Motherly love transfer
My daughter treated me like her worst enemy.
I enrolled her in piano lessons, and she
accused me of wanting to parade her on
stage for others‘ amusement.
She wanted to meet a guy she met online, but
I forbade it. She screamed that I was violating her freedom.
She won first place in a national piano
competition, her future bright, but in a public
interview, she claimed I only saw her as a
money–making machine.
<
Later, when I had a heart attack, she flushed
my medication down the toilet, saying I
deserved to die.
Reborn, I sold the expensive piano and
stopped paying for her lessons.
I watched her fall from grace, unmoved.
And then, she regretted everything.
1
I woke up to a text from her piano teacher.
“Mrs. Miller, Claire’s tuition for next semester
is due. It’s $4,800, same as usual.
L
“Also, has she been preoccupied lately? She’s
been on her phone during lessons and hasn’t practiced. Her assignments haven’t been done for two weeks.”
“At this rate, she won’t even qualify for the national competition, let alone win.”
“Please talk to her. Her future is at stake.”
Staring at the familiar words, my breath
hitched. Last time, I’d received this same
message.
I’d asked Claire what was going on, and she
told me she’d met a guy online, ten years
older than her, and they were planning to
<
meet.
She was a minor. This online relationship was
a recipe for disaster. I refused to let her
throw herself into the fire.
She’d thrown a tantrum, threatened to kill
herself if I didn’t let her see him, and
smashed her nearly brand–new piano with a
wrench. The piano, a $10,000 gift for her
sixteenth birthday.
Of course, I hadn’t relented.
I paid a fortune to repair the piano, made her delete the dating app, paid her tuition, and
supervised her practice every day.
Through sheer force of will, she won the national competition six months later,
impressing the judges and securing a
scholarship to a prestigious music school. Her
future seemed limitless.
I’d watched my daughter, crowned with
victory, feeling immensely proud.
Then, in the post–competition interview, she’d tearfully accused me of unspeakable cruelty.
She said I was the person she hated most.
That piano lessons were just a way for me to exploit her talent.
That I’d driven away her father and
grandmother, keeping her from her loved
ones.
That I’d forbidden her from true love, forcing
her to break up on pain of death.
That I was poor and desperate, pinning all my
hopes on her becoming my cash cow.
Her voice cracked with emotion, moving the reporters to tears.
Watching the interview on TV, rage and shock triggered a heart attack.
Claire was right beside me. As I struggled to
L
breathe, she’d calmly flushed my medication
down the drain, her face a mask of malice
and triumphant revenge.
“Don’t bother. You should have died a long
time ago.”
Those were the last words I heard.
My spirit floated above, watching her call 911, feigning grief as paramedics took my body away for futile resuscitation attempts.
In front of the media, she sobbed dramatically, garnering sympathy. The music school waived all her fees and offered a
$20,000 annual stipend. A famous pianist
declared her his protégée, promising to send her abroad to study.
She reconnected with her estranged father, posting pictures of their heartwarming
reunion online, receiving a flood of well-
wishes.
Meanwhile, online commenters celebrated my
death, calling it karmic justice. My ashes were
buried in a neglected plot in the suburbs.
Tourists visiting the city would spit on my
grave as a form of morbid sightseeing.
My husband’s affair had ended our marriage.
Fearful of his new wife’s influence on Claire,
I’d given up everything in the divorce to
୮
secure custody.
I’d worked multiple jobs to afford her piano
lessons, sacrificing everything for her talent.
I’d hired the best teachers, draining my
savings.
Years of sweat and blood, poured into her
success, and she’d trampled me into the dirt.
So much for a mother’s love.
I texted the teacher back.
“I’m sorry, I won’t be paying for Claire’s
lessons anymore. If she wants to continue,
her father can take care of it.”
L
If she saw me as her enemy, despite
everything I’d done, then so be it.
This time, I’d give her the freedom she
craved.
