Chapter 3

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Miller. How can I help you?" Mr. Dugan asked.

I took a deep breath. "Mr. Dugan, why has Stanley been moved to the very back? And why is he saying you won't let the other kids play building blocks with him?"

Mr. Dugan clicked his tongue, then shrugged and said, "Mr. Miller, no offense, but isn't Stanley being a little too sensitive? The whole class rotates seats—how come I haven't heard anyone else complain? Why is he the only one who finds it a problem?"

I clenched my fists, but Mr. Dugan just fixed me with a smug, knowing look.

"On the other hand, why don't you reconsider the matter with the pears? After all, Stanley still has over a year left at this kindergarten."

By the time I left the office, my palms were slick with cold sweat. It wasn't because I was scared, but because I was barely keeping myself from snapping.

That afternoon, I was in the orchard supervising the packing of the final batch of pears when my phone suddenly buzzed several times.

The parent group chat was blowing up with messages.

"I heard Mr. Miller is a divorced single father? No wonder he's so stingy and petty," said a parent I had never interacted with at all.

Jay chimed in instantly. "I heard his ex-wife ran off, and now he's supporting his family by selling pears. The kindergarten tuition isn't exactly cheap, so how is he even affording it?"

Someone else piled on. "He's probably behind on tuition too. Shouldn't the kindergarten look into it? Or maybe he claims to sell pears on the surface, but behind closed doors he's actually selling…"

Though the person didn't finish the sentence, everyone knew exactly what they were implying.

In an instant, the group chat was no longer filled with just mockery. Rumors were now spiraling out of control as well.

My hand trembled uncontrollably as I gripped the phone.

My wife, Carmen Wiley, didn't run off. She passed away three years ago from sudden high-altitude heart disease while doing technical aid work in the western mountains.

And now these people, who didn't even know her name, were slandering her and fabricating stories about me in the most vile way possible.

I took a deep breath and typed out a message, "First, my family situation is none of your business. I will hold anyone who spreads rumors legally accountable.

"Second, the market price of Green Jewel is over 100 dollars a pound, and yet you're all trying to buy them for five dollars? How is that different from robbery?"

After I sent the message, even more pandemonium broke out in the group chat.

"Over 100 dollars a pound? What do you take us for? Fools?"

"I knew he was just trying to rip us off. No wonder he's been so stubborn about not selling to us!"

Mr. Dugan, who had been silent all along, suddenly dropped a screenshot from a certain shopping app into the group chat.

It read, in bold letters, "Authentic Green Jewel—ten pounds for 50 dollars, free shipping."

"Mr. Miller, these pears are Green Jewel too, and the seller's only selling them for five dollars a pound. Are your pears made of gold or something?" Mr. Dugan replied mockingly.

The others immediately piled on.

"Thank goodness Mr. Dugan is looking out for us. Otherwise, we would've been completely scammed."

"This is hilarious. I wouldn't even pay 50 dollars for that, and he's going on about over 100 dollars a pound?"

My hands were trembling.

They had no idea that my family's Green Jewel was the fruit of centuries-old heirloom trees, and that most of what was sold online was fake goods passed off under a famous name. Even if some were genuine, none could possibly be better than ours.

I typed out a long message explaining the differences between the varieties and why my family's pears were so expensive.

But after I sent it, the message didn't even make a ripple.

"You spin a good story, I'd give you that. But quit trying to bluff us with that nonsense."

No one was willing to listen to me—or rather, they didn't care at all whether what I said was true. Instead, they only believed whatever they wanted.