you think you're doing?" my dad shouted.
His voice was so loud, it felt like the roof might blow right off.
He snapped, "You photoshopped your own kid to look like a joke and posted it online for everyone to see. Does that make you feel proud?"
My mom sat on the sofa, stubbornly defending herself at first.
She said, "It was just a joke. Who knew she would be so petty about it?
"Come on, what woman doesn't want to look good and stay young?"
My dad laughed angrily.
"A joke? You call that a joke? You were out to destroy her," he shouted.
Seeing my dad truly lose his temper this time, my mom switched gears in a flash.
She dropped to her knees with a thud, clinging to my dad's legs and wailing.
"Honey, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she wailed.
She pulled a medical report out of her bag, something I had never seen before.
"I didn't mean to do it. But the doctor said I have severe postpartum depression. I couldn't control myself," she sobbed.
Here we go again with this trick.
My dad looked at her tear-streaked face and the official medical report stamped with a red seal, and his attitude softened once more.
He let out a long sigh and pulled me to his side.
"Jessica, your mom didn't mean it. She's sick," he said.
My heart sank.
The final resolution was that my mom would post a tearful apology letter online under my dad's supervision.
In the letter, she blamed all her actions on "postpartum depression" and "a mother's excessive desire to stay beautiful," painting herself as a pitiful, sympathetic figure.
And I had to reply in the comment section. [I forgive you, mom.]
Only then would the matter be considered closed.
I did as I was told.
Because I knew that arguing with her was pointless. I had more important things to do.
A week later, I received a call from the city TV station.
I passed the final interview and could start my internship early.
This news was the only ray of light in my dark life.
In my previous life, this ray of light had been snuffed out by my mom with her own hands.
When she heard the news, she broke into a wide smile.
"Jessica, you're amazing. I'm so proud of you. Tonight, I'll make you some soup to give you a real treat," she said.
She turned and walked into the kitchen, but there was something dark and twisted in the way she left, something I just couldn't figure out.
I kept my guard up. While she was making the soup, I secretly turned on the voice recorder on my phone in the living room.
That night, she came over with a steaming bowl of soup, set it down in front of me, and gave me that sweet, caring look.
"Come on, Jessica, drink up. It'll make your skin look amazing. So you'll look great on screen," she coaxed.