My family was the richest in Harborview, but my mother had built her entire philosophy on thrift.
Leave food on your plate, and you'd be shipped to the backcountry to work the fields for half a year.
Spend one cent more than necessary, and you'd kneel under the blazing sun until you'd repented.
If I wanted to buy something, I had to apply two months in advance and wait for her approval.
After yet another time when not having a phone nearly got me cornered by a pack of street punks, I finally broke.
I demanded an answer:
"Why does the scholarship student you sponsor get a million a year, while I have to ask permission to spend ten dollars?"
Her face darkened.
"You're going to inherit this family one day. What does a little money like that even count for?"
To punish my vanity, she dumped me deep in the mountains.
"This is exactly where Myrtle lived before I took her in. Go experience it. See for yourself what real hardship looks like."
I chased her car crying for miles. She never once looked back.
Three years later, she finally came to bring me home.
But when she saw what I'd become, the regret nearly destroyed her.
……
When my mother called my name,
I was up on the slope, gathering wild greens.
The sound of "Irene Gilbert" reached me,
and my whole body went rigid. I turned, unable to believe it.
A woman in expensive clothes stood watching me, her eyes rimmed red.
The jewels at her throat caught the light and stung my eyes.
Beside her stood a girl about my age,
also dressed head to toe in designer labels, looking like a little princess.
I rubbed my eyes and looked harder.
It took me a long moment to make them out. It was my mother, and Myrtle Fox.
I froze where I stood.
Three years apart, and my mother had raised Myrtle into something polished and refined.
That pride, that poise, ran all the way to the bone.
As if she'd been born to wealth.
My hand trembled. Without thinking, I turned to go.
My mother ran up and caught my wrist from behind.
"Irene, what's wrong?"
"Don't you know your own mother?"
I kept my eyes off her, hugging the greens to my chest, saying nothing.
She looked me over from head to foot.
Her gaze stopped on the patches sewn into my jeans, and her voice cracked.
"You've suffered. I came to take you home."
"Starting next year, I'm handing the company to you."
"Three years out here, you must understand by now how hard money is to earn. You'll be more than ready to run it as CEO."
"No need."
My voice came out hoarse as I refused, pulling my hand free.
My mother's brow furrowed.
"Still sulking?"
"I left you here three years ago to toughen you up. I did it for your own good."
And she reached for me again.
This time she reached for my right hand.
I didn't pull away. But her fingers closed on nothing.
Her face went stiff.
Stunned, she gripped my empty sleeve, her voice shaking.
"Your—your arm, where is it?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She shoved the sleeve up.
When she saw the stump, the breath went out of her and the blood drained from her face.
"Irene, what is this…"
"You little tramp! How long does it take to dig up some weeds? You're still not done?"
A man's vicious voice came roaring up from the foot of the hill, cutting her off.
My body flinched on reflex. I yanked my sleeve down, turned, and ran.
I was already married.
Three years ago my mother left me here, and not long after, I was married to Noah Fox.
My arm—he'd cut it off because I disobeyed.
With no phone, and people always watching so I could never make it out of the mountains, there was no way to call for help.
I fought it for two years. This year I finally gave up.
Noah was brutal. Come back late, and the beating would come.
A cold sweat broke over me—and then my path was blocked again.
Myrtle caught hold of me, her brows drawn tight.
