The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 06

The Princess They Made Me Out To Be, The Starving Girl I Was Chapter 06

Thomas’s expression froze for a split second. It lasted barely long enough to register, and would have gone unnoticed if the camera hadn’t been inches from his face.

He quickly furrowed his brow, slipping back into that familiar weary, put-upon expression. “Miranda, I was saving the money on her behalf.”

“Do you really feel comfortable letting a nineteen-year-old girl have that much cash? You’re never

around, you have no idea how recklessly she spends.”

Mom’s voice turned icy. “So you ‘saved’ it for her down to $300?”

“You can’t only look at bank transfers!” Thomas shot back. “Doesn’t she live under my roof for

free? Eat meals at home? What about utilities and HOA fees?”

I lifted my head at last. “I boarded in high school and live on campus now. I come home at most two days a month. You can count exactly how many meals I’ve eaten here right now if you want.”

Thomas’s face darkened. “Hazel, when adults are talking, do you think you get to butt in?”

I’d heard that line countless times; it used to shut me up instantly. This time, Mom stepped firmly

in front of me.

“Yes, she does. The money was earmarked under her name. No one has a greater right to ask questions than she does.”

The livestream comments raced across the screen nonstop.

[Wait a minute-thirty thousand turned into three hundred?]

[This dad was just calling his own daughter a spoiled spender a little while ago!]

[Oh my god, the display cabinet in the living room is crammed full of designer sneaker boxes.]

[Birth daughter surviving on stale bread, stepson gets a fancy showcase?]

Lidia smoothed her hair, tone dripping with wounded indignation.

“Miranda, families don’t tally every penny. Thomas has worked so hard raising the kids. Seth isn’t your biological child, but he still calls Thomas Dad.”

Mom turned her gaze on her. “And what of it? Why should money I sent to feed Hazel end supporting your son?”

up

Lidia blanched.

Seth let out a mocking snort. “Like she’s some wronged victim. A girl can skip a few meals-it

won’t kill her. Everybody’s trying to lose weight anyway.”

The air turned frigid.

Thomas snapped. “Seth!”

But Mom gave a cold, bone-chilling smile. “Don’t stop him. Let him finish. I suspect my daughter

heard plenty of remarks just like that under this roof.”

I lowered my eyes. I had-more than I could count.

Seth had called me a beggar, mocked my worn coat as dumpster trash.

Every time I objected, Thomas would say, “He’s still young,” though Seth was only one year

younger than me.

On screen, Thomas tried desperately to patch the damage.

“Miranda, I’ll admit I gave Hazel less than I should. But raising a child with modest means isn’t

bad. She had it too easy before; I feared she’d grow wasteful.”

Mom spoke softly, her voice sharp as frost. “Then how much were the shoes Seth is wearing?”

Seth instinctively pulled his feet back, but the camera caught them clearly.

Lucas had a crew member look up the pair; moments later, a product photo and price tag appeared

on the monitor: $21,800.

The comment section exploded.

[LOL, strict frugality for the birth daughter, endless luxury for the stepson.]

[$20,000 sneakers bought with the girl’s $300 food allowance.]

[The girl eating cornbread on some farm while the little prince flaunts limited-edition kicks at

home.]

Mom pulled up another bank record. “Last September, I transferred $20000 for Hazel’s seasonal wardrobe. That same day, Seth posted these exact shoes on Instagram.”

A screenshot popped up: Seth grinning at a boutique counter, captioned “Back-to-school gift from Thomas, living the dream.”

A heavy weight settled in my chest.

That September, I’d bought no new clothes. Autumn temperatures dropped fast, and I still wore a thin sweatshirt from senior year, cuffs stretched loose from washing.

Jenna had given me her cousin’s hand-me-down jacket; I wore it every day through winter.

The clothing allowance meant for me had ended up on Seth’s feet.

Thomas’s features twisted with panic and resentment. “Miranda, do you really intend to air all of this in front of the entire country?”

Mom enunciated every word slowly. “What the nation is watching is what you chose to do.”

He switched tactics, leaning on sentiment.

“Who raised Hazel when she was little? Who carried her to the hospital with fever? And you- swamped with business, how many days a year do you even see her? Now you judge me?”

Once, those words coiled around my heart like old rope, filling me with guilt.

Mom didn’t back down. “It’s my fault I was absent. But that’s no excuse for siphoning off her living expenses. Thomas, don’t mix those two things.”

Lucas projected my bank history onto the screen: $1 bread rolls, $2 oatmeal, $3 pizza, long stretches

with zero transactions.

It sat side-by-side with Mom’s monthly $30000 transfers.

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at those faint purchase amounts. “Have you been eating like this all along?”

I said nothing. My silence was answer enough.