The Daughter Who Was Not For Sale
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Summary
Five hundred dollars for my mom to show up at the PTA meeting and give me some "social standing."
Two hundred dollars for her to post a single photo of us together on her Instagram feed.
She even charged me by the minute for bedtime stories—ten dollars every sixty seconds, flat rate.
I paid for all of it. I pulled the bills out of my savings, one by one, and handed them over. My mother called it "Monetizing the Aesthetic." She told me that a beautiful woman has a market value, and that in this world, love was never a free lunch.
