I’m the valedictorian my mother raised with a thin cane. When I was five, if I got a problem wrong, Mom would whip me with it. Even when my little brother died accidentally, she was yelling at me: "What are you crying for? Get back to your work!" After getting my SAT scores, a perfect score that got me into Harvard, news outlets swarmed to interview me. I took the microphone, and under my mother’s expectant gaze, I gave a cold smile: "My mother destroyed my life, and now I'm going to destroy hers." 1 My mother is a well-respected university professor. From the time I was tiny, she was incredibly strict with me. In kindergarten, I’d already learned everything through elementary school. Mom taped a grueling schedule to my desk, like something out of boot camp: 5:30 AM wake-up, study straight through until midnight. School during the day meant pulling all-nighters to finish the assignments Mom gave me on top of that. My pillow was a stack of thick textbooks and workbooks. Mom said, "This way, you can start studying the second you open your eyes." In kindergarten, while my brother and the other kids played, I sat quietly at my desk, working on practice tests. When my teacher saw my perfect score on a sixth-grade level test, her eyes lit up. She told my mother with admiration, "Your daughter is a genius. She's brilliant, just like you." Then her tone shifted as she looked towards my brother, who was causing trouble nearby. "But, her little brother needs to work hard to catch up to his sister." Mom shot my brother a disgusted look. She pressed her hand heavily on my shoulder, leaned down, and stared at me: "Sarah, you must get into Harvard. Otherwise, you’ll be letting down all my hard work." To make sure I succeeded, Mom moved us closer to the school. Right after we moved into the new apartment, the kid upstairs cried constantly, making a racket. Hearing the crying, my pace on my practice problems immediately slowed down. Mom, standing over me, supervising, frowned and stormed upstairs. "He's just a toddler crying, what can I do?" The neighbor defended herself. "Besides, maybe your daughter just can't focus? Otherwise, how could it bother her?" Ten minutes later, Mom came back downstairs, her face dark. The next day, the kid from upstairs was playing in the courtyard outside. Mom took my hand and walked towards him, her voice suddenly sweet. "Honey, Auntie Linda wants to buy you a Coke." The little boy happily took it, chugged it down, and threw the can in the trash. That night, bloodcurdling screams echoed from the apartment upstairs. The kid’s voice was completely raw, almost gone. Mom didn't seem to care. She picked up her cane. "Alright, no more distractions now. If you're slow with your work again, Mommy will have to punish you." I looked at the red welts crisscrossing the palm of my hand and shivered. When I studied, Mom was always right there, watching me. Getting an answer wrong meant getting hit. Being too slow meant getting hit. Sometimes a slap, sometimes the cane. After hitting me, she’d say gravely, "Mommy is doing this for your own good. This is how I was raised, too. I owe my success today to your grandma." "You'll thank me for this someday." 2 My brother Kevin was a year younger than me. His grades were terrible, he hated studying, and all he wanted to do was play. Mom was deeply disappointed in him, seeing him as a lost cause. She'd whisper in my ear, "Your brother is a bad influence. Stay away from him." But I didn't think Kevin was bad. He was just a little mischievous, but he had a good heart. Sometimes, when Mom wasn't looking, Kevin would sneak into my room and beg me to play with him. But Mom found out. Her face turned stony. She grabbed Kevin's ear, yanked him up, and threw him hard onto the floor. His head hit with a loud thud. "Kevin Miller! If you won't try harder yourself, don't you dare drag your sister down with you!" I was terrified. I grabbed Mom's hand, crying, pleading, "Mom, Kevin wasn't bothering me..." Mom shoved my hand away. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from him?" she snapped. "What are you standing there gawking for? Get back to your room and study!" Kevin picked himself up off the floor, glared angrily at Mom, and ran off. After that day, he never came to my room again. Once we started elementary school, Kevin's grades got even worse. Mom pointed at a video playing on her phone, interrogating Kevin furiously, "Kevin Miller, are you trying to get yourself killed? Sneaking onto the computer again!" Kevin's eyes went wide, his face drained of color. I looked at the video, and a chill ran down my spine. I felt cold from head to toe. A wave of immense fear washed over me. Mom had installed hidden cameras in our rooms. Mom completely gave up on Kevin then. Later, I got another perfect score on a test. Mom looked through my paper, nodding with satisfaction. Just then, Kevin cautiously handed Mom his test paper, saying with a bit of pride, "Mom, I improved a lot this time. My teacher even praised me." I looked at Kevin and smiled, feeling happy for him. Mom took the paper, Kevin watching her with hopeful eyes. The next second, her face blank, she ripped it to shreds. "You barely got a C-minus, and you expect me to praise you?" "You useless child!" Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me into my room to study. I glanced back. Kevin was still standing there, head hanging low in disappointment. "Sarah, your brother is a failure," Mom said flatly. "You have to make me proud." 3 When I was eight, I won first place in the National Math Olympiad. I was the youngest winner ever. The news shocked our small city. Reporters and media outlets flocked to our house for interviews. "Mrs. Miller, is it because you're a teacher yourself that your daughter is so exceptional?" "Could you tell us how you usually educate your children?" Mom beamed at the microphone, glowing with pride, eagerly sharing her parenting tips: "Parents must be deeply involved in their child's studies. Children naturally lack self-control, so you have to manage every aspect of their lives constantly, eliminate all distractions. That's the only way they can focus entirely on learning." "My daughter is going to be a top scorer, get into Harvard, so I have to be extremely strict with her from a young age." "I keep a thin cane in the house. If she gets one problem wrong, I give her ten taps on the palm. Another wrong answer, twenty taps. That way, she's afraid to make mistakes, and the next time she sees that type of problem, she'll remember it." "Discipline is essential in raising children. When they feel the pain, they learn their lesson. Talking to them nicely hundreds of times isn't as effective as one good spanking." The next day, Mom's interview spread like wildfire online. Headlines screamed— "Mother Uses Cane to Mold Future Harvard Student." Suddenly, the cane became the must-have parenting tool, selling like crazy online. Parents everywhere started imitating Mom's methods. Seeing my achievements, most netizens agreed with her, though a few dissenting voices popped up. "Isn't that child abuse? You don't need to treat kids like that, do you?" But they were quickly shouted down by other parents: "What do you know? Her mother is an outstanding teacher." "That's why your kid is a loser who can't get into a good school." "I started disciplining my kid, and he actually sits down and does his homework now." 4 After winning the award, I was hailed as a prodigy. In contrast, Mom despised Kevin even more. Things came to a head when a parent showed up at our door with their son, who was bruised and swollen. "Look what your son did to my boy!" Kevin's classmate's face was puffed up like a balloon, and he was crying uncontrollably. His father pointed a finger at my mother, yelling furiously on our doorstep: "Your son is nothing but a thug, a little punk! His grades stink, and he's always causing trouble at school!" Mom looked mortified, bowing slightly and apologizing over and over. Neighbors heard the commotion and gathered around, whispering and pointing at Mom. Kevin froze, trying desperately to explain: "H-he hit me first." Nobody listened. Everyone looked at him with disgust. I tried to defend him: "Kevin's grades aren't great, but he would never bully anyone, he..." Before I could finish, Mom shot me a look that silenced me instantly. I shrank back, terrified, the old welts on my palms seeming to throb again. "And you call yourself the mother of a genius, a respected teacher? Your own son acts like this." "Guess your parenting skills aren't so great after all." "Talking a big game about your methods, boasting about how your kid will be a top scorer." The other parent sneered relentlessly. Mom clenched her fists, her face growing darker and darker. In the end, Mom paid the other family a large sum for medical expenses to make it go away. Kevin was terrified Mom would beat him, his legs shaking uncontrollably. But Mom just said one thing before going to her room. Her face was eerily calm, frighteningly so. "Kevin Miller, you are such an embarrassment to me!" 5 That weekend, Mom did something unusual: she took Kevin and me to the beach. Kevin was happily playing with a toy car. Curious, I asked him, "Who gave you that?" He grinned. "Mommy got it for me!" I smiled. Maybe Mom didn't hate Kevin so much anymore. On the sand, Kevin was busy building a sandcastle. I pointed to an ice cream cart nearby and said to Mom, who seemed distracted, "Mom, I want some ice cream from over there." Mom managed a small smile and took my hand. "Okay, let's go get some." Then she looked at Kevin, her voice gentle. "Kevin, Mommy's taking Sarah to get ice cream. Don't wander off, okay?" Kevin was looking down, searching for something. "Mom, my toy car is gone." I was eager for ice cream. "Kevin, I'll help you look after we get back." I picked out a chocolate ice cream for Kevin too. Mom didn't look pleased about that. Suddenly, someone on the beach started yelling frantically, "Help! A kid fell into the water!" I froze. The ice cream slipped from my hand and fell onto the sand. When they pulled Kevin out of the water, he wasn't breathing. At the police station, Mom covered her face, sobbing heartbrokenly. "I'm so sorry. It seems your son drowned trying to retrieve this toy car." "He was clutching it tightly in his hand when we found him." A police officer, looking apologetic, handed the toy car to Mom. I stopped crying, my head snapping towards Mom. Her face was etched with grief, but was that... a tiny smirk playing on her lips? Suddenly, I remembered seeing Mom throw something towards the ocean earlier. It was the toy car. 6 Back home, Mom’s sorrow vanished, replaced by a blank expression. I tearfully grabbed her hand. "Mom, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have asked for ice cream." Mom slapped me hard across the face. "Do you realize how much time you've wasted today?" she said coldly. "You still have time to cry? Get back to your room and study!" "You can't waste your energy on meaningless things like this. Focus!" To Mom, Kevin's death... Was meaningless? My chest tightened. I felt suffocated, like I couldn't breathe. I stumbled back to my room, the pen trembling in my hand. My mind felt blocked; I couldn't solve a single problem. From outside my door came the sound of a furious argument. My dad, Frank, who hadn't been home in ages, was back. Dad was a struggling painter, a gentle soul who spent most of his time hidden away in his studio. Mom scoffed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well, look who decided to come home. Tired of hiding in your studio with your pathetic paintings?" Dad frowned, demanding, "Linda! Where's Kevin?" He had heard the news and rushed home. "Dead." "How could you let this happen?! How weren't you watching him?!" Mom’s voice rose, sharp and accusatory. "Frank Miller, you have the nerve to say that? I gave up my PhD for you! You promised you'd make something of yourself, and look at you now!" "You don't work a real job, just chasing your ridiculous dream! I'm the one supporting this family, and now you blame me for not watching the kids properly?" "Your son was just like you – a useless failure!" I buried my face in my arms on the desk, sobbing uncontrollably. In the end, Dad just… fled. He left again. 7 After Kevin died, Mom pushed me even harder. My wake-up time shifted to 5 AM, and bedtime was pushed back an hour. She struck my palm fiercely with the cane. "You're my only child now, Sarah. You absolutely cannot disappoint me!" I was always first in my grade, perfect scores in every subject. And so, I started middle school. Nobody wanted to be near me; nobody wanted to be my friend. All I knew was studying. I couldn't relate to their conversations. I didn't talk much, always kept to myself – eating alone, walking to school alone, never having a partner for group projects... Kevin was gone, Dad rarely came home, I had no friends. It was just Mom and me in the house. I felt incredibly lonely. I mustered the courage to talk to Mom about it. She just scoffed, her expression dismissive. "They'll only hold you back, distract you from your studies. Don't waste your time and energy on them." "If you have time for pointless thoughts like that, you'd be better off doing a few more practice sets." "Have you mastered all the high school material yet?" One day after school, it started pouring rain. I didn't have an umbrella and didn't want Mom to pick me up. I walked slowly along the side of the road, head down. I wanted to delay going home. Delay returning to that suffocating house. Suddenly, a large umbrella appeared over my head, shielding me from the drizzle. A girl with a neat, short haircut, her school uniform skirt hemmed a bit shorter than regulation, had a lollipop sticking out of her mouth. She looked a bit rebellious. She held the umbrella over both of us, grinned widely, showing a row of white teeth, and said cheerfully, "Hey, why are you walking alone in the rain?" Seeing my blank stare, she pretended to be hurt. "No way, you don't recognize me? I'm Chloe Evans! I sit behind you." Chloe wasn't a great student, but she was outgoing and had lots of friends. She casually slung an arm around my shoulders. I flinched back instinctively, not used to it. No one had ever been that close to me before. Chloe saw my shyness and burst out laughing. "Hahaha, you're actually really cute! I thought you were super cold." "I always see you alone, not talking to anyone. You seem lonely." "I've wanted to be friends with you for a while." I paused, a small smile touching my lips. It felt like ripples spreading across calm water inside me. She pulled another lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. "Have some candy." The lollipop was sweet, just like the feeling blossoming inside me. Mom never let me eat much sugar; she thought junk food like that would lower my IQ. That day, I got home ten minutes later than usual. Mom hit my palm twenty times with the cane. But despite the punishment, my mood was still exceptionally bright. 8 After that day, Chloe and I became friends. She'd eat lunch with me, walk home with me, partner with me for group assignments… In art class, the assignment was to draw "Your Most Unforgettable Moment." "Wow, Sarah, is that the time we snuck out and picked apples from the tree behind the school?" Chloe leaned close, pointing at my drawing board. "This looks amazing! Sarah, you're going to be an artist someday!" I froze, then gave a self-deprecating smile. Absolutely not. Mom hated painters. When I was four, Dad used to hold me in the yard and teach me how to draw. His eyes would sparkle. "Painting is wonderful, Sarah. It can capture all the beautiful, romantic things around us." Dad said I had a real talent for it. Because of him, my secret dream had always been to paint. Later, Mom found out Dad was secretly teaching me. She built a fire and burned all of Dad's cherished paintings. Every single one. Dad was devastated. That incident was why he preferred hiding in his studio to coming home. To punish me, Mom hit my palm over a hundred times with the cane. Her face was dark with fury as she struck me, ranting, "Your goal is to be the top scorer, get into Harvard, then get your PhD, and end up like me, a university professor!" "Do you want to end up like your father? Worthless, weak, a pathetic 'artist' with nothing to his name?" "I'm warning you, if you ever touch a paintbrush again, you might as well just die!" She gripped my hand, hitting it again and again. My hand was raw, bleeding, flesh torn. I sobbed uncontrollably, crying out, "Mom, I'm sorry, I won't ever paint again..." Just then, Chloe's envious voice pulled me back to the present. "I'm so jealous of you. Your mom's a professor, your dad's an artist, you guys are rich... not like my family..." She lowered her head, looking dejected.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "392408", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel