Mom's notebook

My mom has this notebook. It’s like a running tally of every penny she spent raising me. After another blowout argument, she told me I needed to pay her back. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll pay you back. Every last cent.” And the life you gave me, too.

1.

The hospital called, reminding me about my fifth chemo appointment tomorrow. I glanced at my savings account: $72,326.18. I told them I wouldn't be coming. The nurse sounded confused. "With treatment, you could live another year, maybe even longer. If you stop now, if you let the cancer spread…you might have less than three months.”

I knew that. But I couldn’t touch that money. It was everything I'd saved from four years of college and four years of working. It wasn’t a small amount, but I still had a debt to pay. To my parents.

My mom had it all figured out. "Raising you cost us at least $72,000," she'd said. "Until you pay us back, you’ll owe us, even in death." They had three thick notebooks, meticulously documenting every expense since I was born. A fifty-cent popsicle, a dollar pack of hair ties, two dollars for children's Tylenol, seven dollars for a lunchbox, tuition, allowance… every single thing they’d ever given me was recorded. The grand total: $9,634.24.

"Fifty cents back then isn’t the same as fifty cents now," Mom explained. "Inflation alone is five times that, not to mention all the expenses we didn't even track. Food, clothes, shelter…none of that’s free."

"And the time we spent, the sweat we poured into raising you…that can’t be measured in dollars and cents." Eventually, after some complicated calculations, she arrived at a nice round number: $72,000. "Before you throw a tantrum, before you ask for anything, remember what you owe us. Ask yourself if you even have the right."

So, I wasn’t interested in chasing a few extra months. I was going home to pay them back. Every. Single. Cent.

2.

I sold everything in my apartment for next to nothing, quit my job, and on a gray Tuesday morning, slipped away from the city I'd spent eight years building a life in.

By 3 PM, I was back in my parents' house. Mom had blocked my number and my social media, so I texted Dad to tell him I was home.

When Mom got back, a neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, gave me a long look. "You Carol's daughter, Ashley?"

I gave a tight smile and nodded. Mrs. Henderson's expression immediately soured, and she took a step back. "All that education and you can’t even respect your own parents. What a waste.”

"Ungrateful child. You'll get what's coming to you." Clearly, she'd heard my story. I wasn't even bothered. I just smiled sweetly. "Careful what you wish for, Mrs. Henderson. Mean words can come back to bite you."

"The nerve!" she huffed, hurrying away. "College graduate, my foot! No class at all!"

The hallway was freezing. No central heating in our old house. The cold seeped into my bones, my toes going numb, my legs trembling uncontrollably. This winter seemed colder than any other.

I huddled in my two down jacket...