Mystery of the Half-Scratched Lottery Ticket

Why was everyone willing to try to kill me over a twenty-dollar lottery ticket?

Once the coast was clear outside, I pulled on my clothes and left Owen's apartment. I quickly blocked his number on my phone.

I wandered back near my own neighborhood, hoping to get my ID while my parents were not home.

But as soon as I stepped into the supermarket, they were waiting for me.

My father grabbed my hair, cursing me. "You ungrateful little brat! I knew you had a rotten heart. You just can't stand us getting that ticket, can you? Wait until we get home—I'll show you what happens to ungrateful brats like you!"

I begged the shop owner for help, but he spat on me instead.

"Ungrateful wretch! Hiding a twenty-dollar ticket, are you?! Don't ever step foot in my store again. Get out!"

Before I could react, they tied me up and dragged me home.

"Hand over the ticket," my mother said, sneering.

"I've already told you, I don't have it! Didn't you search everywhere?" I shot back, refusing to bend.

My sister stood nearby, her gaze sharp and hostile.

"Mom, I think she's still pretending because she's not scared. She thinks you're bluffing," my sister said, passing my mother a kitchen knife.

Without hesitation, my mother grabbed it and pressed it against me. "Are you going to hand it over or not?"

The blade hovered just two millimeters from my neck, yet I felt strangely calm. "Mom… are you really going to kill me over a ticket I've already handed over? If it's worth twenty thousand, why wouldn't I hand it over?"

My mother hesitated, but my father was adamant. "You won! Your mom and sister saw it—there's no way we could all be wrong, you wretch!"

I took a deep breath. "You tore my clothes apart and didn't find it. Even Owen checked me over and over. Where exactly do you expect me to hide it?"

Seeing me unafraid, my father locked me in the room. "We'll starve you for three days, then you'll tell us everything!"

They weren't willing to kill me… not yet.

I searched my bedroom frantically, then reached out to the only friend I could trust in this life—Wendy Ovost—and begged her to save me.

When Wendy heard I had been imprisoned by my own parents over a twenty-dollar lottery ticket, she was furious.

"Your cousin, your parents, your relatives… even Owen! How can they be like this? They say it didn't win—so why are they treating you like this? Or… did you actually win twenty dollars and not tell them?"

I neither confirmed nor denied it.

Wendy understood instantly. Without hesitation, she set off to rescue me.

When she arrived, I pried open a window and braided my clothes into a rope. I slid down, reached the street, and jumped on her little electric scooter. Together, we tore through the night.

I didn't ask where we were going. I trusted her.

At a fork in the road, she suddenly said she needed to use the restroom. I waited at the entrance, then noticed the tissue in the scooter basket—she didn't bring any paper.

I moved to hand it to her, but she wasn't going to a restroom at all. She was crouched in a corner, one hand covering her phone, speaking quietly.

A breeze carried her words perfectly to me, each syllable sinking into my mind.

In that instant, I understood everything.

I understood why they had gone completely mad over a twenty-dollar ticket—why they had wanted to kill me.

When Wendy returned, I looked at her calmly. "I'm not running anymore. I'm going back."

Panic flashed across her face. "What? You can't do that! Going back is suicide!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Then let it be suicide."