My hatred for my mother peaked the moment she forced me to strip down to a black sports bra, hold up a box of tampons, and pose for a picture she then sent to our entire family group chat. In the photo, my face is blank, my eyes are empty. Her caption, however, was sickeningly cheerful: “Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don't worry, as her mother, I'm here to guide her back to the right path! ?” In that moment, I smiled. You know, Mom? The perfect little bird you raised in this cage? She’s about to go insane. 1 The latest crisis started when she saw me wearing lace underwear again. Over a video call, my mother burst into tears. On the other end of the screen, she started slapping her own face, her voice a choked sob. “Why won’t you wear the black sports bras I bought you? Why?” she repeated, over and over. “Are you trying to provoke me, just like those other women out there?” Conditioned by a lifetime of her control, I folded. I apologized and promised I would only wear what she wanted me to wear from now on. But this time, it wasn’t enough. Citing a “breach of trust,” she announced a new policy: random, unannounced video spot-checks. She gazed at me through the screen, her expression soft and loving. “I know you can do this for me now, sweetheart.” That was the moment that something inside me, something I had been holding down for a very long time, finally broke. 2 “Clara, you’re not wearing the outfit I laid out for you today, are you?” The cold, flat voice on the other end of the line made my eye twitch. “Go home. Now. And change back.” “In ten minutes, I want a video call. I want to see you in the gray pantsuit. Full body. Front, back, and both sides.” I clutched my phone, frozen in place, watching the morning commuters rush past me. The train was pulling into the station. If I got on, I wouldn’t be late for work. I closed my eyes, trying to reason with her. “Mom, I have an off-site meeting with a colleague this afternoon. The pantsuit is really not practical…” “You now have nine minutes,” she said, her voice like ice. “And this colleague. Is it a man or a woman?” “A woman,” I lied, my lips feeling numb. She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Then when you meet up, I want you to start a video call so I can say hello. And Clara, I want to see her company ID badge and make sure your surroundings match.” I was stunned. “Mom, I can’t do that. It’s…” Her voice sharpened, rising to a shriek. “Is it that you *can’t*, or are you *lying* to me? Clara, are you lying to your mother?!” The train doors hissed shut. I had missed it. I looked down, my chest feeling tight, like it was stuffed with wet concrete, pulling me down. “Mom…” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “My colleague… she’s very shy. She’s not comfortable with video calls. Can’t you just let it go this one time?” “Really?” she sneered. “In that case, give me her phone number. I’ll call her myself to verify.” I tried to argue, but she cut me off. “If you don’t give me her number, I will call your company’s main line this afternoon. I will speak to the receptionist, and I will have her inform your manager that you are forbidden from attending any off-site meetings with male colleagues.” Tears pricked my eyes. Defeated, I quickly texted my one work friend, Emily, begging her for help, while I started running back to my apartment. Thankfully, Emily was a lifesaver. She immediately sent me a picture of her ID badge and told me she’d cover for me if my mom called. My tears blurred the screen as I tried to wipe them away. After a brief, stilted phone call with Emily, my mother was finally satisfied. “You see?” she said with a soft laugh, as if she knew everything. “It was just a simple phone call. Was that so difficult, sweetheart?” I stood in front of my full-length mirror, the video call active, and forced a smile. I turned mechanically, showing her every angle of the drab, gray suit. Just when I thought the inspection was over, she spoke again. “Wait.” My heart stopped. Her face loomed closer to the camera on her end, her eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you wearing the bra I bought for you?” 3 The sharp accusation short-circuited my brain. I just stood there, completely baffled. How could she possibly know? I had changed in my bedroom, with the door closed. She was on the phone with Emily. The suit jacket was thick and buttoned. How… But it didn’t matter how. Her face was a dark storm cloud, her lips slowly curling into a strange, unsettling smile. “Clara. Take it off.” She stared at me, each word sharp and terrifying. “Right now, right here, you will take off your clothes for me.” A chill ran down my spine. “Take it off!” she screamed. On the screen, she raised a hand and slapped herself, hard, across the face. “Take it off now!” Another slap. I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Mom, please, I’m going to lose my job. Can we not…?” *SMACK.* Another slap, louder this time. It was always the same. In any standoff with her, I always lost. Biting my lip until I tasted blood, I backed away from the mirror, and in front of the unblinking eye of her phone, I began to undress. Piece by piece, until all that was left was a pale pink, lace bra. “Why aren’t you wearing the black sports bra I bought you?” Her smile widened. “Tell me why, Clara.” “I’m sorry, Mom…” I mumbled, over and over. But she wasn’t listening. Before I even realized what was happening, she was dialing another number. “Hello, is this Clara’s manager? Yes, this is her mother. I’m calling to inform you that Clara is unwell and will be resigning to focus on her health… Yes, it is her decision. I can provide any necessary documentation…” I stared at her, horrified. After she hung up, her face was once again serene, her voice gentle. “I’m saving you, Clara. I am instilling in you the virtues of a good, decent woman. You dress like that to attract men, don’t you? I was a young woman once. I know your tricks. I will not allow you to become a slut.” “And from now on, your daily outfit photos will include your underwear.” “And I will be conducting spot-checks. At any time, on any day.” She looked at me with what she probably thought was love. “You disappointed me today, sweetheart. How can I ever trust you again?” 4 I don’t know how she got my manager’s number. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think. Years of obedience had conditioned my body to follow her commands before my mind could even protest. “Get a pair of scissors. Cut it up. And that one. And that one.” Holding her phone like a scepter, she directed me as I destroyed every piece of clothing she deemed “vulgar.” She inspected every corner of my bedroom via the camera, leaving no drawer unopened, no hanger untouched. For two hours, she digitally ransacked my apartment. I felt like a dying bird, letting a predator rip out my feathers, one by one. Any slight twitch of resistance only seemed to excite her cruelty more. “Where are your pads? I don’t see any.” “I used the last of them a few days ago.” She scoffed. “Impossible. I counted them during my last inspection. There were fifty. You couldn’t have possibly used them all.” I paused. “It’s been so hot this summer,” I explained. “I switched to tampons. I gave the rest of the pads to the cleaning lady in my building.” The line went silent. My mother stared at me, her face unmoving. “Why didn’t you consult me? Why would you make that decision on your own?” I looked down, saying nothing. “I’ve never used one of those things,” she said, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “But I know what they do! They make you *feel* things!” “Clara, you are shameless!” A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “I’ll get rid of them right now.” “Bring me the box,” she commanded. “I need to take a picture.” I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed. After she took a screenshot, she held up her own phone to her camera, showing me her screen. “Look, Clara,” she said with a giggle. “All your aunts and uncles in the group chat are laughing at you.” The group chat? My hands started to shake. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers like ice. I opened the app and found the family group. There were dozens of new messages. Pinned to the top was the photo my mother had just taken of me: standing in my black sports bra, holding a box of tampons like a trophy of my own shame. Her caption read: *“Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don't worry, as her mother, I'm here to guide her back to the right path! ?”* Below it, a stream of emojis from my cousin, trying to bury the post. A private message from her was blinking on my screen. *“Clara, I’m not an admin, I can’t delete it! I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to flood the chat.”* *“Your mom has gone too far this time! How could she… you’re not a child anymore…”* A deep, profound cold seeped into my bones. No, I wasn't a child anymore. But when I was, she had done so much worse. 5 I remember one night in the fourth grade. My father hadn't come home the night before. I had been kept after school for not finishing my math homework. That night, my mother unleashed all her fury on me—fury at my father for his infidelity, fury at herself for losing control of the perfect family she had built. She called my math teacher and forced her to listen over the phone as she beat me and I screamed. My teacher was young, new to the school, and she was horrified. She begged my mother to stop, but my mother wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how long it went on. I just remember that by the end, my teacher was sobbing, and my mother was laughing. “Are you satisfied now, Ms. Davis?” she asked, her voice light and cheerful. “Our Clara is a very good girl. She’ll always listen to you now.” … I never saw that teacher again. And the next day, my father filed for divorce. Through the screen, I could see my mother smiling, still scrolling through the family chat. “Look, Clara, your aunts and your uncle all think you’re being ridiculous, hahaha. I’m helping you, sweetheart. Helping you see your mistakes so you can correct them.” I stopped what I was doing and just looked at her. For so long, I had pitied her, trusted her, needed her. Now, all I felt was disgust. And a deep, burning hatred. Sensing my stare, she finally looked up. “What are you looking at me like that for?” She frowned. “I just had a thought.” “Where do those… tampons… go? You’ve never even had a boyfriend…” She paused, her eyes narrowing again, scrutinizing me. “Clara… is your virginity gone?” I said nothing. She shoved her face up to her camera, her features twisted into a mask of rage. “Tell me! Tell me right now!” I remained silent. “Fine! Fine!” she shrieked, laughing hysterically. “I have the numbers for all your friends, all your colleagues! If you won’t tell me, I will call every single one of them until I find out who it was!” “And if no one confesses, I will call the police! I will make them pay!” I took a step back. In that moment, she didn’t look like my mother. She looked like a demon wearing her skin. “You’re doing this to punish me for making you lose your job, aren’t you?” she said, her voice suddenly calm again. “Clara, everything I do, I do for your own good.” I smiled, a real smile this time. “I know, Mom. And don’t worry. I’m not in a relationship.” She visibly relaxed, the frantic energy draining from her face. I wasn’t in a relationship. But… now, I really, really wanted revenge.
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