“Look at my daughter—she’s skin and bones!” She yanked up my arm, showing it off to the customers. “She works herself to the bone every day and only earns this little. Isn’t this exploitation?”
The store manager, Mr. Johnson, stepped out of his office, his face dark.
“Ma’am, please calm down.”
“How can I calm down when my daughter’s being tortured like this?”
Laura jabbed her finger at him, her voice growing shrill.
“You brainwashed her, didn’t you? That’s why she won’t come home! That’s why she doesn’t recognize her own mother! I raised her all by myself, gave her everything—and now for a few measly dollars, she doesn’t want me anymore!”
Customers began whispering among themselves, some even pulling out phones to record.
I panicked.
“Mom, please, let me explain—”
She grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard.
“Look at yourself! Your face is pale. Did they force you to do heavy labor?”
Before I could respond, the store’s doors opened again and another group poured in—
cameramen with tripods, reporters with microphones, badges hanging from their necks.
I froze.
“Excuse me, are you Emily Parker’s mother?”
A female reporter thrust her microphone toward Laura.
“Yes, I am this poor child’s mother.”