Chapter 2

After hanging up, I didn't head to the bus station to return to my hometown. Instead, I changed direction and walked into the nearest police station.

I handed my family registry to the front desk. "Can you process this to show I'm no longer part of this family? I want to register as an independent resident."

For over a decade, this promise had remained unfulfilled. Now, I finally understood that from the very beginning, I was nothing more than a burden my parents wanted to get rid of. This time, I no longer wanted to wait and hold on.

…

The moment the official stamp came down, I felt a wave of relief wash over my heart. After completing the paperwork and thinking about the tuition fee that was still up in the air, I found a hotel that was currently hiring part-time workers.

A week after starting the job, I was in the back kitchen washing dishes when the manager suddenly called me into the office. "The CEO of Emerson Group is throwing a birthday party for his son today. We only need two people in the kitchen, so you should go out front and help, too."

After changing into a server's uniform, I put on a mask and carried the custom birthday cake into the private dining room. The moment I saw the two familiar figures at the main table, my blood ran cold.

In my memories, Dad was someone who always wore a dusty, faded work uniform, his hair streaked with gray. But now, he was sitting there in a bespoke suit, the white hair at his temples neatly slicked and groomed.

Mom sat beside him, her makeup flawless. The two of them were beaming with happiness, their arms wrapped tightly around an eight- or nine-year-old boy. They looked like the picture-perfect, happy family.

My chest tightened, as if an invisible hand had gripped my heart. The very next second, the plate in my hands crashed to the floor.

The abrupt noise caused everyone to turn around and look over.

Mom frowned, her tone laced with sheer annoyance. "You can't even balance a tray properly? You had one job! I had this cake custom-made by a master pastry chef. It costs nine grand, and now you've completely ruined it!"

The manager hurried over with an obsequious smile. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Emerson. This young lady is a poor student from the mountains; she's clumsy, but it truly was an accident. Please forgive—"

"She's from the mountains?" As soon as Mom heard that, she froze for a moment. Her gaze landed on me again.

After sizing me up, she curled her lips into a sneer. "No wonder you reek of poverty. Mr. Brown, it's our beloved boy's birthday today. How can you let just anyone into the venue?"

Dad waved his hand, his brow furrowed tightly. "That's enough. Hurry up and get her out of here, and have someone else take her place. We can't afford another mistake on such an important day!"

Every single one of those cutting words stabbed deep into my heart like a knife.

Never in a million years did I think the loving parents of my memories could also have such a detestable side to them. But what cut the deepest was that their biological daughter was standing right in front of them, yet they were looking at me like I was a complete stranger.

Yet, I remembered so clearly that, even though it had been a decade since we last saw each other, I would go to the photo studio in town every year on my birthday to take a picture and mail it to them.

I did it because I was afraid they would forget what I looked like. I was afraid that they would be too busy out there to remember they still had a daughter back home.

It turned out that not a single one of those mailed packages of longing had ever reached them.

As I stood there in a daze, Mr. Brown yanked my arm. "Why are you still standing here? Hurry up and get lost!"

I was just about to turn around when Mom said, "Hold on."

Leaning back against her chair, she crossed her arms and wore a cold smirk. "I can't possibly let her walk away scot-free after she screwed up this badly."

After hearing that, sweat broke out on Mr. Brown's forehead, and he clasped his hands nervously. "How do you think we should handle this, then, Mrs. Emerson?"

Mom lowered her gaze to the smashed, ruined cake on the floor and looked back up at me. "Word is people from poor mountain gullies spend their whole lives pinching pennies and hate wasting things the most. Why don't you get on your knees and eat everything on the floor clean for me?"

The guests around us watched the scene unfold, whispering and murmuring among themselves. Their gazes surged toward me like a tide, weighing down on me so heavily that I could barely breathe.

"What, is your precious pride getting in the way?" When I didn't budge, Mom arched her brow. "Fine, don't eat it. Either cough up the nine grand for the damage, or I'm calling the cops!"