After my family went bankrupt, my mother, my younger sister, and I signed up for a survival challenge. The rules were simple: Each person starts with exactly $100. We had to survive for a month—eating, drinking, and existing—on just that bill. The winner would walk away with $100 million. Mom looked at my sister standing beside her, her smile dripping with indulgence. "Don't you worry, sweetie. Your sister and I won't spend a dime. You’ll have three hundred dollars all to yourself. If you’re thrifty, that should be plenty." My sister hugged Mom’s arm, whining playfully. "Oh, Mommy, you're the best! We’ll stick together and survive on the three hundred bucks!" I watched them, this portrait of deep maternal love, neither of them sparing a single thought for whether I lived or died. Silently, I tucked my hundred-dollar bill into my back pocket. 1 We were broke. Destitute. That’s when my sister, Chloe, found this "Budget Survival" competition. She claimed that if we could survive 30 days on a hundred bucks, the last one standing would win a fortune. She dragged Mom and me to the registration center without asking. Now, we were standing in a massive, sterile white arena along with ninety-seven other desperate souls, waiting for the clock to start. "Chloe, my precious girl, don't worry," Mom’s voice was soft enough to melt butter. She pinched Chloe’s cheek affectionately. "When we win first place, I’ll buy you that new Chanel set you wanted. And the Himalayan Birkin? It’s yours." "Moooom," Chloe drawled, leaning her head on Mom’s shoulder. "I don't want you to suffer. We'll work together. When we win, you manage all the money." It was a touching scene. Heartwarming, really. If only I wasn't the other daughter. Mom’s gaze finally shifted to me. The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, hard indifference. "Harper, listen to me. You lived like a princess in our house for years, eating our food, wearing the clothes we bought. It’s time you paid us back. When the challenge starts, you know what to do." I lowered my eyes, looking down at my washed-out, thrift-store t-shirt. Then I looked at Chloe. Even here, she was wearing a designer jacket worth five figures—something I wouldn't dare touch with clean hands. A princess life? Did I ever have that? Suddenly, the massive screen in the center of the arena lit up. A screeching, high-pitched voice echoed through the hall. "Welcome, challengers, to Extreme Survival! I am your host, Goldie!" On the screen, a fat, golden piggy bank mascot danced around, its voice eerie enough to make my skin crawl. "The rules are simple! You each have $100 start-up capital. You must survive the next 30 days with this money!" "Every day at 5:00 AM and 5:00 PM, a pop-up supermarket will appear in the arena. It stocks everything you need, at real-world prices!" Goldie’s voice pitched up an octave, trembling with manic excitement. "One month later, among the survivors, the one with the highest remaining balance will be the sole winner of the $100 million grand prize! The remaining survivors will split a consolation pot of $100,000!" "Good luck!" As the voice faded, one hundred red envelopes rained down from the ceiling, landing precisely in front of each person. I picked mine up. Inside was a crisp, single $100 bill. Before I could even put it away, Mom’s voice barked in my ear, commanding and absolute. "Harper, give me your money. Your sister can't handle hardship; she needs the extra cash." I looked up. Mom had already shoved her own bill into Chloe’s hand, her face full of tenderness. "Chloe, listen to me. Harper and I won't spend anything. You take the three hundred. If you're careful, you’ll make it to the end." Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up. She grabbed Mom’s hand. "No, Mom! I want us to make it together! We’ll survive on the three hundred as a team!" I watched them, feeling my heart sink into ice water. It froze, then cracked. Their plan was for "us" to survive on three hundred. That "us" clearly didn't include me. They hadn't spared a single thought on how I was supposed to survive without spending a penny. I gripped my hundred-dollar bill, took a silent step back, and put some distance between myself and that toxic pair. Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the crowd. "The store! The store is open!" Everyone’s attention snapped to the corner where a convenience store had materialized out of nowhere. Mom and Chloe were no exception; they craned their necks, already discussing what to buy. Now. While everyone was distracted by the store, I turned around. And I ran. I ran toward the shadows where no one was looking. 2 I ran for my life. The wind roared in my ears, and my heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted to break out. I didn't dare look back. I knew if I did, I’d see Mom’s face twisted in disappointment and rage. She would grab me like she did when I was a child, pry my fingers open, take the money I was clutching, and shove it into Chloe’s pocket without hesitation. Because in her world, only Chloe mattered. Like that time at the theme park. We were a family of three then. The cable car stalled mid-air, dangling precariously over a valley. Mom held Chloe in a death grip, screaming at the first rescuers to arrive to take them down. She repeated it over and over: "Save my daughter! She's little, she's scared!" I was left alone in the swaying metal box, the wind howling through the cracks like ghosts. If I hadn't screamed for help until my throat bled, maybe no one would have remembered there was another "daughter" up there. To my mother, Chloe was her child. I, Harper, was just a spare part. A tool. The arena was massive, empty like a giant warehouse. Luckily, the organizers had some humanity; there were clear signs pointing to "Supermarket #2" in the opposite direction. I burst into the store, gasping for air, and scanned the shelves. My brain was running like a supercomputer. One month. One hundred dollars. Rice and flour seemed the most cost-effective, but no. I noticed the fine print on the price tag: "Kitchen facility usage fee: $10/use." Cooking was a luxury tax I couldn't afford. Plus, heavy bags of flour would weigh me down. In a place where anything could happen, mobility was survival. Instant noodles were out, too. In high school, when Mom "forgot" to send my allowance, I survived on dry ramen bricks for months. The bloating, the indigestion, the acid reflux that burned my throat—I never wanted to feel that again. I survived, but my stomach didn't. My eyes finally locked on my targets. A gallon of water: $1. A bulk pack of beef jerky and vacuum-sealed hardtack: $5. A multipack of toilet paper: $3. I paid immediately. Total: $9. Water is life. Jerky is protein and stays fresh. The crackers fill the void. If I rationed, this could last me five days. The toilet paper... well, in an emergency, it had multiple uses. As long as I minimized movement and kept my calorie burn low, I could live. I stuffed my supplies and my remaining $91 into my innermost pocket, keeping my hand pressed over it. Only then did I feel a faint sense of security. Leaving the store, I started hunting for a place to sleep. Passing a rest area, I stopped. 3 Not far away, a mother and daughter were huddled together. The young mother was tearing a small piece of bread. She gave the larger half to her daughter. "Eat, baby. You need strength." The little girl shook her head sensibly and pushed the bread back. "Mommy eat. If Mommy doesn't eat, I won't eat." The scene was blindingly wholesome. I could almost picture Mom and Chloe at the other supermarket right now. Mom would give all the best food to Chloe, watching her eat with a satisfied, doting smile. And Chloe would probably tear up, say something sweet like "Mom, let's share," and then guiltlessly consume the love meant only for her. Once, I naively asked, "Mom, why do you only like my sister and not me?" Now, I don't ask. There is no why. Just like the sun doesn't rise in the west, some people are just born without the right to be loved. I looked away, expressionless, and walked in the opposite direction. I found a corner under the bleachers of an open-air stadium. A large awning overhead blocked the dew. It was secluded enough to avoid most eyes. I shoved my water and paper into the corner, hugged the vacuum-sealed food to my chest, and curled up. The concrete floor was icy hard, hurting my bones, but I didn't have time to complain. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to sleep. In this place, saving energy meant extending life. In a haze of sleep, I felt a weight on my chest. Hands groping. Wrong. I snapped my eyes open. A gaunt, sallow face was inches from mine. A man was trying to pull the food packet from my arms! Seeing me wake up, panic flickered in his eyes, followed by viciousness. He lunged, snatched the crumpled wad of cash from my pocket, and turned to run. "Give it back!" My brain buzzed. Blood rushed to my head. I didn't think; I just tackled him, wrapping my arms around his legs. He tripped. Enraged, he turned and kicked me hard in the stomach. "Let go, you bitch! You wanna die?" Pain blinded me for a second, but I didn't let go. I went feral. I used my nails, my teeth, anything to stop him. Back when I worked in a kitchen, a kind older woman taught me: If you meet a thug, don't hit the face. It's useless. Hit the weak spots. Incapacitate them. I saw my opening. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and kicked him squarely in the crotch. 4 "ARGH—!" The man let out a sound that wasn't human. He curled into a ball, clutching himself. I scrambled over, pried his fingers open, and snatched back my $91. I gripped it so tight my knuckles turned white. "My money..." The man was sweating from pain, but he still tried to crawl toward me. My eyes went cold. I stomped down hard on his knee joint. CRACK. His leg bent at a sickening angle. I exhaled, pushing myself up. Only then did I realize a circle of people had gathered, pointing and whispering. The crowd parted. Mom and Chloe walked in. They had heard the commotion. "Harper! Are you insane?!" Mom saw the man on the ground, then looked at me with pure disgust. "How could you beat someone like that?!" Chloe chimed in, looking terrified, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Sis, you're so violent... look at him, he's bleeding!" I looked at them coldly. "He tried to rob me." "He tried to rob you, so you break his leg?!" Mom’s voice screeched, as if I had committed a war crime. "Look at you! No manners, no heart! How did I give birth to something like you?!" "Our family might be broke, but we haven't lost our conscience! You hurt him, you have to compensate him!" I clutched my money, silent. Mom pointed righteously at the food in my arms. "Forget money. Just give him the food you bought, and we'll call it even!" I finally laughed. A dry, bitter sound. In my mom's world, if Chloe is there, Chloe comes first. If Chloe isn't there, strangers come first. I am always last. Sometimes I wonder what great sin I committed in a past life to deserve this mother. "No," I said, the word hard as stone. "You dare talk back?!" Mom trembled with rage. "You ungrateful brat! You selfish wolf!" Chloe stepped forward, wearing her mask of saintly kindness. She reached out to take my food. "Sis, just listen to Mom. Look how pitiful he is. We can't just leave him..." She reached for me. Just as her fingertips were about to touch the food package, the man on the ground began to convulse violently. His limbs twisted at impossible angles. A guttural gurgle rose from his throat. His eyes bulged, nearly popping out of their sockets. SNAP. A bone-chilling crack echoed through the silence. Under everyone's horrified gaze, his neck snapped back 90 degrees on its own. His head lolled to the side. One second he was groaning; the next, he twitched and died.
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