Her Money, Her Prison: My Mother’s Control / Chapter 6: The Karaoke Room and the Last Receipt
Her Money, Her Prison: My Mother’s Control

Her Money, Her Prison: My Mother’s Control

Author: Ronald Thompson

Chapter 6: The Karaoke Room and the Last Receipt

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On Jamie’s birthday, I pace outside the karaoke room for ten minutes before finally pushing the door open. My hands tremble, but I force myself to smile.

Inside, colored lights spin, seven or eight classmates sway to the music, and a cake covered in candles sits on the table. There’s a pile of plastic cups and a half-empty bottle of Coke. The air is thick with anticipation and the smell of buttercream.

“Nina! You really came!”

Jamie rushes over and grabs my hand, her face flushed with excitement and drink. She squeezes my hand tight, grounding me in the moment.

I smile stiffly, my palms already sweating—my phone vibrates in my pocket: my mother’s 38th missed call. I turn it over in my mind: answer and flee, or stay and fight?

“I picked a song for you!”

Jamie drags me to the karaoke machine. The screen shows the backing track for “Brave.”

“When you hummed this in the dorm, it sounded so good.”

As the music intro plays, my finger hovers over my phone for a second. Then I decisively turn it off. Just this once, just tonight, I want to be the real Nina Thompson. I want to see who I am when I’m not afraid.

The mic smells faintly of birthday cake and cheap perfume. When I sing, my voice shakes, but Jamie’s arm around my shoulders keeps me steady.

When I sing, “I wanna see you be brave,” my voice cracks. But I don’t stop. My classmates look at me in surprise. Jamie hugs my shoulders tightly, and Megan waves her lighter app overhead, laughing.

For the first time in years, I feel a warm sense of belonging. It’s small, fragile, but it’s real.

When I return to the dorm, it’s already 1 a.m. The campus is silent, the streetlights flickering. I slip inside, my shoes squeaking on the tile.

I hide in the bathroom to turn on my phone. Thirty-eight missed calls, and a screen full of Facebook Messenger messages flood in. The notifications make me dizzy, but I scroll anyway.

[Starting tomorrow, your Family Wallet daily limit is now $2.50.]

Two-fifty isn’t enough for a decent lunch in the dining hall. It’s barely enough for coffee and a banana. I let the phone drop to my side.

That’s my mother’s last message. I read it twice, then smile. The game is over, but I’m done playing by her rules.

Mom, do you really have to win this game?

Fine. I’ll let you win…

And so, I find myself once again staring at the receipt for the special packaging service from the 24-hour CVS. My heart pounds until it goes numb. But this time, I feel something different—defiance simmering just under my skin.

Right on time, my phone buzzes. I let it ring, then answer with a calm I don’t recognize.

“What did you buy?” Her voice is icy, slicing through the silence.

I watch the DoorDash app’s red dot. “A late-night snack.”

From the earpiece comes the sharp sound of a mug shattering. “Return it.”

I brace myself against the doorknob and laugh softly. It feels good, this little rebellion.

“Too late.”

“He’s knocking on my door.”

From the earpiece, I hear my mother’s furious roar. I close my eyes and let her rage wash over me, knowing the lock on my cage is already rusting. Tomorrow, I’ll sing again—louder.

---

*Family Wallet: A payment function in some American banking and e-wallet apps that allows a parent to monitor, control, and approve all expenditures on a child’s account in real time.

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