When she got her first cell phone in middle school, the habit just stuck. I never thought it would be used against me as evidence of my so-called control over her life.
I agreed to take off the tracker but still pressed her to attend her classes.
With the national competition approaching, I couldn't let her miss out because of ignorance.
She eventually won the competition and got a shot at the entertainment industry.
She was on the cusp of realizing her dreams, stepping into the limelight.
Watching her shine among the rising stars, I couldn't have been prouder.
But then, during a live interview, she claimed she wanted to "find herself" and exposed me as manipulative.
She labeled me the most terrifying person she knew.
She accused me of planting a tracker on her phone to monitor her every move.
She claimed I had driven her father away for my own selfish reasons, subjecting her to ridicule.
She insisted that my pushing her into dance was all about fulfilling my own dreams, completely disregarding her true desires.
Her tears won over the crowd, turning many into instant fans.
One of her fanatical fans stabbed me in the chest when I was on my way to work, landing me in the hospital.
Then, she played the part of the bereaved daughter online, soliciting donations, and emotionlessly signed the form to cease my lifesaving treatment.
After my death, she thrived on the donations while reminiscing about my "motherly love", winning over countless hearts.
Those who had been on the fence became her staunch supporters, advocating for her in every way.
An international director, moved by her tear-streaked confession, chose her as the lead for his next movie.
Even her estranged father reappeared, filling the gap left by my absence.
Me?
My end was so swift; there wasn't even a proper funeral. They just cremated me and dumped my ashes down the sewer.
Her fans called me a blot on Caitlyn's life and even petitioned for my attacker's release, claiming it was a public service.
Schools nationwide used me as a warning in parent-teacher meetings, urging parents not to emulate my behavior.
My husband's family preferred sons and tried to stage an "accident" for Caitlyn, unwilling to spend on her anymore.
I had juggled four jobs, pushing myself to the brink, just to pay for her top-notch dance classes.
It was all because she once said, "Mom, I want to dance like you."