Her Money, Her Prison: My Mother’s Control

Her Money, Her Prison: My Mother’s Control

Author: Ronald Thompson

Chapter 5: New Notes, New Rebellion

Downstairs from the dorm, I spot Jamie saying goodbye to a boy, hand in hand. They’re laughing, her cheeks flushed, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

She sees me and hesitates, then walks over.

“Nina... that’s Chris from computer science, we...” Her cheeks flush. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy.

“Congratulations,” I say sincerely. I try to ignore the pang of envy, the longing for something so simple and open.

At the same time, I realize: if my mother knew I was even talking to a boy, she’d cut off my living expenses. The thought lingers like a chill at the base of my neck.

Jamie lowers her voice. “Actually... we all admire you.”

“Admire me?” I blink, confused. I thought I was the outcast, the one everyone pitied or avoided.

“With your mom like that... I would have lost it a long time ago.”

She laughs awkwardly. “But you still insist on doing your own thing. That day I saw you at the writing club...”

I’m stunned. So my ‘underground activities’ weren’t as secret as I thought. A flush creeps up my neck.

“Um...” Jamie hesitates.

“It’s my birthday next week. My boyfriend booked a karaoke room. Can you come? Of course, if your mom—”

“Count me in. I don’t care what my mom says this time.” The words tumble out, bold and certain. The weight lifts from my chest, leaving me a little lighter, a little braver.

The moment I say it, I feel something inside me shatter—not fear, but the shackles that have bound me for years. I breathe deeper than I have in months.

That night, my mother calls as usual.

I answer her questions calmly, while writing a new line in my notebook: “Family Wallet records can be faked.” The thought makes me smile.

The girl in the tower finally understands: the witch’s power comes from her fear. And the mirror will show the witch her twisted face. I sketch a crude mirror in the margin, a secret symbol of resistance.

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