My Mom, the Real Bloodsucker

My father is one of the wealthiest men in the country, a name everyone knows but almost never sees. My mother is the devoted wife standing behind him, the one who actually raises me. She always tells me my father looks down on us for being country people, that he calls us ungrateful dogs who can never be won over no matter how well they're fed. He sends me only 200 dollars a month for me to live on. I hate him for it. Then one day he shows up at my university without warning. He points at the tray in front of me and frowns. "I send you 50,000 dollars a month, and this is what you eat?" Chapter 1 My phone screen lit up. It was a text from the bank. "You received a transfer of 200 dollars from Diane Sutherland, account ending 4092." The number stung, landing right on a nerve that was already raw. I set the phone down and felt a hollow, twisting pain in my stomach. I'd only eaten one meal yesterday to save money. This 200 dollars had to last me the entire month, all 30 days of it. My roommate, Wes Forks, leaned over, saw the message, and immediately got worked up on my behalf. "Sawyer, is your dad made of stone? What can 200 dollars even do in Bellmont? "I spent over ten dollars on a bubble tea yesterday without even thinking twice. This isn't an allowance; it's charity for beggars." As he talked, Wes picked up the imported watch he'd just bought and strapped it onto his wrist. The thing looked like it cost a few hundred thousand dollars. I managed a smile that probably looked worse than crying. He didn't get it. My father, a man so far above us that he might as well have lived on another planet, probably did think we were nothing but beggars. I kept seeing Mom's face, worn down by exhaustion and helplessness. She'd been telling me the same thing for as long as I could remember. "Sawyer, your father's a city man. Deep down, he's always looked down on people like us—country folk. "He doesn't think much of me, and he thinks even less of you. Your uncle, your grandparents, none of us are good enough for him. "Every time I ask him for a little more so you can have a decent life, he throws it back in my face. He says the Sutherlands are nothing but a bunch of freeloaders, leeches trying to bleed him dry." Those words took root in me like poisoned seeds, and they'd been growing ever since. Just then, my phone rang. It was Mom calling. "Sawyer..." Her voice sounded tired. "This month... It's still just 200 dollars. "I begged him, Sawyer. I practically groveled. But your father said not a dollar more." She paused. "It's my fault. I don't have what it takes, and that's why you have to suffer like this." Anger and heartbreak churned together inside me. None of this was her fault. She'd already taken more humiliation from that man than anyone should have to, all for my sake. I couldn't imagine what it cost her pride to grovel like that, just so her son could eat. "Mom, don't say that." I cut her off before she could keep going. "I can pick up a part-time job on campus. I can support myself." "You're such a good kid." Her voice cracked on the other end of the line. "Just promise me you won't starve yourself." I hung up. The dorm room went quiet in a way that felt almost unbearable. I pulled a two-day-old bag of white bread from my drawer, tore open the packaging, and took a bite. It was dry and stale, scraping my throat as I swallowed. My phone lit up again, this time with messages from the class group chat. Everyone was talking over each other about a dinner plan. "We're celebrating Dylan's birthday tonight! Karaoke and drinks after at our usual spot. Don't be late!" "Heard we're hitting that new restaurant. It's like 50 dollars a head minimum." "We're splitting the bill, obviously, but let's go big for Dylan tonight!" Mia Lawson tagged everyone by name. "@Everyone, get your butts out here tonight. No excuses allowed!" I flipped my phone face down on the desk, trying to shut out a world that I didn't belong to. A second later, Mia tagged me directly. "@Sawyer Reeves, you're coming too. It's Dylan's birthday, so you can't skip this one. You're always keeping such a low profile. Come out and have some fun for once!" I clenched my fist. To them, it was just an ordinary night out. To me, 50 dollars was worth ten days of groceries. I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, typing and deleting the same message over and over. In the end, I just sent a single text. "Sorry, I've got a shift tonight and can't make it. Happy birthday, Dylan!" It was a lie. But I had no choice. I couldn't afford to go. I switched off the screen and pulled myself back into the dark. Whatever happiness belonged to normal college students, it wasn't mine to have. I had a dream that night. Dad, a man I'd only ever seen in financial magazines, stood over Mom after knocking her to the ground. "Diane Sutherland, you and that hick son of yours are nothing but a couple of freeloaders, always crawling back with your hands out." Chapter 2 A few days later, a poster went up on the campus bulletin board announcing a lecture by a distinguished alumnus. The name Warren Reeves was printed front and center in bold. My head started buzzing, and I turned to leave, but Wes grabbed my arm and practically shrieked. "Sawyer, look! It's Warren Reeves! An actual billionaire, in the flesh!" "Oh my God, we're going to see him in person," another roommate chimed in, wide-eyed. "I heard he makes billions of dollars a year. My mom treats him like some kind of idol. She talks about him all the time." They dragged me along whether I liked it or not, pushing and pulling me through the crowd until we were packed into the lecture hall. Dad stood on the stage in a sharp, understated suit, speaking about business strategies and future market trends in a voice that was calm and measured. He was nothing like the cold, heartless man Mom always described. Something uneasy stirred in my chest. When the lecture ended, university administrators swarmed him, crowding around him like he was the center of gravity. I kept my head down and tried to slip out. "Sawyer Reeves." The entire hall went silent, and hundreds of eyes turned toward me at once. There was nowhere to hide, so I stood frozen where I was. He ignored everyone else and walked straight to me. "Come with me." Dad took my arm and led me out of the hall. The whispers crashed over me like a wave. "Oh my God, is he Warren Reeves' son?" "No way. Look at what he's wearing. That's all bargain bin stuff." "If he's really his son, how is he that broke?" Every single word cut deeper than a knife. I clenched my fists and said nothing. He took me to the dining hall. It was lunchtime, so I went through the line and picked up my usual—a plain side salad and a bread roll. The total came to just a couple of dollars. Dad looked at the sad little pile on my tray and frowned. "I send you 50,000 dollars a month, and this is what you eat?" 50,000 dollars? The number detonated inside my head. "What... What do you mean 50,000 dollars?" My voice was shaking badly. All I ever received was 200 dollars. Dad looked taken aback. "On the 15th of every month, I transfer 50,000 dollars to your bank account." He turned his phone screen toward me. Line after line of transfer records filled the screen, every single one for 50,000 dollars, every single one with Mom's name attached to it. My entire world fell apart. My hands went cold, and my mind went blank. Where did all that money go? "Your mother didn't give it to you?" He looked at me, genuinely confused. I forced myself to stay calm and plastered a stiff smile. "Mom told me about it. She got the money." The moment the lie left my mouth, I watched the tension in his face ease. "Sawyer, I know I haven't been a good father. I've been too busy these past years. Money is the only way I know how to make it up to you." He added, almost as an afterthought, "That sports car I got you for your 18th birthday, why don't you ever drive it? Your mom said you didn't want it, so I didn't push." A car? That was yet another thing I'd never heard a single word about. I squeezed my fists inside my pockets and fought to keep my head clear. "It's... kind of flashy to drive on campus. I didn't want the attention, and parking's a hassle anyway." I threw out the excuse just to get out of there. After saying goodbye, I practically ran back to the dorm, slammed the door shut, pressed my back against it, and slid down to the floor. My hands were shaking as I scrolled through my contacts to a number I'd never once called. Dad picked up almost instantly. "Sawyer?" I bit down hard on my lip and forced myself to speak. "Dad, I... Can I ask you for some money? It's kind of urgent." There wasn't even a second of hesitation. "Of course. How much?" "T-Ten thousand dollars." I simply said a number I never would have dared to imagine before. "I'll send it right now." "Dad, let me give you a new bank account number. Send it there." "No problem." Less than ten seconds after I hung up, my phone buzzed with a bank notification, informing me that 10,000 dollars had been deposited instantly. The memo read, "If it's not enough, just tell me. Don't go without." I stared at those words, and the tears came flooding out. This was the father I'd spent 18 years hating? I wiped my eyes and, still shaking, opened a different text thread. I took a deep breath and typed out a message. "Mom, I need money urgently. Can you ask Dad for me again?" Her reply came as fast as it always did. "You know what your father's like. He's not going to give you anything, Sawyer. You need to learn to handle things on your own. "If I go to him again, it'll only give him another reason to look down on us. "Just let it go. There's nothing I can do." I stared at the messages on my screen and felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. For 18 years, I'd been played like a fool, dancing to every string she pulled. I took the money Dad just sent me and hired the most reputable private investigator I could find online. I only needed him to find one thing—every transaction on every bank account under Mom's name. Chapter 3 At 2:00 am, I opened the encrypted file. Every month on the 15th, a payment of 50,000 dollars came in like clockwork from Dad's company account. And every month on the 16th, a payment of 49,800 dollars went right back out, just as reliably, to a single account. The name on it was Keith Sutherland, the uncle Mom had always described as frail and bedridden, too sick to work. My monthly allowance of 200 dollars was nothing more than the loose change Mom and her brother could barely be bothered to peel off before pocketing the rest. It explained why my cousin, Brandon Sutherland, was already driving a sports car and dressed head to toe in designer brands despite being younger than me. It explained why every time I went back to visit my grandparents, they looked at me with something between pity and contempt. They must have thought I was worthless, some kid who only deserved 200 dollars a month. And my mother, Diane Sutherland, was their hero—the brave soldier who endured a supposedly terrible husband so she could funnel the Reeves fortune straight into the Sutherland family's pockets. I stared at the bank records until my heart felt like it had been locked inside a freezer. Then I dragged the file to the trash and deleted it permanently. The next day happened to be the 16th. Mom's call came right on schedule. "Sawyer, you got the money, right? Be careful with it. Don't waste it on anything you don't need." "Got it, Mom." I kept my voice tight and full of gratitude. "I'm sorry you had to go beg him again because of me. I really am." I could practically sense her satisfaction through the phone. "As long as you're doing okay, all the grief I have to endure is worth it." I hung up, my face blank, and opened Brandon's Instagram. His latest post was a photo of him grinning behind the wheel of a brand-new Porsche. The caption read, "Shoutout to my aunt for landing another big payday! Legend!" Beneath it was a parade of likes and gushing comments from Sutherland relatives. One relative commented, "Diane is the backbone of this family! So proud of her!" An uncle wrote, "We'd be nowhere without Diane. Everything she puts up with, she does it for all of us!" The rage I'd been holding down erupted like a volcano. I called Mom back. "Mom, there's a study abroad exchange program at the university. It's an incredible opportunity, but it needs a 75,000-dollar deposit." I made sure my voice trembled just right. "Mom, this could be our only real chance to finally hold our heads up. I don't want to miss it." I sniffled for good measure, pushing the desperate, helpless tone as far as it would go. She exploded immediately. "75,000 dollars? Sawyer Reeves, have you lost your mind? "Where am I supposed to get 75,000 dollars? Your father would kill me! He won't give us a single cent!" I dug my nails into my palm and kept my voice steady. "But... I've heard from other students that when it's for their kids' future, most dads are happy to help." I paused deliberately before adding, "Oh, and Mom, last time when Dad came to campus, he gave me his personal number. He said I could call him directly if anything urgent came up. "So maybe... I should just try asking him myself. He might say yes if he's in a good mood." The other end of the line fell silent for so long that even the sound of her breathing disappeared. Then her voice came back, pitched high with panic. "Don't! Sawyer, don't you dare! "Don't go humiliating yourself like that! You don't know what your father's like! He'll tear you apart! "I'll figure out the money! I'll sell everything I have if I have to! I'll get on my knees and beg him! "Just wait for me to handle it! Whatever you do, don't contact him yourself!" I listened in silence as she spiraled, her words tripping over each other, until she finally hung up. Half an hour later, my phone buzzed with a text from her. "Sawyer, I'll figure out the money. Whatever you do, do not contact your father. If you do, it's over for the both of us." I looked at those words, "over for the both of us," and smiled. No. It was over for her.