Chapter 3

A week after the new semester started, the school announced that the dorm and textbook fees would cost 2,800 dollars altogether.

The DNA test had already eaten up almost all the money I had, so after hesitating for a while, I finally picked up the courage to call Mom.

When I told her what I wanted, there was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

"Why do you need money again? Didn't I just give 300 dollars last month?"

"That was for my living expenses. This is for tuition."

"Ugh, fine. I'll transfer it to you later."

I waited a whole week, but nothing came. So I called Mom again. "Mom, the tuition…"

"Beth, why is it that every time you call, you're asking for money? Harper's dance classes cost 4,000 dollars a semester, and Simon just signed up for driving school. Even though you're our adopted daughter, you're already an adult now. You can't just keep asking us for money."

Maybe I stayed quiet for too long, because when Mom finally spoke again, her voice had turned a little awkward. "How about the end of the month? I'll transfer it once I get paid."

By the end of the month, the school had already sent me three reminders about the unpaid fees, and I still hadn't received anything from Mom.

Then my counselor messaged me privately. "Beth, is something going on at home? Are you having trouble with the fees?"

I stared at my phone, typing out several lines before deleting them one by one. In the end, I replied, "Things are a little tight at home right now. I'll definitely pay it next week."

When I went home Friday night, I heard Mom talking to my dad, Jared Ingram, before I even walked through the door.

"Beth's tuition is 2,800 dollars. Transfer it to her."

"We're out of money again? Didn't you just give her money last month?"

"What can that amount even cover? Harper's shoes alone cost 800 dollars. If you hadn't insisted on adopting her back then…"

I pushed the door open, and they both looked at me at the same time, their faces full of guilt.

I pretended I hadn't heard a thing, changed my shoes, and went inside.

The next morning, I got a notification on my phone. I'd received 300 dollars, and the note read, "This month's living expenses. Make it last."

Of the tuition money I needed, I had only gotten 300 dollars.

Sitting on my dorm bed, I laughed for a long time until my eyes started to sting. Yet, I didn't call to ask for the rest.

Instead, I jotted down the amount in my old ledger. I'd been keeping track of every penny since I was eight—what I ate, what I used, and every bit of money I received.

I didn't want my "adoptive" parents to lose money because of me, and I wanted to grow up quickly, get a job, and pay them back.

Over the past 14 years, the total came to 48, 562.70 dollars.

But I'd spent all those years working as the family's unpaid maid, doing things they would've had to pay someone else to do.

Ten dollars for each meal. Three dollars for cleaning the house.

At that rate, I'd have paid back everything they'd ever spent on me a long time ago.

I didn't owe my parents anything anymore—not for giving birth to me, and not for raising me. And I didn't want to owe them anything ever again.

My roommate, Tanya Kirk, noticed I was upset and asked me what was wrong.

I tossed my overheated phone onto the bed. "Do you know any part-time jobs that pay fast?"

Tanya looked a little surprised. "Don't you already have a few part-time jobs? And with grades like yours, why aren't you going to grad school?"

"I'm broke."

Tanya paused, and a few minutes later, she found me a part-time job waiting tables at a nice hotel. I'd help clear plates and wipe down tables during lunch and dinner, with meals included as part of the job. The pay was 200 dollars a day.

Fortunately, I barely had any classes to attend during my senior year.

A month later, I'd saved enough to pay for tuition.

The day I paid it off, I treated myself to a bowl of beef stew.

Just then, a freshman walked past with her arm linked through her mom's. The two of them chatted as the girl laughed happily.

I looked down at my phone. Mom's last message was still from two weeks ago. It read, "Beth, the curtains need washing. Come back this weekend and take them down."

So I went home as she'd asked, washed the curtains, and mopped the floors while I was at it.

Mom sat on the couch scrolling through short videos, occasionally looking up at me. "Beth, do you have enough money to get through this month?"

I paused because this was the first time she'd ever asked me that.

"Yeah."

She nodded. "Great. Harper spent too much this month, so I need to cover some of it for her. Be understanding, okay? After all…"

I knew what she didn't say. Because I was adopted, I didn't deserve to live too well.

But I was the one struggling to get by now, while Harper got to live comfortably.

How could she not feel guilty about that?

I continued mopping the floor without saying another word.