Chapter 2 Happiness Built on Sand

From that day on, no parent in the neighborhood was willing to let their child play with Ryder anymore. My mother's explanation was simple—they were just jealous that we had a boy in our family.

I nodded along in agreement.

Before long, Ryder started elementary school. At the end of his first week, he came home beaming and told my mother he had been chosen as the math class representative.

Ryder had always been talented in math. In my previous life, I had noticed it early and nurtured it carefully. Later, he scored 790 on the SAT math section and stood out among countless competitors.

But my mother, who had never really cared about my education when I was young, simply frowned and asked, "What's a class representative?"

Ryder blinked and answered earnestly, "It means I help the teacher collect homework and manage the class!"

My mother's temper instantly flared. "What kind of nonsense is that? That's bullying!"

The very next day, she stormed straight to the school.

"Teacher! My grandson is here to study, not to serve people!" she shouted the moment she stepped into the office, her voice so loud the windows seemed to rattle.

The math teacher, a young woman fresh out of college, was startled and hurriedly tried to explain, "Ma'am, being a class representative helps build a child's sense of responsibility—"

"Responsibility? You're clearly trying to wear my grandson out!" My mother slammed her hand on the desk. "Collecting homework every day? What if he gets exhausted? His hands are meant for writing, not doing this kind of labor! I bet you're picking on us because we're a widow and child!"

The teacher's face flushed, then paled, and she looked at me helplessly.

I stepped forward with a polite, helpless smile. "I'm sorry, but just go along with my mother. She calls the shots."

With that, I pushed all responsibility away.

My mother snorted in satisfaction and dragged me out.

From then on, the teacher never gave Ryder any more "opportunities to build character." And my mother was quite pleased with herself. "See? You've got to show them some attitude, or they'll think we're just pushovers!"

I smiled and echoed her words, though Ryder, standing by the wall, looked a little uneasy.

Freed from the burden of raising a child, I poured all the energy I had suppressed in my previous life into my career. With the money I received from the divorce, I opened a small fashion design studio.

In my previous life, I had given up this dream to take care of Ryder. Now, I stayed up late sketching designs, ran through every fabric market I could find, and even sat through business dinners just to secure orders.

Whenever my mother saw this, she only mocked me. "A woman should stay at home. Running around outside like this… No wonder your husband didn't want you."

I never argued, though, for within just a few years, my studio grew from an unnoticed workshop into a recognized original brand in the industry.

Meanwhile, as my career flourished, Ryder smoothly advanced into middle school.

Spoiled by my mother, he had become completely unruly—doing homework only when he felt like it, relying on guesswork for exams. His greatest joy each day was following my mother to the market, listening to her boast about how brilliant he was.

It was the kind of carefree happiness that came from ignorance—simple, pure, and foolish.

Sometimes, when he saw me leaving early and returning late, there was a faint trace of contempt in his eyes. That, too, was something my mother had ingrained into him. "Your mom's born to work herself to the bone. You, however, are destined to live an easy life."

I never shattered that beautiful illusion, not until the day the high school entrance exam results came out.

His so-called friends, who had once gathered around him, listening to his bragging, all received their acceptance letters to high school. They stood together, talking about their future schools and their dreams of college, while he, for the first time, was left far behind by people his own age.

At 15, he was beginning to form a sense of self. Only then did he realize that although he had indeed been happy all this time, beneath that happiness was a vast and empty nothing.