They Said I Spent 80,000, I Had 800 Chapter 01

They Said I Spent 80,000, I Had 800 Chapter 01

After my wealthy birth parents reclaimed me, my monthly allowance was eight hundred.

To stay afloat, I went to class by day and clocked in at night—five hours of sleep if I was lucky.

I held on until a routine checkup diagnosed me with a chronic illness.

I called Mom for money, but she just brushed me off. “Ask your brother!”

When I asked my brother, he just frowned. “Mom gave me just enough. I don’t have extra.”

Sick and exhausted, I dragged myself home.

Outside the front door, I heard my Mom and Dad complaining.

“She grew up with nothing. How is she spending more than a girl raised in luxury?”

“At this rate, we won’t be able to keep her.”

Tears streaming down my face, I shoved the door open.

“If you don’t want me, let me go! I’d be better off without you.”

Dad slammed the table and roared, “Did we say anything wrong?”

“Eighty thousand dollars a month, and you blow through every cent! You even ask for more!”

“Even a Rockefeller heiress doesn’t spend like that!”

I froze.

“Eighty thousand? But I only get eight hundred a month.”

The entire living room went dead silent.

***

The day I got diagnosed, the doctor slid the medical report across the desk.

“You’ll need long-term medication. It runs about eight hundred to twelve hundred dollars a month.”

I sat frozen.

Eight hundred dollars.

I only had three hundred and twenty dollars left in my account. The math just didn’t work.

Outside the hospital, I called Mom.

Background noise blasted through the receiver, sounding like a loud dinner party.

“What is it?”

“Mom, I was diagnosed with a chronic illness. I need medication long-term. Could you give me a little extra…”

“I’m busy. Ask your brother.”

The line went dead.

My heart sank.

Ever since they brought me back a few years ago, I’d worked late nights in a coffee shop and spent weekends running promotions at the mall.

I even picked up writing gigs online.

Combining three paychecks barely brought in a little over a thousand dollars a month.

After basic expenses, I saved every spare cent for emergencies.

Well… I guess this counted as one.

At the pharmacy, I spent nine hundred and twenty dollars on a month’s supply.

My bank account dropped to fifteen dollars and eighty cents. Not even enough for a single day of food.

When I got home, Kaysen Harding, my brother, hadn’t left for work yet.

I set the medical report on the coffee table.

“Kaysen… can you lend me some money? I’ll pay you back.”

He glanced at it.

“Isn’t what I give you each month enough?”

“Kaysen, the medicine alone costs more than eight hundred dollars. I still need to eat.”

“Enough,” he waved me off. “Don’t give me that runaround. There’s no way eight hundred isn’t enough; you must be blowing it on nonsense. I don’t have money either. Stop bothering me!”

Desperate, I called Dad.

The second it connected, Kaysen snatched the phone from my hand. “Fine, I’ll lend it. You’re such a drain.”

He spoke into the receiver. “It’s nothing, Dad. Oaklee just blew through her allowance again. I’ll transfer her some in a bit.”

Dad’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“Oaklee, why do you spend money like water? At this rate, your mother and I won’t be able to keep up with you no matter how much we earn!”

“Dad, I didn’t…”

He hung up.

Kaysen shot me a glare and pulled out his phone.

The transfer went through.

I was about to thank him when a voice message from Mom popped up.

“Your brother earns that money with sweat. Learn to budget—don’t keep making him cover for you. He’s soft-hearted—don’t take it for granted.”

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My face was gaunt, my legs thinner than Kaysen’s arm.

Before they found me, I weighed 125 pounds. Now, even bundled in a heavy winter coat, I barely hit 90.

Living on eight hundred dollars a month meant buying the cheapest meals at the school cafeteria every single day.

Only when the craving got unbearable did I dare add a sausage.

Yet my parents constantly called me wasteful. I’d pinched every penny I could, and still nothing stuck.

Passing a bakery window, I stared at a loaf of bread priced at twelve dollars and eighty cents.

I stared for a long time before walking away.

I only had fifteen eighty left…