My mom is an HR professional. She uses KPI to determine my entire life.

"If you get into the top ten of your grade, you'll receive a B grade as well as a bonus of 500 dollars. If you can achieve a ranking at a state-level competition, you'll receive an A grade as well as a bonus of 1,000 dollars. Of course, if you can get into a top-tier university after scoring well in your SATs, I'll give you an S+ grade as well as a year-end bonus of ten thousand dollars!"

I work my ass off in my studies and manage to earn the offer letter to a top-tier university. But that's when my mom puts a contract in front of me.

"Congratulations on getting hired. From today onward, your allowances will be determined by the total of your base salary, KPI, as well as your full attendance award.

"Your base salary is 500 dollars. It's to make sure that you won't starve to death, at the very least. In order to help you adapt to workplace stress in advance, I'll check on your progress randomly. If you don't meet my requirements, I'll deduct your salary."

When I'm down with a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit, my mom deducts my full attendance award, claiming that my physical attributes aren't up to par.

In order to catch up on my studies, I've completely forgotten to submit my weekly report to my mom. Because of that, she suspends my allowances. So, I have to sell my blood to a hospital behind her back just so I can survive.

At the end of the school term, I show my mom my grades as well as the certificate to my scholarship, thinking that I'll be eligible for the highest KPI and the bonus.

But that's when my mom tells me coldly, "The company has decided to give your S+ bonus to your younger brother as a form of investment. After all, he has more potential to achieve better results compared to you."

As I gaze down at the 200-dollar consolation prize, I can't help but laugh.

It turns out that I'm not even worthy of being recognized as a good employee in my mom's company.

On the day the SATs ended, I thought I'd be greeted with flowers and hugs. What I didn't expect was a "Family Member Employment Contract".

Mom sat on the couch, twirling a pen in her hand. Her gaze was like that of an interviewer sizing up a fresh graduate.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the wooden stool across from her.

On the coffee table lay two documents. One was my acceptance letter from a top-tier college in a competitive major, and the other was that contract.

"Sabrina, congratulations on completing all of your K-12 academic requirements. According to our previous verbal agreement, since you've been admitted to a top-tier college, your performance rating is S+."

My eyes lit up, and my heart raced. "Then what about the ten thousand dollars bonus?"

For that money, I barely got a full night's sleep throughout my entire senior year of high school. The practice papers I wore out could fill up the whole room, and my hair fell out in clumps.

Mom smiled and said, "After careful consideration, I've decided to implement a resource swap regarding the distribution of the S+ performance bonus."

"What do you mean?" I asked, stunned.

"Rodney is taking his high school entrance exams next year. You know he's the family's seed project, and right now, he's in a critical development stage."

As if it were only natural, Mom pushed the contract toward me.

"Company resources are limited and must be allocated to high-potential projects. I used your ten thousand dollars to sign him up for an intensive prep course."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

"Mom, that was my bonus! You promised to give it to me!" I yelled.

"Watch your attitude." Her face darkened as she tapped on the table. "Questioning your superior's decision in the workplace is a major taboo. As an experienced HR professional, I'm teaching you the rules.

"Besides, you're already a mature product now, so there's no need for further maintenance costs."

She flipped open the contract to the first page.

"Given that you are about to start college, the family's obligation to support you is shifting to a basic survival guarantee. Starting today, your compensation structure is being adjusted to base salary plus performance bonus and perfect attendance.

"The base salary is 500 dollars per month, which covers your meals, transportation, phone bill, and all social expenses."

Five hundred dollars? In Bellham, where everything was expensive, 500 dollars wouldn't even cover cafeteria meals without careful budgeting.

"There's no way I can survive on that amount," I said through clenched teeth.

Mom looked at me coldly. "That's your problem. Maximizing income and minimizing expenses are fundamental job requirements. You can get a part-time job or scholarships, but on the condition that—"

She pointed to the contract terms. "It doesn't affect your academic KPIs. If your semester GPA falls below 4.5 or you fail any course, your base salary will be cut in half.

"Additionally, to help you acclimate in advance to a high-pressure work environment, I will conduct spot checks.

"50 dollars will be deducted from your salary for unsatisfactory dorm cleanliness, 20 dollars for failing to respond to messages promptly, and 100 dollars for exceeding the weight standard."

"Now, sign it, Sabrina."

Mom handed me the pen. Instead of motherly warmth in her eyes, there was just the cold calculation of a boss looking at cheap labor.

"You don't have to sign it if you don't want to. But then you'll have to pay your own tuition and get yourself emancipated, and we'll terminate our employment relationship."

I looked at the red ink pad, tears welling up.

I knew she meant it.

In the ten years since my father, Anthony Knapp, passed, Mom had used these ruthless KPIs to rank Rodney and me into different classes.

Rodney was the core asset, while I was consumable material.

I signed my name on the contract with a trembling hand.

"Very good." Mom put away the contract and smiled with satisfaction.

"Welcome to your new stage of employment. One more thing—since you just talked back to me, 200 dollars will be deducted from your base salary at the end of this month. Thus, you'll only have 300 dollars next month."

I closed my eyes in resignation and forced back my tears.

College life became a survival game for me.

Afraid of having the remaining 300 dollars deducted even further, I lived like a finely tuned machine.

Every day at 6:00 am, I got up to memorize vocabulary. To save money on breakfast, I filled up on tap water.

The cheapest vegetable dish in the cafeteria cost 2 dollars and 50 cents. I ordered just one portion per meal and took advantage of the free refills on soup.

When my roommates invited me out for pizza, I always made excuses about being on a diet. When the class had group dinners, I always said I was busy.

Soon enough, I became known as the weirdo among my classmates. But I didn't care, because I just wanted to survive.

Yet, the body is not a machine. When the first flu of winter hit, I caught it. My fever was 104 degrees Fahrenheit. I felt like I'd been tossed into a furnace that even my bones ached from the heat.

I lay in my dorm bed, too weak to even get up and pour myself a glass of water.

My phone buzzed.

It was Boss—the name I'd save for my mother.

"Where's this week's weekly report? Why haven't you sent it yet?"

The weekly report was another yoke she'd placed on me.

Every Sunday before 8:00 pm, I had to report my study progress, a detailed breakdown of my expenses, and my plan for the following week in no fewer than a thousand words.

I forced my heavy eyelids open and typed with trembling fingers, "Mom, I have a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit, so can I send the report a little later?"

The message disappeared into the void.

Ten minutes later, my phone rang.

It wasn't a concerned reply, but a transfer notification.

"Venmo payment received—0.01 dollars."

Immediately after came her voice message.

"Sabrina, physical fitness is also an important component of workplace competitiveness. Dropping the ball at a critical moment proves that your usual health management is completely inadequate.

"Given that you failed to submit your weekly report on time this week and were absent from the evening study session due to illness, your perfect attendance bonus for this month is canceled.

"And your performance rating is a C. Your living allowance for next month will be suspended as a disciplinary measure."

As I listened to Mom's icy voice, tears fell one after another into my pillow.

Suspended? I didn't even have the money to buy fever medicine right now. In fact, I only had 12 dollars and 50 cents left on my card.

"Mom, I'm really suffering. Can you lend me 100 dollars to buy medicine? Consider it an advance on my salary."

My voice trembled as I sent that voice message.

After a long while, she replied, "There's no precedent for salary advances in this company. Figure it out yourself. Don't expect the company to bail you out of everything."

In that moment, I felt like dying.

Burning with fever, I drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling like I might not make it.

My roommate, Jeannette Wood, noticed something was seriously wrong with me. Without a second thought, she carried me on her back to the campus clinic.

Registration, blood tests, and IV fluids came to over 300 dollars in total.

Jeannette covered it for me.

I watched the medicine dripping from the IV bottle, and instead of feeling grateful, all I could think was "How am I ever going to pay Jeannette back?"

The next day, as soon as my fever broke, I secretly pulled out the needle without telling anyone and went to an illegal blood collection station.

I couldn't afford to wait for legal blood donations, since there was a waiting period between donations.

The illegal clinic reeked of cigarette smoke, and the needles were frighteningly thick.

"You get paid 320 dollars for 400ml of blood," the man said, tossing a few crumpled bills at me.

I paid Jeannette back with that money and bought two bread rolls with what was left.

Biting into the cold bread roll, I opened my Instagram feed and saw a new post from Mom.

The photo showed Rodney wearing a brand-new pair of Nike shoes, with a lobster platter laid out in front of him.

The caption read, "Empowering a high-potential stock. Only with good nutrition can the brain work fast. Rodney, you've got this. I'll always have your back, no matter what."

The timestamp was exactly when I was burning up with a fever, begging her to lend me 100 dollars for medicine.

I chewed on the bread roll as tears and snot ran down my face. It turned out that in Mom's project portfolio, I was the non-performing asset that could be written off at any time.

After that desperate act of selling my blood to survive, I changed completely.

I stopped sending Mom those pitiful, pleading messages. I still wrote the weekly reports, but the content was all copy-pasted word salad.

Other than that, I started working like crazy—picking up deliveries for people, waiting tables in the cafeteria, tutoring on weekends, and even posing as a paid model for art students.

As long as it paid and wasn't illegal, I did it.

But one afternoon, just as I got back from a tutoring session, I saw Mom standing at the entrance of my dorm building.

The moment she spotted me, she started shouting, "Sabrina!"

My heart skipped a beat.

"I heard you've been keeping quite busy with your extracurricular work?" She walked up to me. "Carrying out side businesses unrelated to your main responsibilities without authorization—do you think the contract is just a piece of scrap paper?

"If your Aunt Beatrice hadn't told me, I would never have known you had it in you to secretly take on part-time jobs!"

My aunt, Beatrice Knapp, lived near my campus.

By now, some classmates nearby were already looking over with curiosity.

I clenched my fists and said in a low voice, "I need money to live."

"Money? What about your base salary?"

"You suspended it."

Mom let out a cold laugh and suddenly raised her volume. "I suspended it because your performance didn't meet the standards.

"You made a mistake, showed no remorse, and now you dare to set up secondary income and a slush fund behind my back? This is a serious violation of the rules!"

Her voice drew an even larger crowd. My cheeks burned with humiliation, and I just wanted to find a hole to crawl into.

"Mom, can we go back and talk about this? Please?"

"Go back? Why should we go back? What's there to hide? I'm going to check your personal accounts right here, right now."

She snatched my backpack and, in front of everyone, dumped everything out onto the ground. My books, my notes, a ballpoint pen, the 800 dollars I'd just earned from tutoring, and the debit card containing my hard-earned money all came tumbling out.

Mom picked up the debit card and let out a scoff.

"Just as I suspected. Sabrina, you've got quite the nerve."

"Give it back to me!" I shouted, my eyes instantly turning red.

That money was what kept me alive!

She stepped back, clutching the debit card and cash tightly in her hands.

"According to company policy, all income earned through violations is to be confiscated. I'm also temporarily freezing this debit card until you recognize your mistakes."

Having finished berating me, she walked off with the money I'd earned through blood, sweat, and tears.

I crouched down and picked up my belongings one by one, tears falling uncontrollably.

Now, the clause in the contract that read "Upon receiving the National Scholarship, the year-end bonus will be 20 thousand dollars" had become my only reason to keep going.