Tally Marks on Their Love

When I finished the final stroke of the 20th tally mark, my bedroom door was shoved open. My older sister, Yvette Hayes, walked in.

She glanced at the notebook in my hand and gave a mocking laugh. "What, keeping scores like a little kid because you're mad?"

If this had happened before, my eyes would have turned red, and I would have loudly accused them of always playing favorites. But this time, I merely closed the notebook indifferently. I did not even look up at her, let alone say anything.

Perhaps because I was not throwing a fit like usual, Yvette seemed a little surprised too. After a moment of silence, she frowned. "All right, stop sulking by yourself. Owey brought some pastries home. Go downstairs and have some too, and remember not to make a face."

I grunted. Then I put the notebook away and prepared to leave.

I had barely reached the door when Yvette called after me again. "Oliver."

I turned to look at her. She opened her mouth, seeming somewhat at a loss for how to deal with me. "Why are you being so obedient this time and not making a fuss? You're not secretly planning to cause trouble, are you?"

I replied calmly, "If that's what you think, then I don't have to go downstairs."

It was not as though I wanted to go down and watch them enjoy themselves together as one happy family anyway.

She frowned. "Do you have to speak with such a nasty edge? Yes, we missed your performance this time, but there will still be opportunities in the future, won't there?

"Besides, do you really need to make such a big deal out of a student performing at school? Once you actually become famous, we can go see you then. And besides, Owey rarely asks us to go out and have fun with him. Of course we were going to make time for him."

She was right. Owen had always come first. To them, that was perfectly normal.

Even though my performance had only been held in the school auditorium in front of the entire student body and faculty, it had still been my first time taking the stage. I had practiced relentlessly for so long that I could barely sleep at night, terrified that I would make even the slightest mistake during the performance.

I had always taken meticulous care of the violin my grandmother had given me. Partly because it reminded me of her, and partly because I knew my parents would never spend much money supporting me in this area.

They had seen all of it. They knew exactly how much this performance meant to me.

They simply did not care.

That day, I had become a complete and utter joke. My classmates and teachers had comforted me, saying that my family must have had some urgent matter that prevented them from coming.

Yet even now, not one of my family members had called or sent me a single message to apologize. Even my so-called sister could act as though nothing had happened, merely reminding me not to "make a face".

Thinking back on all the ways they had supposedly been "good" to me over the years, I was so calm that I could even smile.

The one thing I could be grateful for was that, before I left that day, my teacher had once again urged me to seize the opportunity and accept the recommendation to pursue further studies abroad.

I had already turned it down several times because I could not bear to leave my family and my girlfriend behind. Fortunately, the opportunity was still there. And the people I had cared about so deeply had given me the final push I needed to make up my mind.

I accepted without hesitation.

My teacher was relieved and pleased. They told me to make the necessary preparations. Because in ten days, I would be leaving the country.