Chapter 3

Mr. Bradshaw simply glanced at me, before he addressed Bella.

“I’ve told you before, stay away from people like her,” he said coldly.

Then he turned to me. “You’ve knocked over the desk. You’re always causing trouble, aren’t you? Of course, coming from a family like yours, I shouldn’t expect any better.”

I stumbled to my feet, disbelief flooding my mind.

I hadn’t expected him to stand by and say nothing only to ridicule me after.

Madeline had mentioned him before.

When I’d talked to him about her, he’d spoken kindly, acknowledging her rebellious phase and promising to look out for her.

But now, reflecting on his words, I realized he had only ever spoken about Madeline’s faults.

And I had foolishly believed him.

Unable to hold back, I tried to defend myself. “They started it! They poured this all over me, and—”

Mr. Bradshaw cut me off sharply.

“Stop making excuses. If you’re not the problem then why is it that you always get picked on? And now you’re arguing with me? You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?”

I fell silent, unable to find a response.

Deep down, I even found myself blaming Madeline. She couldn’t handle her social life, let alone defend herself at school.

Reluctantly, I trudged toward the door with Mr. Bradshaw’s voice trailing after me.

“So class, avoid talking to girls from unrefined families like hers. People like that have small minds…”

His words dripped with disdain for my family.

To be honest, our situation at home wasn’t that bad.

My husband passed away a few years ago and I had no choice but to leave my two children with their grandmother while I went out to work.

By sheer luck, I had secured startup funding and ran my own company. While I couldn’t compare to the wealth of the ultra-privileged, I was still well-off.

Having worked alone for so long, I’d faced unfair treatment from many sources and had to swallow my pride and push through the challenges.

Unfortunately, the people I crossed paths with were ones I couldn’t afford to offend.

When I went home, all I wanted was for my children to understand my struggles. But I never imagined Madeline would be ridiculed at school because of our background.

I felt lost.

It was a chilly winter day, and though I wore a puffer jacket, I still felt cold. On top of that, my body was soaked.

Madeline’s classroom was on the terrace where the wind blew relentlessly.

I stood there, shivering. My knees and private parts burned with pain.

We had four classes that morning, and not a single teacher seemed interested in calling me inside.

I endured the cold all morning, and by lunchtime, I thought I might finally get a break.

I fumbled for Madeline’s meal card.

When it came to my children’s necessities, I had always been unwilling to hold back so the card was loaded with money.

As soon as I entered the cafeteria, however, someone snatched the card right out of my hand.

“Well, well, look who’s here—the little cash cow,” a voice jeered.

I instinctively reached for my card, but my body trembled uncontrollably, as though my actions were driven by some primal response to trauma.

I recalled how I had been surrounded and bullied earlier in the day, and the impulse to snatch the card back was suddenly smothered.

I let them take the card and swipe it for several expensive meals.

I had once criticized Madeline for eating too much, accusing her of not valuing my hard work.

Now I realized she had never had a chance to enjoy good food.

A heavy sadness came over me.