My living expenses were managed through a linked family account my mother controlled. Every single purchase triggered an interrogation. Right now, my heart was hammering against my ribs as I stared at the order I’d just placed: a special rush delivery from a 24-hour pharmacy. As expected, my phone buzzed. “What did you buy?” Her voice was laced with ice. I watched the red dot of the delivery driver on the map. “A late-night snack for an adult.” A sharp crack echoed through the receiver—the sound of a teacup shattering. “Cancel it!” I leaned against the door, a small, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Too late.” “He’s knocking on my door right now.” 1 “Maya, did you get to campus okay? Is your dorm room all set up? Remember to change the sheets to the pure cotton set I packed for you. Other fabrics are bad for your skin.” Over the phone, my mother’s voice was an invisible net, instantly tightening around the fleeting freedom I had just tasted. “I know, Mom.” My reply was mechanical. My eyes scanned the room, where my three roommates were bustling about. Their parents had already left, but mine insisted on “remote supervising” every single step of my move-in process. “Right, about your allowance,” my mother’s tone suddenly turned serious. “I’ve set up a linked family account for you. That way, I can see every one of your expenses.” “There are too many temptations at college. I need to help you stay on the right track.” My heart sank. A linked account meant every cent I spent would be instantly reported to her. She would know what I bought, when I bought it, and how much it cost. This wasn’t financial support; it was total surveillance. “Mom, the other students just get…” “The other students are the other students. You are my daughter,” she cut me off. “It’s settled. And remember, not a single penny on anything you shouldn’t be buying.” After I hung up, my roommate, Chloe, leaned over curiously. “Your mom really cares about you. She even set up a special account for you.” I forced a smile, not explaining the suffocation and control that lay beneath her so-called “care.” College life officially began, and so did the escalation of my nightmare. Every purchase, no matter how small, was followed by a call from my mother within five minutes. “Maya, did you just buy a bubble tea?” “Those drinks are unhealthy. Didn’t I pack you herbal tea bags?” “What was this $5 charge for?” “Oh, laundry detergent? Doesn’t the dorm have washing machines? Why would you buy your own?” “You bought a book? What book? A textbook? Send me the title.” Every day, I had to explain, defend, and even apologize for every trivial expense. My roommates quickly noticed my predicament. They shopped online, ordered takeout, and went out freely, while I lived under my mother’s financial microscope, where even a box of tampons required her approval. 2 One Friday night, a month into the semester, the dorm room was unusually lively. “No classes tomorrow!” Chloe suggested. “Let’s order some late-night food and watch a horror movie! My treat.” “No way,” said another roommate, Dana. “You paid last time. Let’s split it.” “How about… I get it?” I ventured, mustering my courage. “Consider it a thank-you for putting up with me this past month. My mom’s constant check-ins… I know it’s been disruptive.” I scratched my head, embarrassed. It was the first time I had ever offered to treat anyone. It was also my first attempt at a “large” purchase on the linked account—four barbecue platters, totaling $28. The moment the payment confirmation chimed, my phone began to vibrate violently. The word “Mom” on the screen made my heart race. “Hello, Mom…” “Maya Thorne! Where are you right now?” Her voice was a piercing shriek. “It’s ten-thirty at night! What did you spend twenty-eight dollars on? Who are you with?” I hurried out of the room, lowering my voice. “Mom, I’m just in the dorm with my roommates. We ordered some food…” “Liar!” Her voice escalated. “In the dorm? What in the dorm costs twenty-eight dollars? Are you out messing around with boys? I knew it! The moment you left home, you’d turn into this!” “It’s just barbecue, Mom, I can put my roommates on the phone…” “Don’t bother! Get back to your room this instant!” “No, video call me now! I want to see with my own eyes where you are!” she commanded, hysterical. I didn’t have a chance to explain. I mechanically obeyed. My hand trembled as I started the video call, the camera panning across my three stunned roommates and the freshly delivered food on the table. My mother’s face appeared on the screen, her makeup perfect but her features twisted with rage. “Hi, Mrs. Thorne…” Chloe managed a timid greeting. My mother ignored her, her eyes locked on me. “This is what you call ‘just some food’?” “Eating something so greasy this late at night? Can your stomach handle that? Is this what your allowance is for? To be wasted like this?” The barrage of questions continued. My roommates’ expressions shifted from surprise to awkwardness, and finally, to cold detachment. Dana simply turned around, went to her bed, and drew the curtain. “Mom, please, can we talk about this later?” My voice was practically a beg. “Now. Immediately. Send that barbecue back!” she ordered. “And then you will write me a formal apology, detailing your actions and thoughts tonight. I want to see it by tomorrow morning!” After the call ended, the room was shrouded in a dead silence. I stood there, holding the now-cold food, tears streaming silently down my face. “Maya,” Chloe finally broke the silence. “Is your mom… always like this?” I nodded, unable to speak. The aroma of the barbecue was suddenly nauseating, as suffocating as my mother’s omnipresent control. “Uh… we get it,” Dana said, peeking out from behind her curtain. “But maybe… don’t offer to treat us next time.” I knew then, just as before, that I wouldn’t be making any friends here. That night, I curled up under my blankets, writing the “apology” my mother demanded, my tears staining the screen of my phone. At two in the morning, my phone vibrated again. A long string of messages from my mother. [Is the apology finished?] [I’m doing this for your own good. The world is a dangerous place.] [You don’t know how to manage money. I am teaching you.] [Starting tomorrow, the daily limit on your account is reduced to $10.] [Learn your lesson. I love you.] I stared at the messages, and a horrifying realization dawned on me: This wasn’t love. This was a prison built in the name of love. My mother had woven an invisible net with money, trapping me completely, and I didn’t even have the courage to fight back. The next morning, while my roommates were still asleep, I quietly got out of bed and deleted the lie-filled apology. Instead, in a notebook, I wrote a single line: “How to apply for student loans and on-campus jobs.” My mother might never understand that her control wouldn’t make me better. It would only teach me how to lie, how to hide, and, eventually, how to rebel. And on that day, as I wrote that line, I knew I had finally taken the first step toward breaking free. 3 I stood before the campus job board, staring at a faded flyer for a full ten minutes. “Coffee Shop Help Wanted, $12/hour.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy the basic necessities my mother wouldn’t approve of. I pulled out my phone, carefully took a picture of the contact information, but my finger hovered over the call button before retreating. The ten-dollar daily limit my mother had set meant that even buying a bottle of shampoo required me to “save up” for three days. My period had started unexpectedly yesterday, and I’d had to borrow a pad from Chloe. The pity in her eyes was more painful than any of my mother’s lectures. “Maya?” I spun around. It was Sarah, a senior from the student government. She was the president of the literary society and had once praised a book report I’d written. “Hi, Sarah.” I instinctively tried to block the job board, as if it were something shameful. “Looking for a part-time job?” she asked with a gentle smile. “The lit society is actually looking for an editorial assistant. Just organizing submissions every week. It pays a stipend.” My heart leaped. “Is there… an interview?” “Just send me some of your work.” She handed me a flyer. “Oh, and there’s a city-wide college writing competition next month. First prize is a thousand dollars. You should enter.” A thousand dollars! That was more than my mother gave me in five months. The hand holding the flyer trembled. Back in the dorm, I quickly tucked the flyer between the pages of a textbook. The room was empty; my roommates were probably at the dining hall together. They rarely included me in their activities after the “barbecue incident.” My phone vibrated. It was my mother’s routine check-in. “Did you check in for your morning class? Send me the screenshot,” she said through the speaker. “And I see from the account you only spent $2.50 at the dining hall yesterday. What did you eat?” “Vegetables and rice…” I answered quietly. “What about protein? Haven’t I told you to eat a balanced diet?” She sighed. “You’ll get sick like this. What will you do if you get sick?” I stared at the travel photos my roommates had pinned to the wall and suddenly interrupted her. “Mom, I want to apply for a work-study job.” A few seconds of silence on the other end. “A work-study job? Are you short on money? Didn’t I give you an allowance?” “It’s not about the money…” I chose my words carefully. “It’s about… gaining experience.” “Nonsense!” Her voice shot up again. “A student’s job is to study! What experience? That’s all a waste of time! Have you been influenced by some bad classmates again?” I bit my lip and didn’t argue. After hanging up, I pulled the old notebook from under my mattress, flipped to the page with “student loans,” and drew a thick X through it. My parents would definitely be notified about a loan. That path was closed. In the back of the notebook were fragments of a story I’d been secretly writing—a girl locked in a high tower, weaving a rope from her long hair to escape. I added a few new lines: The girl discovered that the witch who guarded her was afraid of mirrors… The next day at the literary society meeting, I gave my three revised short stories to Sarah. “This is really good!” she said, her eyes lighting up as she read. “Especially this one, ‘The Tower.’ The metaphor is so clever. Are you really just a freshman?” I stared at the tips of my shoes, unaccustomed to praise. “It’s… just something I wrote.” “No, you have talent,” she said seriously. “You have to enter the competition. The deadline is next Friday. Do you want me to look over your final draft?” As I left the student center, a light rain began to fall. I stood under the eaves, watching the raindrops splash on the pavement, and was suddenly reminded of my mother forbidding me from jumping in puddles as a child. I lifted my foot and stomped hard into the nearest puddle. Muddy water splattered my pants, and a strange thrill shot through me. My phone rang again. A video call request from my mother. I took a deep breath and answered. “Maya, where are you? Why is that a classroom building behind you? Aren’t you supposed to be in the library at this time?” Her eyes scanned my background like a searchlight. “I… I just finished an elective class,” I lied, my heart pounding. “What elective? It’s not on your schedule.” “It’s… literary analysis. It was a last-minute addition.” I quickly changed the subject. “Mom, my phone’s about to die. I’ll talk to you tonight.” After hanging up, I realized I was drenched in a cold sweat. It was so easy to lie. My mother wasn't all-knowing after all. The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating. The following days, I lived a double life, like a spy. By day, I was the obedient student under my mother’s surveillance, sending her check-in screenshots on time and eating meals meticulously calculated to the cent. By night, I scribbled furiously in a corner of the library, pouring years of suppressed imagination into my competition entry. The day I finished the final draft of “The Tower,” I uploaded it to a cloud drive and typed in the submission email address, my fingers trembling. The thousand-dollar prize was the goal, but more importantly, this was the first thing I had ever decided to do entirely on my own. “Once you send it, there’s no turning back,” Sarah said with a smile, standing beside me. I shook my head, clicked send, and watched the words “Message Sent” appear. A wave of relief washed over me. “I won’t turn back.” On the way back to the dorm, the linked account notification chimed—my mother had deposited next week’s “limited allowance.” I stared at the number and suddenly smiled. She didn’t know that her daughter had found another key and was slowly turning the lock on the tower door. 4 Downstairs from the dorm, I saw Chloe holding hands with a boy, saying goodbye. When she saw me, she hesitated for a moment before walking over. “Maya… that’s Ethan, from computer science. We’re…” She blushed. “Congratulations,” I said sincerely. At the same time, I realized that if my mother knew I was associating with a classmate who was in a relationship, she would undoubtedly cut off my allowance completely. Chloe suddenly lowered her voice. “Actually… we all really admire you.” “Admire me?” “Your mom… if it were me, I would have lost my mind by now.” She gave an awkward laugh. “But you’re still doing your own thing. I saw you at the literary society the other day…” I was stunned. My “underground activities” weren't as secret as I thought. “Um…” Chloe hesitated. “It’s my birthday next week. My boyfriend booked a karaoke room. Can you come? Of course, if your mom…” “I’ll be there,” I interrupted, without hesitation this time. “Whether she agrees or not.” The moment I said it, I felt something shatter inside me. It wasn’t fear. It was the shackles that had bound me for years. That night, my mother called for her usual check-in. I answered her questions calmly while writing a new line in my notebook: Linked account transaction records can be faked. The girl in the tower finally understood that the witch’s power came from her fear. And a mirror would force the witch to see her own twisted reflection.
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