After the divorce, I went abroad for two years. Before leaving, I gave my daughter an unlimited supplementary card to ensure she would never lack anything.
Every month, the card was maxed out. In just five days, she bought a villa. Three days later, a luxury car. Designer bags, shoes, watches—she never held back.
Whenever we video-called, I felt relieved. It was a good thing, I thought, that my daughter knew how to enjoy life—at least she was spending my money.
Until three months ago, when I received a message alert:
She’d used the card to buy a box of condoms worth tens of thousands of dollars.
That was the first time I panicked. I immediately booked a ticket and flew back to China. I just wanted to remind her—gently—to protect herself.
But before I could even leave the airport, my phone rang.
"Hello, is this Ms. Vivian Blake?"
"This is the Ridgeport Police Department. Your daughter, Amanda, was arrested for working illegally. She's a minor. Please come to the station to pick her up."
I froze.
What did they just say? Working illegally? My daughter? That couldn't be right.
Even though Graham Wyatt and I divorced, I left Amanda with that card to cover everything—her tuition, her living expenses. She was one of the most pampered girls in Ridgeport. If she was ever short on money, she could easily sell the villa or the car.
How could she possibly need to work?
Just yesterday, I’d gotten a spending alert. She was still using the card.
——
I tried to convince myself it was a mistake. Maybe it was someone else with the same name. But the officer confirmed again, firmly:
“Her name is Amanda. Please come as soon as possible. Her condition isn’t good.”
When I got to the station, I saw a version of my daughter I could barely recognize.
She was pale and thin. Her hair was dull, her body trembling from hunger.
But what broke me most was the way she limped. Her right leg hung at an awkward angle—broken.
My princess. My Amanda.
She looked up at me with tears welling in her eyes, voice trembling with shame:
“Mom... I really couldn’t afford the tuition anymore. The teacher gave me three days. If I didn’t pay, I’d be expelled...”
Her words stabbed into me like knives. I struggled to hold back my tears.
“But Amanda... didn’t Mom leave you the card? Why didn’t you use it?”
She bit her lip, sobbing harder.
“Last time... Aunt Clarissa fell down the stairs. Dad said I pushed her.”
“He took the card away. Said it was compensation for Aunt Clarissa.”
Aunt Clarissa—Clarissa Hale—Graham’s mistress.
After the divorce, he brought her home and treated her like royalty.
