Mom Gave Away My Grad Spot

As I watched that woman on stage, standing there with such righteous indignation and putting on an act of selflessness, I couldn’t help but find it absurd.

When I was ten, I came down with a high fever and curled up weakly on the sofa, barely conscious.

My mother, however, was already grabbing her bag and hurrying out, about to lock the door.

"Mom, I don't feel well..." I cried, begging her to take me to the hospital.

But she pulled her hand away.

"Quinn just transferred schools and isn’t adjusting well. She's having an emotional breakdown, and I need to go counsel her.

"You're just running a fever. Sleep it off, and you'll be fine. Don't act spoiled!"

That day, my fever became so severe that I had a seizure at home and nearly died.

When she finally came home in the middle of the night and saw vomit all over the floor, there wasn't a trace of concern on her face. Instead, she reprimanded me for being irresponsible.

"Some people can't even afford to eat, while you were born into such a privileged family. How can you not even know how to take care of yourself?"

Back then, I thought I hadn't done well enough.

So I studied like my life depended on it, desperately trying to become someone she could be proud of.

For the core data in those two SCI papers, I pulled countless all-nighters for months.

I ended up in the emergency room twice with stomach bleeding. Even the doctors warned me that if I kept pushing myself like that, I could die.

And Quinn?

She used the financial aid my mother gave her, and every day, aside from sleeping, she went shopping with her roommates. Even her final exams barely scraped by the passing mark.

And now, the results I'd practically traded my life for.

With one lighthearted excuse about avoiding any appearance of favoritism, Mom had handed them to someone who couldn't do anything.

"I refuse to accept this."

I stared straight at Mom.

"Graduate school recommendations are based on GPA and research achievements, not on who can tell the saddest story.

"If Professor Sylvia Shaw thinks she's qualified, fine. I demand that Quinn Hammond's comprehensive evaluation records be reviewed publicly!"

Mom's face immediately darkened.

"Leah Collins! Are you questioning the university's decision?"

"I'm questioning you!"

My eyes filled with tears.

"You're talking about avoiding favoritism because you can't use your authority to seek personal benefits for your own family!

"My GPA is the highest in the entire university, and I received top marks in the blind review. What right do you have to block me?"

"Enough!"

A low voice suddenly came from beside me.

Louis Yost, my boyfriend of two years, stood up and grabbed my wrist.

He lowered his voice, his tone full of reproach.

"Leah, can you stop making a scene?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

Louis frowned, his eyes filled with disappointment in me.

"Prof. Shaw is always so strict with you. Isn't that precisely because she wants to avoid any suspicion of favoritism? And now you're openly challenging her in front of everyone. Are you trying to back her up against the wall?

"Besides, Quinn is so pitiful. She doesn't even have a decent computer.

"You have everything. You could even get in on your own merits. What's wrong with giving her your spot? Do you really have to be this selfish?"

I froze. His grip on my wrist hurt, but the pain in my chest hurt even more.

I looked at the boyfriend I'd loved for two years, the man I'd even planned a future with, and yet here he was defending another woman.

Then I looked up at my own mother, who was staring at me with a warning in her eyes.

So this was how they saw me.

All my hard work was worthless. Being good at what I did was the original sin that made me deserve to be sacrificed.

I looked at Louis and slowly pried his fingers off my wrist.

A tear fell onto the back of my hand and spread out.

"Fine. Be all high and mighty."

I picked up the graduate recommendation application form from the table and tore it to pieces without hesitation.

Under my mother's stunned gaze, I walked out of the auditorium without looking back.