Tyler's pov "You ungrateful piece of shit,” my mom yelled through the phone. “After everything I’ve done for you, Tyler. I even decided to keep you instead of flushing you out when I had the opportunity to.” It was nothing new, but the story was always new. “I told you I don’t have that kind of money,” I said calmly. “You told me you were working, didn’t they pay you?” she asked, anger lacing her tone. “Even if they did, it’s not much,” I replied, frustration edging into my voice. “I don’t care. Find it. You have seven months to come up with the money and send it. That’s the least you can do for your mother.” She ended the call. I hated my life. Ever since my dad died of liver cancer when I was twelve, my mom had spiraled—drinking, gambling, constantly taking out loans she couldn’t pay back, then guilt-tripping me into covering them. She also went as far as making her boyfriends touch me so they could pay her. In high school I survived on scholarships and had to go t
Última actualización : 2026-02-22 Leer más