I Cut Her Off, the Internet Exploded

Sylvia Raine, the underprivileged college student I have financially supported for seven years, turns around and puts me on the trending topics right after I lose my job and stop sending her money. She makes a post, crying about how I only supported her because I had ulterior motives and how I maliciously cut off her financial support after she rejected me, driving her to the brink of starvation. The Internet condemns me as a pervert, and a netizen even shows up at the construction site where I work as a laborer to cause a scene. Sylvia smugly sends me a voice message. "Wire me 50 grand, or I'll ruin your reputation!" She assumes I'll pay up to protect my reputation and keep being her long-term ATM. Instead of calling the cops, I let out a soft chuckle and transfer her a single cent. I casually leave a single sentence in the transfer remark. Ten minutes later, she starts calling me frantically. I don't answer a single call. An hour later, the Internet blows up. Chapter 1 After transferring the last allowance to Sylvia Raine, I had all of 27 dollars left in my bank account. That night, I was sleeping in one of the temporary prefab cabins at the construction site when my phone suddenly started blowing up. The first call I received was from Sylvia's mother, Gwen Foster. I glanced at the time. It was 1:17 am. The moment I answered, Gwen's shrill voice came through the phone. "What's the meaning of this, Mr. Smith?" "I told you, this is the last time. I can't support her after this." Gwen sounded as though she'd just heard a joke. Her voice abruptly rose an octave. "How can you stop whenever you please? You're driving my daughter into a dead end! Are you even human?" I sat up in bed. Quite a few of my coworkers, who were sleeping nearby, were stirred awake. They turned over and went right back to sleep. I pinched the bridge of my nose and lowered my voice. "I've already transferred this month's money. I need to keep what's left to pay my rent and buy food." Gwen's cries ground to a halt. "Sylvia's still in college. She's just a young lady; how is she supposed to survive without any living expenses? Mr. Smith, you've been sponsoring Sylvia since she was in sixth grade! "What did you promise us back then? You promised you'd support her until she finished college. Now that she's finally made it into college, you're suddenly cutting her off?" I didn't make a sound. … Three months ago, I was still working at a company with a monthly salary of 13 grand. At the time, I transferred 25 hundred dollars to Sylvia every month and bought her clothes and other necessities during the holidays. 25 hundred dollars wasn't much for me then. However, just last month, the company carried out a round of layoffs. My entire project team was dissolved overnight, without so much as an explanation. The severance package I received was less than 20 grand. I had to pay for rent, social security, and daily expenses. It wasn't enough to last me very long. I had thought about hanging in there. Yet, I had to survive first. … "Sylvia's already in college, Mrs. Raine. It's time she learned to find a way to support herself." The other end of the phone went dead silent. I hung up on her, feeling as though a massive boulder was weighing on my chest. I grew up in an orphanage, so I was all too aware of what it felt like for a child to have no one to rely on. Volunteers would come to the orphanage on certain days, bringing us schoolbags, stationery, and fruit. A man named Raymond Scott once gave me a pair of secondhand sneakers. There were still a few mud stains on the uppers that couldn't be washed out. However, they were the very first pair of sneakers I could call my own. I wore them and ran around all summer. Before he left, he stroked my head and said, "In the future, when you have the means, lend others a hand, too." I never forgot those words. Hence, after I started working, I did not buy a car, nor was I in a rush to buy a house. I saved a portion of my salary every month and regularly donated to several charitable causes. Sylvia was one of the most special cases. Her father had left home to work and eventually lost contact with them, whereas her mother had spent years working away from home, leaving Sylvia and her grandmother behind. Sylvia had good grades, and her essay had even won an award in the county. At the end of her profile, it stated that her greatest wish was to study hard and one day leave the small town. I had only joined the workforce at the time, and my salary wasn't high. I could only send her 500 dollars a month. After she received the money, she sent me a long message. "Thank you for believing in me, Mr. Scott. I promise I'll study hard and won't let you down!" I didn't tell her that I, too, had once been a child with no one to look after me. I merely replied. "Study hard, and let me know if you ever run short on money." Then, she advanced from elementary school to middle school, then on to high school. Every time her test scores improved, she would take a picture of her report card and send it to me. Chapter 2 The following day, I went to work at a day job at a shopping mall. The site manager, Louis Sterling, sent me to the back entrance to haul a load of timber boards. I bent down and lifted a heavy plank onto my shoulder. As soon as I walked to the entrance, I heard a child's laughter coming from outside. I instinctively looked up. Under the lights at the entrance of the shopping mall, a young woman walked out, holding a little boy's hand. She wore an off-white knit sweater, her long hair draped over her shoulders. She was clutching several shopping bags, one of which was printed with the logo of a certain children's products store. I took one look at her and stopped in my tracks. I had seen that face far too many times. The young lady before me was almost a carbon copy of Sylvia. The wooden plank in my hands hit the ground with a heavy thud. She seemed to hear the commotion and glanced back. The smile on her face instantly vanished. The very next second, she spun on her heel and fled with the boy. "Sylvia!" I called out instinctively. The young woman didn't look back. If anything, she picked up her pace. I dropped the plank on the ground and chased after her. There was a crowd outside the mall. Delivery riders, commuters on their way home, and elderly couples out for a walk with their grandchildren were all gathered on the street outside the entrance. By the time I reached the parking lot, I could only watch as the young woman slid into a white ride-hailing car. I stood rooted to the spot, as if someone had dealt a heavy blow to my head. The vehicle soon merged into the flow of traffic. I pulled out my phone and dialed Sylvia's number. No one answered. I called her one more time. Still, no one picked up. I texted her. "Where are you right now?" Sylvia didn't respond. "Who was that child just now?" Not long after I sent that, a line of text appeared at the top of the chat. "The other party is typing…" Half a minute later, she replied. "I'm in class." I followed up. "Did you leave campus today?" This time, it took her a long while to reply. "No, I didn't." "I saw someone at the mall who looked a lot like you." The chat went silent for almost a minute. Then, I received a call from Sylvia. The moment I answered, she chuckled. "You must've seen my cousin, Shawn," she said casually. I also remembered how the blood had drained from her face the moment she saw me. "What's your cousin's name?" "Why do you ask?" "I'm just curious." "Do you not believe me, Shawn?" Her voice immediately fell. "That's not what I meant." "I know you don't want to support me anymore, so now you think I'm lying to you no matter what I say." "Sylvia—" "Forget it. I don't want to hear it." With that, she hung up on me. I stood at the back entrance of the mall as the night wind blew down my neck. When I returned to the prefab cabin, I dug out all the photos she had sent me over the years—her primary school graduation photo, middle school report cards, high school acceptance letter, and college acceptance letter. I pulled up her social media feed. Sylvia hadn't posted a single thing about college in the last year. There were no club activities, no photos in the campus, and no pictures with her dorm mates. She'd told me she was camera-shy. I'd believed her all this time. Looking back on it now, every little detail seemed off. Chapter 3 The next morning, I asked Louis for a day off. I took a long-distance bus for more than two hours and arrived at the entrance of Sylvia's college. I followed the signs and found the admissions office. A young female teacher was sitting inside. After explaining my purpose, she asked me to provide Sylvia's name and ID number. So, I handed over Sylvia's information. The female teacher lowered her head and searched for several minutes, her brows gradually knitting together. "Are you sure she's a student at our school?" She double-checked her computer. "We don't have anyone by that name at our school." I pulled out my phone and found the photo of the college acceptance letter Sylvia had sent me. The female teacher took it, and after just one glance, her expression changed. She pointed to the official seal in the photo. "Our college's official seal doesn't look like that. Also, last year's acceptance letter numbers were written in a completely different format." My fingers began to go numb. The female teacher handed my phone back to me. "Have you been scammed?" I was at a loss for words. … After leaving the admissions office, I sat down on the steps by the side of the road. Loads of students walked past me with backpacks slung over their shoulders and bubble tea in hand, chatting about where to go for dinner that evening. I dialed Sylvia's number. This time, she answered almost instantaneously. "What's up, Shawn?" she chirped. I asked, "Where are you?" "I'm at school." "Which school?" The laughter on the other end of the line disappeared. I continued, "You're not even a student at the college you told me about." The line went dead silent. After a few seconds of silence, she suddenly burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Shawn." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if she was waiting for me to lose my temper first. "Did you not attend college?" I inquired, clutching my phone. "I didn't make the cut for college." I closed my eyes, suppressing the anger roiling in my chest. "So, you forged an acceptance letter to trick me." "I don't have a job, and there's no one to take care of me. What am I supposed to do, starve?" she asked unapologetically. I was stumped. Moments later, I asked, "So, you were the young lady I saw at the mall the other day?" I heard her catch her breath on the other end of the line. All of a sudden, I felt like a total clown. "Sylvia, as of today, I won't be transferring any more money to you," I declared. I sat at the entrance of the college for a long time. I didn't leave until night fell and the streetlights flickered on one by one. By the time I returned to my rental, it was already 11:00 pm. The moment I opened the door, my phone started buzzing incessantly. A stranger had sent me a screenshot on WhatsApp. It was a screenshot of a post with a long headline. "Exposing the Creep Who Sponsored an Underprivileged Female College Student for Seven Years and Cut Off Her Allowance Out of Spite Just Because She Rejected Him." I tapped on the post. At the very top was a photo of Sylvia's red, teary eyes. "I always thought he genuinely wanted to help me until he started constantly dropping hints that he wanted me to meet him and even made some requests that I couldn't accept. After I rejected him, he cut off my financial support. I haven't had a proper meal in three days. I don't know how much longer I can hold on!" There were already hundreds of comments under the post. Someone called me a pervert, while others said there was no way a man could support a young woman without ulterior motives. I clutched my phone so tightly that my knuckles slowly turned white. Chapter 4 I called Sylvia. She answered after three rings, and she didn't say a word. "Did you make that post?" I demanded. Her voice was soft. "Yes, I did." There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. At long last, she cut straight to the point. "Since you've sponsored me for seven years, you should see it through. If you back out now, you're the one who broke your promise." I chuckled. "I was totally wrong about you, Sylvia." She paused for a moment before demanding, "Give me 50 grand, and I'll delete the post." "I won't give you another dime." I hung up on her and set my phone on the table. I sat down in front of my computer and logged into my mobile banking app. I had lost track of how much money I'd sent to Sylvia in seven years. I initially thought it would be around 200 grand. However, when I exported all my transaction records, the grand total threw me off for a long while—378,600 dollars. That figure didn't even include the money I'd spent buying her phones, clothes, and mailing her school supplies. I stared at that number, and my finger rested on my mouse for a long, long time. 378,600 dollars. I could only make 200 dollars for a day's work hauling bricks at a construction site. In other words, I'd have to haul bricks for more than five years without eating or spending a single cent just to earn that money back. I had never considered my financial support an investment, nor had I ever expected her to repay me in the future. However, I thought she was actually using that money to go to school and study. I pulled up the transaction history and went through them one by one. I'd transferred her 500 dollars a month when she was in sixth grade, 800 dollars a month when she was in middle school, and 15 hundred dollars a month when she was in high school. When she told me she needed money for room and board, I wired extra. When she told me her grandmother was sick, I sent more. When she told me the pressure of the college entrance exam was getting to her and she wanted a tablet to look up study materials, I sent her another three grand. When her college acceptance letter arrived, I sent her five grand. During her first month at college, she said her dorm required her to pay for utilities, so I sent her 25 hundred dollars. The following month, she told me her professor had suddenly asked the students to pay for study materials, so I sent her another 15 hundred dollars. … Early the next morning, I contacted Charles Lewis. Charles was a former colleague of mine and also one of the few people who knew I had been supporting Sylvia financially. I sent him the screenshots. After reading them, he called me. Charles sighed on the other end of the line. "Shawn, your biggest flaw is that you always assume other people are as honest as you are." I didn't argue with him because he was right. I'd grown up without a family, so I had always cherished the kindness others had shown me. Consequently, I had always assumed other people would cherish it too. Charles told me to save all our chat history, transfer records, and screenshots of the post. He paused for a beat before adding, "One more thing—contact that charity platform as soon as possible and see if the information she submitted back then was actually legitimate." After hanging up, I found the customer service number for that charity platform from seven years ago. After listening to my story, the representative asked me to provide the project number from back then. I searched through my emails for a long time before locating that old email. Customer service checked for more than ten minutes and gave me an answer that caught me completely off guard—Sylvia had never been an officially verified beneficiary on their platform. … At 9:00 pm, Sylvia suddenly messaged me from a different number. "Shawn, if you don't want your reputation ruined, give me 50 grand!" I sat in my dark apartment, reading the message over and over again. Then, I transferred her a single cent, with a single sentence in the remark.