When My Parents Charged Me by the Minute for Their Love I Left Chapter 01

When My Parents Charged Me by the Minute for Their Love I Left Chapter 01

Ever since I was little, Mom and Dad taught me that time had to be managed carefully and that I shouldn’t take up other people’s time carelessly.

So from the age of six, they gave me only 180 minutes of “family time” each month.

A parent-teacher conference used up forty minutes.

A trip to the clinic used up an hour.

Even my birthday dinners were timed.

When I was twelve, I developed appendicitis in the middle of the night.

Because the surgery was delayed, Mom stayed with me in the hospital room for an extra forty minutes.

When I woke up, she was still there. She even reached out and stroked my hair.

For one brief moment, I thought being ill might be an exception.

But the following month, my living allowance never arrived.

At lunchtime, I checked my meal card and found less than three dollars left on it.

With my classmates behind me starting to look impatient, I had no choice but to put the twelve-dollar meal back on the counter.

After that, I never let my parents go over the limit by even a single minute.

Then, when I was seventeen, Mom and Dad brought home Ashley Collins, a girl they had sponsored for years.

Mom spent an entire afternoon shopping with her.

Dad canceled a business meeting to take her to dinner, a movie, and then an amusement park.

I asked, “She’s used up that much time. Aren’t you going to deduct it from her living allowance?”

Dad frowned.

“She didn’t have much stability growing up. Do you really have to compare yourself to her over something like this?”

Mom laughed too.

“How can you put a price on spending time with family?”

That night, I accepted my school’s nomination for early admission to a prestigious university two thousand kilometers away.

It came with a full scholarship, and my school would nominate only one graduating student.

I had turned it down before.

Mom and Dad had said the university was too far away.

Getting me there and coming to visit would disrupt their schedules.

But this time, I had no intention of saving their time for them.

I wasn’t going to keep wasting my own life waiting for them to respond.

…

The ink on the application form had barely dried when my phone vibrated.

Dad’s executive assistant had sent me this month’s family-time breakdown.

[You have 176 minutes of family time remaining this month. Please plan accordingly.]

I stared at the message before asking, “Can the unused time be credited toward my living allowance?”

There was no reply for a long time.

So I sent another message.

“Whenever I went over by a minute, you deducted ten dollars from the following month’s living allowance.”

“If extra time has a price, why don’t I get anything back for the time I don’t use?”

When I had surgery at twelve, I used forty extra minutes of Mom’s time.

It was only after the following month’s allowance was wiped out that I understood “time must be managed carefully” had never been a joke.

For the rest of that month, I drank nothing but water at lunchtime.

The girl who sat beside me unwrapped a hot chicken sandwich.

The smell of roast chicken and butter drifted out of the wrapper.

I stared at it for too long, then quickly lowered my head and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold water.

On the worst days, I even went around to the back of a convenience store after school, looking for unopened bread that had already expired.

From then on, I never went over my allotted time again.

When I was fourteen, Grandma passed away.

Mom and Dad were always busy running their company.

Grandma was the one who had always looked after me day to day.

After the memorial service, I threw myself into Mom’s arms and cried.

But then my eyes landed on the clock on the wall behind her.

Eleven minutes left.

Seven minutes.

Three minutes.

For the final ten seconds, I silently counted down with the second hand.

The moment my time was up, I quickly pulled away from her embrace.

“Time’s up.”

Mom looked startled for a moment, then a pleased smile appeared on her face.

“That’s right, Madison. You’ve finally learned to be independent and manage your own time.”

Just then, Dad’s assistant replied to my messages.

[Mrs Parker says unused family time cannot be credited toward your living allowance.]

I stared at the answer for a long time.

So they could charge me for every extra minute, but I got nothing back for the time I didn’t use.

I picked up my scholarship application and got ready to leave for school.

Before I could get to the door, the apartment door opened.

Ashley ran inside, hugging a pink teddy bear.

Dad followed with a bag of amusement park souvenirs, while Mom laughed about how loudly Ashley had screamed on the roller coaster.

When Dad saw me, he seemed to suddenly remember something.

“Madison, my assistant said you’ve barely used any of your three hours this month.”

Mom took off her coat.

“We’re going back to the amusement park next week. We can take you with us this time.”

I tightened my grip on the application form.

When I was younger, visiting an amusement park had been my greatest wish.

Nearly everyone in my class had been to one.

They talked about how terrifying the roller coaster drop was, how the carousel lit up after dark, and how they kept photos of themselves standing in front of the castle inside their lockers.

I had never been.

One year, on my birthday, I finally gathered the courage to ask Mom, “Could you take me just once?”

Mom took out her phone and spent a long time calculating the travel time, the lines, and meals.

“At least six hours. You only have three hours this month.”

“The extra three hours will come out of next month’s living allowance.”

She turned the screen toward me.

“You decide. Do you want to go to the amusement park, or do you want to keep next month’s lunch money?”

I stared at the numbers on the screen for a long time before shaking my head.

“I don’t want to go.”

The next day, the girl beside me showed me a photo she had taken in front of the castle.

I looked at it for the entire break.

She asked, “Have you really never been?”

I quickly handed the photo back to her.

“I have. It wasn’t that interesting.”

After I started high school, I rarely asked my parents to come to school.

For every parent-teacher conference, I paid two hundred dollars to have an adult representative attend in their place.

She took careful notes and always let the teacher finish speaking.

Even when the meeting ran over, it didn’t cost me any of the following month’s lunch money.

Dad pushed the souvenir bag toward me.

“Even if we go over the three hours this time, we won’t deduct anything from your allowance. We’ll give you another two hours as well. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

At the top of the bag was a photo of the three of them standing in front of the castle.

Ashley stood between my parents.

I pushed the bag back.

“No, thank you.”

Mom frowned.

“Didn’t you always want to go when you were little? You don’t want to go now?”

I picked up my application.

Only then did Dad notice it.

He snatched it out of my hand.

The moment he saw the name of the university and the scholarship program, his expression darkened.

“Early admission to a university out of state? This is a huge decision. Why didn’t you talk to us first?”

I slowly took the form back from him.

The second hand on the wall clock swept past the twelve.

“Because three hours is too long.”

I opened the door.

“I don’t want to use them anymore.”