Chapter 2: Viral Shame, Private Pain

But I was exhausted every day. I’m not a genius—I couldn’t handle such an intense schedule. The workload crushed me. I was miserable.

Oh, and Dad and Mom divorced. He said Mom was sick and he couldn’t take it anymore. Dad wanted to take me with him, but Mom put a kitchen knife to her neck, screaming hysterically at Dad. If he took me, she’d kill herself. Dad finally looked at me apologetically and left me behind. That’s when I knew—no one was coming to save me. My only hope was to get into a good college and escape Mom.

I studied desperately, but still couldn’t keep up. By the second semester of eighth grade, my grades were at the bottom. The counselor suggested Mom let me repeat a year. Mom refused. “She’s just not working hard enough. No need to repeat.” End of story.

On the way home, Mom didn’t scold me. Instead, she smiled and asked if I was happy at school. I knew she was filming. I had to play along and say I was happy. Sure enough, back home, after closing the door, Mom became someone else. She yanked my arm. Called me garbage.

“I gave so much for you, and you still ended up at the bottom. Do you even deserve me?”

“From now on, you’re not allowed to see your dad anymore. He’s the one who messed you up!”

Just like that, Dad never showed up again. My last bit of freedom, gone.

Later, I found out Mom gave up child support so Dad would give up visitation rights. I was locked in Mom’s cage of love. And since Mom ‘loved’ me so much, she studied with me, too. She stopped my piano and dance lessons, making me focus on studying. Besides daily homework, I had to do five extra sets of practice tests. If I didn’t finish, I couldn’t go to bed. In the videos, she wore a mask, sat beside me, and read along. Even when her eyes could barely stay open, she still cheered me on. By the time I finished, it was midnight. She’d quickly turn on the camera to record the time. She’d spread my books out everywhere, just to make the desk look messier for the camera.

“Shh, my daughter’s asleep, I’m helping her tidy up her desk. Night, everyone. See you at five tomorrow.”

Under Mom’s ‘tiger parenting,’ I barely got into an advanced high school. Mom paid to get me into the honors class. But I never expected that would be when the nightmare really started.

In freshman year, school started early, and there was orientation week. But Mom got me a fake doctor’s note, saying I’d get skin cancer from too much sun. Sure enough, people online mocked us:

“Is your daughter a princess?”

“Why do other kids have no problem with orientation, but yours is special?”

“That’s even worse than saying she’s allergic to sunlight.”

For the thousandth time, I was grateful no one at school knew who my mom was.

Seven days of orientation was enough for everyone to get to know each other. They formed cliques, leaving me out. I thought I was used to being alone. Turns out, I still wanted to belong.

Ever since elementary school, after Mom lost it in the Facebook group, I had no friends. Other kids treated me like a weirdo. Whenever I walked by, they’d whisper and scatter. “My parents won’t let me hang out with you.” I thought high school would be different. But I was late again. Other students chatted away, while I sat by myself, silent.

Mom arranged for me to be a day student, so I lost my last chance to bond with classmates. “If you live at school and only come home once a week, how will Mom film videos?” Of course, she’d never say this in her videos. She said I slept restlessly, kicked off the covers, and most importantly, living at school would hurt my development. “The school’s beds are bad for your back, and the water will ruin your skin. I’ve always given you the best. I’m not letting dorm life ruin that.”

Evening study at high school ended at 9:30. It was already dark. I reached out, fingers brushing the dark. Just for a second, I imagined I could touch the stars.

“What are you standing there for? Hurry up and come over.”

Mom turned on the camera to record my walk in the dark. “Hey friends, it’s 10 p.m., picking up my daughter from school. My daughter studies so hard—have a bowl of chicken noodle soup to nourish her. Homegrown carrots, free-range chicken, simmered for six hours since noon.”

Mom ladled the soup into a small white bowl, snapping a flurry of photos. By the time it was set in front of me, half an hour had passed. The soup was golden and rich, with a layer of oil floating on top—looked super healthy. The only problem was, I was too sleepy. The smell of meat made me nauseous. I took a sip and nearly gagged—a mouthful of gamey broth mixed with the smell of burnt chicken skin. Disgusting.

My hesitation made Mom angry. She looked at me like I was her enemy. She picked up the bowl and forced it into my mouth, not caring if I choked. I couldn’t swallow fast enough, and soup ran down my chin, staining my clothes. Mom’s eyes lit up—new video material. Perfect. Just what she needed.

Midnight. The hairdryer still buzzing.

“Daughter dirtied her uniform—after washing, use the hairdryer to dry it.”

“Today’s breakfast is steak and eggs with oatmeal. Now going to wake up my daughter.”

Is it already morning? It felt like only a few hours had passed. I blinked my dry, sore eyes and finished the not-so-tasty breakfast. Morning study started at 6:20. I walked into class just as the bell rang. Luckily, morning reading was done standing, so I could stay awake a bit. But by the second period, I couldn’t hold on. My head drooped lower and lower until I fell asleep completely. When I woke up, class was almost over. I’d missed all the important points. My notes were a disaster. Too embarrassed to ask the teacher, I had to study on my own after class.

I went to bed later and later, and got sleepier and sleepier in class. Without realizing it, I was stuck in a vicious cycle. The honors class moved fast. A few drowsy classes and I was completely left behind. As expected, my midterm grades were terrible.

During evening study, the homeroom teacher called me out to talk. He first asked about my daily life, then gently asked if I was falling behind. I just stared at the floor. He comforted me, “A lot of students fall behind freshman year, but catch up by junior year. But the honors class has assessments—if you’re still at the bottom after finals, you’ll be moved to a regular class.”

I couldn’t go to the regular class—Mom would be furious. On the way home, I was anxious, but didn’t dare let Mom see. I started studying desperately. Gave up every activity I could, even skipped outings and sports meets. I squeezed in study time everywhere—even recited vocabulary in the bathroom. Cup after cup of coffee.

Finally, my grades improved. I was only 23rd in class. Mom still wasn’t happy. But she didn’t know how hard I worked for that rank.

I knew my classmates called me a freak behind my back. They thought I was antisocial, always alone. No class honors, never joined group activities. Even the homeroom teacher mentioned it to Mom at meetings. But Mom thought there was nothing wrong. The daughter she raised should be superior to others. This wasn’t being withdrawn or antisocial—it was noble and cool. And I had more time to study—wasn’t that good?

The homeroom teacher smiled awkwardly, gently suggesting Mom consider my mental health. “Teenagers are sensitive—it’s easy for them to develop psychological problems.”

“Impossible. I’ve created such a good environment for her, I take care of her every day—what could she possibly be dissatisfied with?”

I stood outside the office, listening to Mom’s firm voice, feeling as bitter as if I’d swallowed bile. I felt like I was being dragged down, stuck in the dark, just watching everyone else live in the light. I could only peek at the light that didn’t belong to me from the darkness.

I don’t know when it started, but my goal shifted from getting into a good college to just getting a little closer to him. I think everyone has someone like this in their school days. He sleeps in class, plays basketball after school, but always gets good grades. He’s handsome, a bit goofy and loyal, and all the other guys call him bro. I’m worlds apart from him—not worthy of him. Just being in the same classroom as him is enough for me. I just keep my head down, hoping one day I’ll shine like him.

My diary, full of all my stupid crushes and secrets, was locked in the deepest drawer. I thought it would be a secret forever. But one day, it was suddenly, totally exposed.

The password lock on my notebook had been violently broken by Mom. She stood at the classroom door, waving my diary, shouting, “Who is Tyler Scott?”

Other students from different classes crowded around to watch.

“Mom, stop it, let’s go.”

I pushed through the crowd, rushing over, trying to snatch the diary from her hand. Mom raised her arm high, determined not to give in. I begged her to let me go. But she just flung me aside, “You don’t even care about your dignity—what’s the point? Who is Tyler Scott? So shameless, trying to seduce my daughter?”

It was over. I collapsed to the ground, totally hopeless. Why me?

“Huh? Tyler Scott would like Emily Brooks?”

“Hahaha, Emily Brooks must be dreaming.”

“Shh, don’t let her hear.”

The classmates’ whispers cut like knives. For a moment, I even thought about jumping from the fourth floor. That would be better than this.

The homeroom teacher and dean finally arrived, politely inviting my mom to the office. My face was burning—I didn’t dare look at anyone. I especially didn’t dare look at Tyler, who was dragged into this mess.

My diary was put out on the table for everyone to read.

“Here it is: When Tyler Scott’s finger touched my palm, I felt my heart skip a beat.”

Mom read my feelings out loud, word by word. I was so ashamed and angry I just wanted to disappear.