My mother always told me that every child only gets to say "Mommy" a thousand times. By the time I was six, I had already used nine hundred and ninety-nine. "If you say it one more time, Mommy will die, and you'll be all alone." I believed her. From that day on, I never said it again. Twenty years later, in the bridal suite before my wedding, she looked at me with terrified, hopeful eyes. "Chloe, honey... could you say it just one more time? Just once?" I looked at the chest of solid gold jewelry she was offering me and gently used that very last time. "Mommy." Then, I looked her in the eye. "That was one thousand. When are you going to die?" ...... 1 Chapter 1 The harsh vanity lights made the burn scars on her face look even more terrifying. The chest dropped from her hands with a heavy clang, scattering glittering gold jewelry all over the floor. The bridal suite went dead silent for a heartbeat before exploding into chaos. "Did... did I hear that right?" "Your mother drove all this way to give you a dowry, and you wish she was dead?" A crowd of relatives and friends swarmed in, their voices overlapping. "She’s clearly embarrassed to be seen with her mother looking like that." "Unbelievable. A daughter shouldn't care if her mother is ugly. Look at all this gold; she probably spent her life savings on this, and this is the thanks she gets!" "I bet the mother got those scars because of her. She’s subhuman!" My mother scrambled to pick up the gold jewelry, her hands shaking. Among the gold, a single silver bangle lay quietly near my foot. I bent down and picked it up. My mother looked up, her voice trembling. "Chloe, that bracelet... I had it fixed for you. All these years, Haley never wore it..." She finished gathering the gold and packed it back into the chest, offering it to me with both hands. "Chloe, I just want you to be happy." I took the chest without expression. "I’ll take the stuff. As for the blessing, save it for your real daughter, Haley." The room gasped again. "This is too much!" "Someone record this. I’m putting her on TikTok. The whole world needs to see this monster." My best friend, Sarah, rushed in from outside, spreading her arms to shield me. "None of you know the truth! How dare you say that about Chloe?" I gave Sarah’s hand a grateful pat, then sat back down in front of the vanity mirror. I let the makeup artist continue applying foundation, trying to hide the scar on my forehead. I got that scar twenty years ago, fighting Haley for this very silver bangle. It’s been twenty years. Now the bracelet is back in my hand, but it’s too small to fit my wrist. Just like the word "Mommy," I no longer crave it. I let out a soft, detached smile. "It seems today is a good day to settle old debts." Under their judgmental stares, I began to tell the story of the past. 2 Chapter 2 When I was little, my mother was my entire world. My father died before I was born, but I never felt like I was missing anything because my mother gave me all her love. She gave me the center of the cinnamon rolls, the tips of the strawberries, and made me the prettiest dresses. I loved clinging to her, chasing her around the house all day, yelling "Mommy, Mommy." She would always put down whatever she was doing, scoop me up, set me on her lap, and rub her nose against my forehead. "Mommy’s here. Mommy’s right here." I thought we would be happy like this forever. Until I was six, and my stepfather moved in with his daughter, Haley. That day, my mother put on nice clothes and beautiful makeup, checking herself in the mirror over and over. I ran over and hugged her. "Mommy, you look so pretty." She flinched as if I were made of fire, taking a sharp step back. She looked in terror at my stepfather and Haley standing in the doorway. She bent down, looking me straight in the eye. "Chloe, Mommy has to tell you something important." "Every child only gets to call their mom 'Mommy' a thousand times in their whole life. You’ve already used nine hundred and ninety-nine." I froze. "If you say it one more time, Mommy will die, and you won't have a mommy anymore." "Do you understand?" I fought back the tears in my eyes and nodded vigorously. From that day on, I never called her Mommy again. When I was happy and wanted to share something with her, that word would rush to my lips, only for me to desperately swallow it back down. When I woke up screaming from a nightmare at night, my first instinct was to clamp my hands tightly over my mouth. I was terrified that if I wasn't careful, I would accidentally kill her. I lived my life with that kind of agonizing caution, like a poor child holding their very last match, afraid to strike it for light. I was no longer the cherished child who got the cinnamon roll centers and strawberry tips. 3 Chapter 3 After my stepfather and Haley moved in, my mother lectured me every single day. She said I was the older sister, so I had to make concessions for Haley. A happy home requires harmony, she said. If things were harmonious, life would be better for us all. One afternoon, my mother baked a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. I smelled the delicious scent and ran out of my room. But I saw Haley already sitting at the kitchen table. She was picking every single chocolate chip out of every cookie with her fingers, putting them into her own bowl. My stepfather watched the whole time but didn't say a word. I looked to my mother for help. My mother subconsciously opened her mouth to speak, but then glanced at my stepfather's face. My stepfather turned a page of his newspaper, not looking up. My mother shut her mouth. She picked up the tray and held out the plain, picked-over cookies to me. "Be a good girl. You eat these for now. I'll bake you some more later." My stomach was full of grievance, but I didn't want to embarrass her, so I reached out and took one. Just as I took a bite, Haley screamed and charged at me. "That's mine!" She snatched the cookie out of my hand and, along with the rest on the tray, threw them all into the trash can. "They’re all mine! I’d rather throw them away than let you have any!" I hadn't planned on crying. But that piece of dry cookie was stuck in my throat; I couldn't spit it out, and I couldn't swallow it. I finally couldn't hold it back and burst into tears. My mother walked over and reached out her hand. I thought she was going to hug me. But she just covered my mouth. "Stop crying." Her voice was very low, harsh. "Why are you being so difficult? How many times have I told you how to behave?" I stifled the crying. My mother let go, put on a smile, picked Haley up in her arms, and began to soothe her gently. "Haley can have as many as she wants. Mommy will bake you more tomorrow." I turned and ran back to my room. I don’t know how long I cried under the covers, but eventually, I fell asleep. When my mother woke me up by shaking me, it was late at night. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies, looking at me with heartache. "Haley’s asleep. Eat quickly." My eyes were so swollen I could barely open them, my throat was raw from crying, and I was in a daze. I didn't want to eat anything. Seeing me shake my head, her expression changed. She slammed the plate down on the nightstand, her eyes turning red. "You’re learning to be spiteful now?" "I know you were hurt today, but Mommy doesn't have it easy either. Can't you show me a little compassion?" "Just so you could eat these, I stayed up all night. I waited until Haley was sound asleep to sneak up and bake these for you, and you’re throwing a tantrum?!" I wanted to tell her I felt sick. I couldn't eat. I wanted to tell her she hadn't hugged me in a long time. I wanted to say that this was my home. This house belonged to my father. Why was I eating in secret in my own house, sneaking around in the middle of the night? But I looked at her unfamiliar face and, in the end, said nothing. I sat up and, under her intense gaze, finished that entire plate of overly sweet cookies. She smiled with satisfaction and patted my head. "That’s my good girl." That night, I got a severe case of gastroenteritis, vomiting and having diarrhea for days. 4 Chapter 4 After that night, my mother stopped bringing me late-night snacks. Instead, she would slip me cash behind my stepfather and Haley's backs, telling me to go buy whatever I liked to eat. I still didn't understand why her own money, given to her own daughter, had to be handled like stolen goods. But I asked nothing. I stopped initiating eating any food at home, and I wouldn't touch a single thing that belonged to Haley. But the tree craves peace, and the wind will not subside. That silver bangle was something my father had custom-made for me before I was born. It was beautiful, with enamel work and filigree forming a flowering dogwood. I had worn it since I was a baby; it had never come off my wrist. One day, I came home from school. Just as I pushed open the door, Haley charged at me. She grabbed my wrist, staring at the bracelet. "I want this." As she spoke, she clamped her hand around it and began pulling violently. I suppressed my rage and tried to be reasonable. "This was my father's... he left it to me..." Instead of letting go, she started screaming at the top of her lungs. "It's mine! Mine!" The fury I had bottled up finally erupted. I gave her a hard shove. "Let go!" I was a few months older than her, and I knocked her right to the floor. She sat on the ground and started bawling. My mother ran out of the kitchen, looking terrified, as if she were the one who had done wrong. My stepfather also came out of his room at the noise, standing silently behind Haley. After hearing the reason, my mother actually turned an imploring gaze toward me. "Just give it to your sister... We'll get you a new one later." I looked at her in absolute disbelief. She had told me herself, with her own mouth, that my father had drawn the blueprint. To get the filigree just right, he had visited every jeweler in the city. "Your father said a daughter should be like a dogwood flower—beautiful, resilient, and full of life." "Just like your name, Chloe." Since they moved in, my mother had used my father's house and money to support my stepfather and stepsister; I couldn't stop that. But this bracelet was the single, solitary thing that belonged entirely to me. It was my final link to my true identity. A stubborn streak hit me, too. I looked my mother right in the eye. "I can give up anything else in this house to her." "But I will die before I give up this bracelet." When Haley heard that, she cried even harder, kicking her legs on the floor. My stepfather knelt down to soothe her. After a few failed attempts, he looked up at my mother. And suddenly, my mother snapped. "Then go die!" She screamed with all her might, then grabbed the bracelet and yanked it with brutal force. The metal warped, scraping skin as it was torn off my wrist. The momentum sent me flying. I smashed my forehead against the corner of the coffee table. Blood poured down my face. I heard my mother’s terrified scream. "Chloe! Chloe!" Her pale face appeared above me, her voice growing distant. "I'm sorry, Chloe, I'm so sorry... Don't go, please don't leave me." She scooped me up and ran out the door. The long-forgotten warmth of her arms made me want to cry. After getting stitches at the hospital and returning home, my stepfather and Haley were gone. They said they went back to his hometown to visit relatives. For those few days, it was as if she had turned back into the mother who loved me. She made me chicken soup and baked me cookies. She held me close while we slept at night, gently patting my back and telling me stories. It felt like I was that little girl again, often held in her mother's arms. Except for one thing: I still didn't dare call her Mommy. 5 Chapter 5 That ridiculous lie was exposed a few days later. I went to Sarah's house to play. She was lying on the couch, calling out to her mother over and over. Mommy, Mommy, look at this. Mommy, Mommy, come here. I watched Sarah’s bright smile and finally couldn't hold back. I spoke up to warn her. "You should say that less." "Every child only gets to call their mom 'Mommy' a thousand times. When you hit the limit, Mommy dies." "I’ve already used nine hundred and ninety-nine times. I don’t dare say it anymore. You should ration yours." She froze for a few seconds, then burst into tears. She ran into the kitchen and hugged her mom, sobbing, saying Mommy don't die, I don't want Mommy to die. Her mother listened to the explanation, caught between laughter and tears. "Silly child, how could Mommy be killed by being called 'Mommy'?" "Even if you said it a hundred million times, Mommy wouldn't die." To prove it to us, she found a hand counter and had Sarah say "Mommy" a thousand times right then and there. One, two, three. I realized then that a thousand times was actually so little. If you said it continuously, it only took ten minutes. Her mother was still alive. She was still smiling. "See? Mommy didn't die, did she?" She affectionately pinched her daughter's nose, but the look she then directed at me contained something I didn't understand at the time. I learned later that it was called pity. At that moment, I just ran home as fast as I could. I was going to tell my mother that I knew. Mommy wouldn't die from being called "Mommy." I could call her Mommy again. Ten thousand times, a hundred million times—she wouldn't die. Just as I got to the door, I heard my mother’s voice from inside. She was crying, asking my stepfather. "When do you think Haley will finally call me 'Mommy'?" My hand, ready to push the door, stopped in mid-air. "I truly treat Haley like my own daughter. Just because I was afraid she would feel uncomfortable hearing it, I made Chloe stop calling me Mommy..." My stepfather soothed her in a low voice, but I couldn't hear what he said. I only heard my mother say: "Even just once, I’d be content." Turns out, in the whole world, only my "Mommy" would cause my mother to die. But one "Mommy" from Haley was something she longed for so desperately. I stood in the cold hallway, my hands hanging at my sides. I had nothing. My hands were empty. After that, I became very well-behaved. I yielded everything to Haley. In that house, there was nothing left for me to care about. Calling her Mommy—how was that important? I didn't lack for food or clothing or pocket money. Even if those things were obtained in secret, handled like stolen goods. How was that important? I had a room to live in, I went to school, nobody hit me or verbally abused me. My mother's embrace—how was that important? Fighting Haley for that miserable scrap of affection—how was that important? From then on, I had only one goal: get into a good out-of-state university and get far, far away from here. I thought that as long as I didn't care, no one could hurt me. But I was still too naive.
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