My daughter’s new homeroom teacher started something she called the “Progress Prize Swap.” For every rank a student climbed in the class standings, they could swap a gift with any classmate of their choosing. The student chosen for the swap was not allowed to refuse, or they’d be accused of “disrupting class unity.” A cheap little hair clip was traded for a limited-edition Sparkle Kitty charm necklace. A half-used, grimy eraser was swapped for a brand-new set of watercolor paints. And a flimsy plastic baggie was forcefully exchanged for my daughter’s precious gold locket, a family heirloom. My daughter, the one I had cherished and raised with all the love in the world, had become a walking, talking “prize machine” for the underachievers to plunder. 1 For the past few days, my daughter, Monica, had been visibly wilting. Every afternoon when she came home from school, her little face was as wrinkled and distressed as a crumpled piece of homework. Even her favorite meal, honey-glazed chicken wings, sat untouched before her, failing to spark any interest. She’d poke at her rice with her fork, not a single grain eaten, before disappearing into her room. I knew something was wrong. I decided it was time for a heart-to-heart. Carrying a glass of warm milk, I stood before Monica’s door and knocked gently. "Monica-bug? I warmed up some milk for you. Is it okay if I come in?" I heard a faint rustling from inside. Monica’s voice was muffled and small. "Mommy, I don't want any milk today." My heart sank. I knew it. Something was deeply troubling her. "Well then…" I pressed lightly against the door, my voice even softer. "Mommy got a little beaten up by work today. Do you think I could borrow my little Monica’s ear for a minute?" The door creaked open, revealing a thin sliver of the room. Through the gap, Monica’s small face, framed by the warm yellow light, was tear-streaked and her eyes were red-rimmed. "Who bullied you, Mommy? I’ll go beat them up!" A wave of warmth and pride washed over me. I gently took her small hand in mine and followed her into the room. Monica clutched a fluffy teddy bear to her chest. I sat cross-legged on the rug beside her bed, my eyes level with her long, downcast lashes. "Sweetheart…" I began, lightly stroking the fuzzy fur on the teddy bear’s ear. "Can you tell Mommy what’s been dimming our little sunbeam lately?" Monica didn't say a word. She buried her face deep into the bear's soft belly. I raised my hand, my fingertips gently brushing through the stray strands of her hair. "Did something happen at school, Monica? Like… like that time someone snatched the new crayons Mommy bought you?" Monica finally lifted her face from the teddy bear. She was clutching its fluffy paws so tightly they were bent out of shape. I gently took her little hands, which were still gripping the toy. "You know, when I was a little girl," I said softly, "I used to tell my teddy bear all my secrets. Because teddy bears are the best at keeping them, right?" I paused, then leaned closer to her ear. "But I’ve learned something new, honey. Telling a secret to someone you trust can make your heart feel so much lighter." Suddenly, tears like broken strings of pearls began to fall from Monica's eyes, splashing onto the teddy bear. She clutched at my sleeve, her voice choked with sobs. "Mommy… if I tell you… will the other kids and the teacher think… think I’m a tattletale they all hate?" 2 My heart clenched violently, a hot fury churning in my chest. But I managed to keep my voice a gentle, soothing whisper. "Monica, you are Mommy’s precious daughter. How could telling me what’s in your heart ever be tattling?" I raised my hand and carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumb. "Look, your teddy bear is starting to cry, too. He wants to hear what’s wrong." Monica's eyelashes fluttered, and then with a great "Waaah," she threw herself into my arms. "Mommy, our new teacher, Ms. Grant, she started this… this ‘Progress Prize Swap.’ The students who improve their grades get to swap for other kids’ things." She let out a hiccupping sob. "Yesterday, Jasmine used a hair clip to take the Sparkle Kitty charm my godmother gave me. And today… today Charlie used a dirty eraser to take the whole set of watercolor paints you just bought me… I said I didn't want to trade, but Ms. Grant said I was disrupting class unity… and-and she made me copy pages from the textbook as punishment." Monica scrambled off the bed and walked over to her desk. From the very bottom of her school bag, she pulled out a crumpled plastic bag. My heart twisted painfully as she emptied its contents onto her desk. A pencil snapped in half. A butterfly-shaped barrette with most of its rhinestones missing. A filthy piece of an eraser, worn down to the size of a fingernail… My gaze fell on a few stickers, clearly torn from an old notebook, and a dull ache spread through my chest. These weren't gifts. This was the shredded dignity of my daughter, scraped away piece by piece over the last few days. Monica clutched the plastic bag, her lip trembling. "Luna Grant said this plastic bag was a ‘limited edition’… and she used it to take the little gold locket Grandma gave me." The realization hit me like a physical blow. I looked at my daughter’s empty neck. That locket… my own mother, on her deathbed, had gone to the church and prayed over it, a charm to keep Monica safe and blessed. And it had been taken, traded for a cheap, worthless plastic bag. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my rage from boiling over. "Monica, was the teacher there when this happened?" Fat tears splashed onto her bedsheets. She slowly opened her little hand, revealing several deep, crescent-shaped nail marks in her palm. "I’m sorry, Mommy. I couldn't protect the locket Grandma gave me…" Monica sobbed. "I held on to it so tight… but Ms. Grant… she pried my fingers open, one by one." "She said Luna Grant had shown the most improvement, so she deserved to wear it! She said that a girl as selfish as Monica was bound to have her grades slip." Monica’s body was shaking violently. "I-I looked up at Ms. Grant… and she was glaring at me… like a monster from a cartoon. And she said… she said that tattletales are hated by everyone in the class!" I quickly wrapped my arms around her, patting her thin back. Only then did I realize her school shirt was soaked with sweat. She was like a terrified fledgling, every bone in her tiny body trembling. "It's okay, sweetheart. It’s all over now." I kissed her damp forehead. "Mommy's here. Don't be afraid. Mommy will defeat the big, bad monster who bullied my Monica." 3 After I tucked Monica into bed, I softly closed her door. Staring at the blue glow of my phone screen, my stomach churned. The class parent group chat was buzzing with activity: [Charlie’s Mom]: "Ms. Grant, you are too kind! My little troublemaker came home today showing off his new watercolor set, said it was a prize from you for his progress!" [Jasmine’s Dad]: "What a brilliant teacher! My little Jasmine won't let go of that Sparkle Kitty charm, she even sleeps with it in her hand. She said Ms. Grant picked it out especially for her! " [Ethan’s Grandma]: "Ms. Grant is a true saint! My Ethan brought home a box of imported chocolates, a reward for his improvement. The boy has never had anything so fancy in his life! " [Mason’s Mom]: "Thank you, Ms. Grant, for your dedication! Mason brought back a beautiful set of hardcover storybooks today, his little face was flushed with excitement. This kind of motivation is so effective! His enthusiasm for studying is through the roof! " Then, a series of messages from [Isabelle Grant (Grade 1, Class 4 Teacher)] appeared. "Seeing the children's progress is my greatest reward!" "Truthfully, the key to this kind of 'incentive program' is to cultivate a spirit of sharing among the children." "Children today can be so self-centered. I just thought that by letting items circulate, they could learn the joy of giving." [Charlie’s Mom]: "Ms. Grant, you're amazing! For this year's 'Teacher of the Year' award, I will definitely get all my relatives to vote for you!" [Jasmine’s Dad]: "You are such an innovative educator! You deserve a national teaching award!" [Ethan’s Grandma]: "When the school board officials come for their review, we parents will absolutely nominate you!" [Mason’s Mom]: "Yes! We should all write a letter of commendation, get the local news to come and report on your progressive methods!" Every new message of praise felt like a poisoned needle, jabbing directly into my nerves. All of those "rewards" that Ms. Grant had so generously "prepared," the ones the parents were gushing over… they were all Monica’s. I typed out a message. Just as my finger was about to hit 'send,' the doorbell rang, sharp and piercing. Through the video intercom, I saw my next-door neighbor, Madeline, standing at the door, her hand clamped firmly on her son Leo’s collar. The moment I opened the door, before I could even speak, Madeline kicked the back of Leo’s knee. He stumbled forward with a thud, landing on the marble floor of my entryway. Madeline shoved a crumpled gift bag into my hands. "Eve, I’m so sorry. I’m here to make this little grifter of mine apologize to you." Before I could process what was happening, Leo held a pencil case out to me. Inside, neatly arranged, were Monica's stolen belongings: her Cinnamoroll eraser, her cartoon ruler set, and her favorite rainbow-colored highlighter pen. "Mrs. Miller, I'm sorry," he mumbled, his face red. "I shouldn't have forced Monica to trade with me." Madeline explained, her voice tight with anger. "I was checking his homework tonight and found this ridiculously pink pencil case on his desk. It’s obviously a little girl’s. He had the nerve to say Ms. Grant gave it to him as a prize." "But one glare from me and the truth came out. What a load of crap! A ‘Progress Prize Swap’? Using another kid’s most treasured things as rewards? What kind of monster is this Ms. Grant?!" 4 I tiptoed back into Monica's room and retrieved the crumpled plastic bag from her desk. Under the warm, yellow light of the living room, I laid out its contents on the coffee table, one by one. The barrette with the missing rhinestones, the broken pencil, the wrinkled stickers, the grimy shred of an eraser… Each item was a silent, heartbreaking indictment. Madeline’s face went from flushed with anger to pale with shock. "Those… those little monsters… and that woman, that Grant…" She took a deep breath. "Eve, we can't let this go. I have a contact at the District Superintendent's office, and I can rally the other parents in the group chat. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll back you up completely." I stared at the pathetic collection of broken objects on the table. Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind. "Wednesday is the school's annual Field Day," I said, looking up at Madeline, my voice firm. "I'm going to call Monica's dad and have him invite his colleagues from the 'Education Watch' news program to do a special feature." "I want to ask this Ms. Grant, in front of all the parents of the school—who gave you the right to use students' personal property as prizes for your 'program'?!" "Yes! That’s how you handle her!" Madeline raised her hand, about to slam it on the coffee table for emphasis, but then remembered Monica was asleep. She redirected the motion, giving her son Leo a sharp rap on the head instead. "Leo, you keep your mouth shut. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll have me to answer to!" The boy flinched, rubbing his head and nodding vigorously. "Oh, right." Madeline leaned in, a waft of her perfume following her. She pressed something small into my hand. "This is the latest model of a button camera. Have Monica clip it into her hair." Her finger pressed a tiny button, and a faint red light blinked from the center of the strawberry decoration on the hair clip. "It's high-def. It can capture the words on the blackboard and the mole on Ms. Grant’s face. It also streams live. Perfect for documenting her vile behavior." I thought of the tear-stained teddy bear still clutched in Monica’s arms. I pushed the clip back toward her. "Before I get justice, I will not let Monica set foot in that classroom again." Madeline reluctantly took the clip back. Then, her eyes lit up as she turned to her son. "Oh, Leo, your hair is so soft! This would look so cute on you!" Leo instinctively recoiled, his ears turning a bright, fiery red as he frantically covered his short hair with his hands. "I’m a boy!" "I know, I know," Madeline said with a dismissive wave, still dangling the clip temptingly. "You wore those pink bunny ears for Halloween last year…" "That was different!" Leo shot me a desperate, pleading look, his puppy-dog eyes begging for rescue. "Eve, please~" I couldn't help but smile, clearing my throat. "Madeline, don't give the kid such a hard time." "It’s not a hard time! I've always dreamed of having a daughter." She turned to her son, her gaze suddenly sharp. "Leo, don't you want to help get justice for Monica?" Leo froze. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and, with the look of a man marching to his doom, took the strawberry hair clip from his mother's hand. 5 On the morning of Field Day, as I was helping Monica with her uniform, my phone vibrated. "Eve, I am so, so sorry!" The voice of Zhang, the show's producer, was frantic. "There’s been a massive traffic accident on the New City expressway. The station has reassigned our whole crew to cover it… all our people and equipment are tied up." "It's alright. You handle what you need to," I said, but my mind was racing. What a coincidence. The knot I was tying in her uniform scarf came out crooked. "Mommy?" Monica gently tugged on my sleeve, her small face tilted up to mine. The shadows from her eyelashes were like two tiny, trembling fans. "Are we still going to Field Day?" I took a deep breath and knelt to meet her gaze. "Yes, we are." "Go ahead and start your warm-ups, sweetheart." I ruffled her soft hair. "Just like your teacher showed you in dance class, remember?" As I watched her obediently stretch into a graceful, swan-like pose, I hurried to the corner of the hallway and dialed Madeline's number. "Madeline, the TV crew can't make it. They said there was a huge accident on the expressway, and all their resources got diverted…" Madeline's voice on the other end rose in pitch. "What? How could they just—" A sharp, searing pain exploded at the back of my neck. The last thing I saw was a baseball bat swinging through the air. When I woke up, the dull throb in my head was mixed with the thick, cloying smell of rubber. My wrists were bound tightly with a rough jump rope, and a filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth. A thin line of light seeped through the crack of the equipment room’s metal door, and I could faintly hear the announcer’s voice from the sports field. "…and that concludes a successful Field Day! On a special note, we’ve received a joint letter of commendation from 58 parents. Now, let’s give a warm round of applause for Ms. Isabelle Grant, who will come to the podium to share some of her educational insights with us!" Amid the cheers, I heard Isabelle Grant’s voice, artificially soft and sweet, booming through the speakers. "First, I want to thank all the parents for their trust and support… The reason my ‘Progress Prize Swap’ has been so successful is that it dares to break the shackles of traditional education!" I gritted my teeth, scraping my wrists raw against the coarse rope. Just then, the lock on the equipment room door rattled with a heavy thud. "Eve, are you in there?" "Mrs. Miller! Are you okay?" I desperately kicked my heel against a metal rack of sports equipment, making as much noise as I could. The instant the door was finally forced open, blinding sunlight poured in. Madeline stood there, a fire axe held high in her hands, its blade glinting menacingly. Ignoring the raw, bleeding skin on my wrists, I scrambled to my feet and burst out of the equipment room. "…My educational philosophy is to allow valuable resources to flow to where they are most needed…" Isabelle's speech was reaching its crescendo. "This is what true educational equity looks like!" I pushed my way through the milling crowd. The "Education Watch" camera crew, the one that was supposed to be at an accident scene, was now diligently adjusting the lighting for Isabelle. And my husband, Mark, who was supposed to be out of town on business, was standing at the side of the stage, his gaze fixed on Isabelle with an unmistakable look of tenderness. A firestorm of rage erupted in my chest, my nails digging deep into my palms. But in the next second, a mother’s instinct took over, forcing my eyes away, frantically searching the crowd for Monica. When I finally reached the large tree behind the main stage, the scene before me sent ice through my veins.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393904", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel