What My Stepfather Charged Me For

The year I turned seven, my dad died in a car accident. My mom married her first love, and I became an orphan in my own home.

At our first dinner together, my stepfather, Richard, laid down the new rule. From tonight on, he said, everything in this house is fifty-fifty.

I had one spare rib.

Then he looked at me, all of seven years old, and told me I owed him three hundred dollars for the meal.

I glanced at my stepsister, Tiffany, who was happily gnawing on her ribs.

"Tiffany ate ribs too. Why doesn't she have to pay?"

"Because Tiffany is my own flesh and blood," Richard stated, his voice calm. "I love her. She has the privilege of being my real daughter."

My eyes flicked to my mother.

He went on without missing a beat.

"Your mother is my wife. I love her, so she also enjoys certain privileges."

"You share no blood with me. We have no bond. I have no obligation to feed you."

To enforce Richard's family 'go Dutch' system, everything in the house was tagged with a price.

A price list was taped to the refrigerator door.

Apples: 0-0.00 each.

Milk: $2.00 per carton.

Leftovers: $0.50 per serving.

...

My mom and Tiffany had special privileges.

They could open the fridge whenever they wanted.

I wanted to open the fridge, but I had no money to pay.

Richard's voice was cold.

"No money, and you still expect to eat?"

I stood there,mute.

He pretended to relent. "Fine. We'll put it on your account for now. Then you and Eleanor will sign a personal loan agreement."

"Interest will be charged at a high-risk rate-one-tenth of a percent per day, compounded until you turn eighteen. Once you're an adult with an income, you'll repay every cent."

So I was billed for every watt of electricity, every grain of rice. Even for the vacations Richard and Mom took Tiffany on...

Because of that family 'go Dutch' system, I owed over six hundred thousand dollars I'd even grown up.

To keep the debt from skyrocketing, I lived simply.

I even picked through the trash for Tiffany's old clothes and shoes. Sometimes, I resorted to begging for food on the streets.

One winter, the flu was rampant. I came down with a fever.

The thermometer read almost 104 degrees Fahrenheit. I was burning up, feeling like a literal lump of coal.

Of course, the first thing Richard and Mom did was pull out their ledger. After furiously calculating with a calculator, they printed out a new loan contract.

"Chloe, you can go to the hospital. But you need to understand that medical expenses are a bottomless pit. Registration, blood tests, IV drips-it would easily cost over a thousand dollars."

"Chloe, you and your parents agreed. Family expenses are split. Personal unexpected expenses, like Chloe getting sick with a fever, are self-pay."

But I couldn't afford to pay for myself.

So, I signed another loan agreement with Richard and Mom.

...

Richard and Mom didn't take me to the hospital in the end.

Going to the ER was too expensive, Richard said. A waste of resources.

He drove to the local drugstore and bought a box of fever reducers and some cheap anti-inflammatories.

Total cost: fifteen dollars.

Richard walked into my room with the pills, Mom hovering behind him.

"Chloe, even though you're not my blood, that doesn't mean I don't care. I fronted the cash for this. Plus a five-dollar 'service fee' for my time. Total's fifty."

He set the medicine on my nightstand. Then he held out a piece of paper and a pen.

"Sign the loan agreement first. Once it's signed, you can have the pills."

But I was burning up, my eyes too heavy to open.

"Mom..."

My voice was a ragged whisper.

She turned her face away.

"Just sign it, Chloe. Sign it and take the medicine. You'll feel better."

I fought back the discomfort of the fever, my hand trembling.

I scrawled my name illegibly on the loan agreement.

But the second I finished signing, Tiffany's voice rang out from outside the door.

"Dad! Mom! I cut my finger! It hurts so much!"

Mom sprang up like a coiled spring, rushing to Tiffany in the kitchen.

Her voice was filled with frantic worry and tenderness.

"What happened, my sweetie?"

"Oh no, let Mom see! Is it bleeding? Richard, let's go. Take our sweet baby to the hospital to get it bandaged, get her a tetanus shot! This kind of cut can be minor or serious, we can't risk infection!"

Listening to the sound of Richard hurriedly starting the car outside,

I lay in bed, tears streaming down my face.

I didn't understand.

Why was I burning up with a 104-degree fever, given only fifty dollars' worth of pills, and forced to sign a loan to pay for them?

While Tiffany,with just a shallow cut on her finger, got a free trip to the ER for a tetanus shot?

Tiffany, the family favorite, saw the question in my eyes.

She grinned.

"Because I'm Dad's real daughter. He loves me."

"And your mom loves my dad. So, by extension, she loves?me?the most!"

Because Tiffany was Richard's real daughter, she received love from both of them.

I was only Mom's blood.

So as I grew, what I accumulated wasn't memories-it was debt, snowballing and cold.

I had no time for friends at school.

Even with the SATs looming, I spent every lunch break collecting cans, running errands for classmates, and doing homework for the failing kids behind the gym-five dollars per thousand words.

But I never expected Tiffany and her friends to corner me against the brick wall while I was picking up plastic bottles.

Tiffany pulled a folded paper from her uniform pocket.

It was the loan agreement I'd signed for Richard two days earlier-the one for next month's pads.

"See? I told you. Every word's true. Chloe has to borrow from my dad and sign an IOU just to buy pads."

"She's already six hundred thousand in debt to our family-and she's not even eighteen."

"A total money pit. Doesn't earn a cent but spends like it's nothing. Who knows what else she blows cash on?"

"I'm serious. Hang around her, and your wallet might go missing."

Tiffany had been feeding me to her friends as gossip.

Whispers circled around me.

My face burned.

With every secret laid bare, Tiffany made me want to vanish on the spot.

My eyes burned. I reached for the IOU.

But Tiffany held it higher.

Later, she didn't just show it around. She taped it to the school's main bulletin board.

"Let everyone see who our top student really is. What good are perfect grades? She's six hundred thousand in debt already! Trash from the inside out."

That afternoon, I became the school's joke.

"Pad-borrower" became my name.

My teacher called Tiffany and me into her office.

She was a decent person.

She scolded Tiffany firmly for the disrespect, then called our parents.

Richard and Mom both came.

Richard, in a crisp suit, looked every bit the polished gentleman. He apologized to the teacher the moment he entered.

But when the teacher gently brought up "protecting a girl's privacy" and "providing for her basic needs," Richard adjusted his glasses and smiled.

"I think you misunderstand, Miss. This is part of our family's financial literacy curriculum. Chloe has always struggled with fiscal responsibility. The shared-cost system, the personal loan-it's all designed to teach her self-reliance. To prepare her for the real world."

The teacher was left speechless.

Outside the office, in a deserted corner of the hallway, Richard and Mom's polite smiles dropped.

Richard checked his phone. Mom understood immediately and turned on me.

"Chloe, because of your little scene at school, Richard and I had to leave work. Richard bills at five hundred an hour. I bill at three hundred. Plus fifty for gas. That's eight hundred fifty dollars you owe."

Mom scribbled the numbers down quickly.

"This is on you. You've incurred an unnecessary time cost for both your father and me."

And so, my debt increased again.

On the way home, Tiffany happily held Richard and Mom's hands.

Only I was left behind.

Tiffany suddenly turned her head and stuck out her tongue at me, grinning.

That evening at dinner, Mom suddenly covered her mouth, then rushed to the bathroom.

Richard froze.

Then his eyes lit up, his forks clattering to the table.

"Eleanor!" He rushed to the bathroom door, knocking. "What's wrong? Could it be..."

That guess was soon confirmed at the hospital.

Mom, at forty-two, was pregnant.

She was pregnant with Richard's child.

Mom stroked her belly, her face flushed with happiness.

The arrival of their love child put Richard and Mom in high spirits.

Richard looked at me.

"To ensure our new family member has the best start, we need to reallocate our resources."

"So, Chloe, your room can be used as a nursery for your future brother."

My heart sank.

"Then... where will I live?" Richard tapped the table, pointing to the balcony.

"Eleanor and I discussed it. We'll enclose that corner of the balcony and put a folding bed for you there."

The balcony?

That was a place that leaked wind in winter and was exposed to the scorching sun in summer, without even a proper cover.

When I started crying, Richard and Mom remained unyielding. Their words were full of demands for me to be understanding, their tone completely non-negotiable.

"With a new family member coming, our household expenses need to tighten. Chloe, you're almost graduating high school. You're fully capable of working as an adult."

"After you graduate high school next year, forget about college. You'll work to pay off your dad and me."

No!

I had to go to school!

My teachers said that an education was my only way out.

I argued vehemently, but Mom angrily slapped me.

Richard and Mom threw the black leather ledger and a stack of loan contracts with my signature on them in front of me.

"Get this straight, you're not Richard's child. We, as a family, have no obligation to raise you until adulthood, especially after all these years of our AA system. Don't you know how much debt you owe us? You're already a massive liability, a total loss-making project!"

I covered my swollen face, my gaze drifting to Mom, who was lost in the joy of her pregnancy.

Mom.

Did you forget? I might not be Richard's child,

But I'm your daughter.

But Mom just looked down, stroking her pregnant belly, absorbed in the happiness of carrying Richard's child.

After a long silence, Mom, uncomfortable under my resentful gaze, finally looked up, as if having made a decision.

"Chloe, don't blame your dad and me. Raising a child costs too much. Your brother needs formula money and an education fund even before he's born. You're old enough now; you should be sensible and help out. Besides, you already owe us a huge amount of money..."

My eyes welled up. I looked at Mom in disbelief.

I finally understood.

In this house, I was just a indebted outsider.

Silently, I turned to pack my belongings.

Mom's and Richard's child hadn't even been born yet.

But to show just how much they treasured their "own flesh and blood," they decided to prepare the nursery early.

So, they moved me out to the balcony ahead of schedule.

My first night out there, I fell ill again with fever.

Even with the windows latched, the wind and rain found their way in from every crack. It was like sleeping in a damp, drafty icebox.

Every night, I had to wrap myself in two blankets to sleep.

One night, I woke up thirsty, wanting to get a glass of hot water from the living room.

As I walked into the living room, I saw an unfinished box of cherries on the coffee table.

They were large, deep purple, and exuded an inviting sweetness.

Beside them was a note from Richard.

"Honey, these organic cherries are for energy and glow, especially for our little one's vitamins. They're forty dollars a pound, so make sure no outsiders touch them."

That "outsider," of course, referred to me.

I looked at that box of cherries.

A cold laugh echoed in my mind.

Just then, a whisper came from the master bedroom.

"Water... get me some water..."

Richard was away on a business trip.

Tiffany, as usual, was sleeping over at a friend's.

Neither of them was home tonight.

I pushed open the door.

Mom lay in bed, her face pale, her forehead shiny with cold sweat. The pregnancy was hard on her. Her legs had cramped in the dark, and she was both thirsty and in pain.

When she saw me, she spoke as if it were her birthright.

"Chloe, are you deaf? I've been calling you forever! Can't you see I was suffering? Massage my legs. Now. The cramp hurts."

I stood silently by the bed.

"Mom, it's three in the morning."

I looked coldly at my weak mom. "This is off-duty. Night care service fees are doubled."

Mom's eyes widened, as if she didn't recognize me.

"What are you talking about?"

Because I had never defied Richard and Mom, and never used such a cold tone with them.

In that moment, Mom found me utterly foreign.

"Chloe, I'm your mother! And I'm carrying your sibling! All I'm asking is for you to rub my legs. How can you even say such things?"

"Even mothers and daughters should keep accounts clear. You don't get 'motherly privilege' from me. That's exactly what you and Richard taught me."

I started calculating like they did-everything reduced to a number.

Everything had a price.

"Fetching water: ten dollars. A fifteen-minute leg massage: starts at fifty. Since it's after hours, a thirty-dollar surcharge applies. That's ninety dollars total."

Furious, Mom grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me.

I sidestepped coldly. It thudded to the floor.

"Of course, if you want me to pick that up, Mom, that'll be an extra five."

I?made another notation, my face blank. The obedient child was long gone.

"Mom, you're free to refuse. It's?your?pain, after all. And it's Richard's child in your belly that will pay for it."

With that, I turned to leave.

"Wait!" Mom shrieked, a hand flying to her stomach as if to shield the baby. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain. "Fine! Get the water! Massage my legs! Just...just put it on my account."

A cold smile touched my lips.

"Sorry, Mom. You've quit your job. I can't extend credit to someone with no income. My margins are too thin, and I don't do charity. Payment first. Then I work."

Faced with my sudden change, Mom trembled with rage.

But the agony in her legs was real. It forced her hand.

I took the payment. Then, as agreed, I fetched the water. I walked over, pulled back the covers, and began to work on her calves.

My heart was a still pond. Not a single ripple of feeling remained.

From now on, in this house, ?there was no mother. There was no daughter.

There was only a client. And a service provider.

I no longer craved the privileges Richard and Mom enjoyed.

Since they had turned the balcony into my "room," I started calculating-down to the last detail.

I claimed exclusive rights to the space. No one could enter without my permission, and nothing of theirs could be stored there.

Richard and Mom called me an ungrateful wretch.

I didn't care.