Chapter 2 A Future Torn in Half

Back in my room, I pulled out my phone.

That strange chat box was still there, and new messages kept popping up.

'Honestly, this family is disgusting. They clearly have money, but they won't even buy their daughter a decent pair of shoes. They buy the son a house and a car, yet in eighteen years, the daughter hasn't even spent half a month of his allowance. My heart aches for her.'

'If this girl had any sense, she'd have figured it out by now. That house is practically empty. Every time she goes back to the dorms, her parents move back into their luxury apartment. Her mom's bracelet is gold-plated silver, and her dad even has a chauffeur driving him to work.'

'Exactly. If they're going to pretend to be poor, they should at least make it convincing. Only this clueless girl believes it and hands over all her money.'

'You say it as if they're desperate for her pocket change. They just don't want her to have any money of her own at all!'

I stared at the screen, my fingers turning cold.

…

The next morning at breakfast, my father brought up applying to the local university again, while my mother kept putting food on my plate, saying, "We only have your best interests."

I gave a small hum and lowered my head, silently eating my oatmeal.

As soon as I finished, I left the house.

I slipped into the office building across from our residential complex and crouched by the window next to the elevator hall on the sixth floor, watching the street below.

After about ten minutes, my father walked out of our building.

A black Bentley rolled up and stopped in front of him, then the chauffeur stepped out to open the door for him.

Soon after, the car merged into traffic and disappeared from my sight.

I stayed crouched behind the window, my phone still raised in midair, frozen.

The night before, my father had said he could not afford my train ticket to Kingston. But he went to work in a Bentley. They lived in their luxury apartment on weekdays and only returned to this shabby place when I was home, pretending to be poor.

I saved the photo, stood up, brushed the dust off my clothes, and turned toward school.

The school had called the day before. With my score, I could attend an admissions consultation meeting. My homeroom teacher knew about my situation and had told me the universities that were willing to offer full scholarships.

I hesitated for a long time. In the end, I gave up the Ivy League and applied to the National Defense Institute of Technology.

…

Two weeks later, a courier called.

I picked up the kraft envelope at the entrance of my residential complex and crouched by the flowerbed to open it.

The letters "NDIT" were embossed in gold on the red cover, with a bright red official seal stamped below.

I read the acceptance letter over and over again, then carefully folded it, slipped it back into the envelope, and tucked it into my backpack.

When I got home, I had just inserted the key into the lock when the door was suddenly pulled open from the inside.

My mother stood there. She reached out and yanked my entire backpack off my shoulder. My face went pale as I realized what was about to happen. "Mom, don't—"

She ignored me, unzipped the bag, and dumped everything out onto the coffee table. The envelope fell on top with a soft thud.

She tore it open and pulled out the letter. After just one glance, she ripped it in half.

"No!" I rushed forward to grab it back, but she shoved me away hard. "NDIT?"

Her hand came down across my face. Pain exploded across my cheek.

"Answer me. Who told you to apply there?"

I raised a hand to cover my face. "I chose it myself."

She stood up and stormed over, slapping me again. My head turned to the side, my cheek burning and my ears ringing.

She grabbed my hair and yanked me back, her nails digging into my scalp. "I told you to apply locally! I told you not to disobey me! You ungrateful brat! Do you think you can do whatever you want now?"

She dragged me by the hair. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the edge of the shoe cabinet, the pain forcing a sharp gasp out of me.

My father stood up and walked over, grinding his foot over the torn pieces on the floor. "Roxanna James, you did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"I—"

"Don't even argue! Don't you know your brother needs to change his car? Now that your scholarship is gone, what's he supposed to do?"

My ears rang.

"But that's my scholarship."

My voice was not loud, but the room fell silent for two seconds before my mother exploded again.

She grabbed a torn piece of the letter from the table and threw it at my face. The sharp edge scraped across my eyelid with a sting.

"Yours? I gave you everything you have! You lived under my roof for 18 years, and you tell me that's yours?"

My father shoved me. My back slammed into the wall, the back of my head hitting the coat hook. My vision went black for a moment.

He pointed at my nose. "Call your school right now and tell them you're not going. Do you hear me?"

I leaned against the wall and slowly straightened up, saying nothing.

"Call them!" my father roared.

The neighbor's door opened. Kimberly from across the hall poked her head out, then hesitated and left the door half-open, watching through the mesh screen. Upstairs, Steven came down to throw out the trash and stopped at the stairwell.

"What's going on over there…" Kimberly asked gingerly.

My mother did not even turn around. "We're disciplining our child. It's none of your business!"

I leaned against the wall. Blood from the corner of my mouth smeared onto the collar of my school uniform. I stared at the fragments on the floor—the red cover split the letters "NIDT" into two, the official seal shattered into pieces.

"I'm not calling," I said.

My mother tossed the scraps into the trash. "You won't, huh? Fine. Pack your things and go back to the countryside in a couple of days."

I looked up.

"Your grandmother needs someone to take care of her. You'll go wash clothes, cook, and work in the fields. When you've come to your senses, you can come back. National Defense Institute of Technology? Dream on."

My father sat down on the sofa. "I've already booked your ticket for tomorrow morning."

I crouched down and picked up my scattered textbooks and notes one by one. I gathered the torn pieces of the acceptance letter too.

Outside, night had fallen. The sound of the evening news drifted from the living room.

I could hear my mother humming in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans oddly cheerful.

A ticket for the next morning. They were going to send me to the countryside, lock me away at my grandmother's house, and wait until I "came to my senses."

And just like that, I knew I had to leave that night.