A grid of photos, front and center: a screenshot showing a $5,000 transfer to her daughter.
The caption was a single line:
I'd sell everything I own to give my child the best. Mom will always be your rock.
The comments piled up fast.
"Lily Fox, you're incredible! Five thousand a month for spending money? You're not raising a daughter, you're raising a princess!"
"And the kid delivered too. Weston University! Lily, your life is made!"
Aunt Diane Mercer was the first to hit like, comment right behind it: "I've always said it. That girl getting into Weston is all because of you, Lily, holding it down on your own. All that sacrifice. It really wasn't easy."
Vanessa Mercer jumped in too: "Wow, Queenie Pruitt, you're so lucky to have a mom like that!"
I sat on the floor, my back pressed against the edge of the bed, staring at that post. My fingers curled tighter, one knuckle at a time.
Five thousand.
Five thousand a month in spending money.
I looked down at the stack of crumpled draft paper on the desk. In the corner, half a gel pen lay pinned under the pile. The ink had run dry, so I'd switched to another one to keep writing.