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Saying that in front of outsiders was a slap to my father’s pride.
His face flushed red. “Fine! You’ve grown wings, you’re capable now!”
“From this moment, you’re no daughter of mine!”
“I’ll be watching to see how far a nobody from some third–rate university gets on her own!”
He scribbled the letter in a few strokes and tossed it carelessly to the floor.
Just like the affection I once craved–it landed weightlessly, discarded.
No one said a word.
Only my brother muttered under his breath, “Go ahead and be stubborn. When you’ve suffered enough, you’ll see how good you had it here.”
I picked the paper up. The words were clear and cruel.
[Celine Howard–unfilial, spiteful, morally corrupt, worse than an animal, a petty and contemptible person. From this day forth, she is severed from this family; her life and death are no longer our concern.]
I folded the paper with great care and slipped it into my pocket.
I knew it had no legal standing, but its value wasn’t in the law–it was in the warning it
carried.
I gave them one last look, then left that sorrow–filled place with my body bruised and
battered.
My parents loved me.
Just… very little.
For a daughter who could bring them no pride, they were always stingy with affection.
But they were still my parents.
I could still remember, when I was small, my father letting me ride on his shoulders, calling me his “little cotton–padded jacket“-the one who would keep his heart warm.
I remembered my mother staying by my side without leaving for a moment when I was
sick.
Even later, when they began to neglect me, look down on me, I was still tangled up in the
remnants of that love.
Then my younger brother was born.
They were too busy to take care of him–my father with work, my mother escorting Sherilyn to every kind of training class imaginable.
“She’s my only sister’s child,” my mother would say, “I have to make sure she turns out well.”
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And so, little Levi was handed to me.
I became skilled at changing diapers and mixing formula. They could say Levi grew up trailing behind me.
At first, he only called me “Sister.”
But later… he only recognized Sherilyn.
After Sherilyn moved out, I thought my chance had finally come.
But no matter how carefully I stayed by my parents‘ side, no matter how much I took care of them, I could never compare to a single phone call or a few words of concern from Sherilyn.
I used to wonder, over and over, if the problem was me.
Was it because I only graduated from an ordinary university? Was I truly so unremarkable that no one could like me?
Now, I didn’t dwell on it anymore.
Maybe I was simply born without the fortune of family love.
That’s fine. I could love myself.
I returned to my apartment near the office, silently thanking my past self.
Back when I was hurt by my parents, I had stubbornly bought this place out of spite. Otherwise, I’d be dragging my suitcase to some hotel tonight.
I took a quick shower, then, running on adrenaline, cleaned the entire apartment from top
to bottom.
Keeping busy was the only way to keep my mind from wandering.
By the time I finished, it was already past midnight.
After another quick shower, I switched off my phone and fell asleep.
It wasn’t a peaceful sleep.
My dreams were crowded with faces and voices.
When I woke up, I felt hollow–adrift–unsure what to do with myself.
When I turned my phone back on, the news feed exploded with updates, but not a single call or message from them.
Scrolling through my social media, I stumbled upon their smiling photo at a concert.
Tsk. Careless of me.
I’d forgotten to refund the tickets.
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I skimmed through the messages–some from people I barely knew, some from people I used to trust.
Turns out, the moment I left yesterday, my father had called every relative, announcing that
I was no longer part of the family and that they needn’t bother telling him if I lived or died. Clearly, I’d truly made him furious.
Most of the messages were urging me to apologize and make peace.
“Fathers and daughters don’t hold grudges overnight.”
“It’s all for your own good.”
Some outright scolded me for being immature. Others accused me of being unfilial, wagging their fingers as if I’d committed a crime.
I deleted and blocked them all.
Including those three people.
Someone on an online forum had written, [If your heart is wounded, go see the great rivers and mountains. The vast grasslands and ancient relics will help you forget your troubles.]
So I did.
I applied for a long leave from work and set off on an unplanned journey.
I went to the Equestrian Center to learn ride a horse.
I danced by the bonfire.
I met friends who shared my soul.
With each new experience pulling me forward, I thought less and less about my parents and brother.
And they never called me.
Still, I never blocked their numbers. After all, blood is blood.
Chapter 5
