Chapter 2

Standing in the bathroom stall, I heard Dad's voice echoing in the hallway.

There was a chilling pride in it, as if he was showcasing his unique parenting philosophy.

The sneering comment from the other parents outside the window felt like a sharp knife, slicing open the scars I desperately tried to hide.

I bit my lip until it was white, tasting a hint of blood.

After the conference, Dad led me home in silence.

In that small rented room, the walls were yellowed, and the light bulb was dim.

He took off his cement-stained jacket, his gaze fixed on my report card.

He spoke, his voice low. "Why weren't you first?"

I whispered my reply, my hands trembling slightly beneath the table. "There was one math problem… I made a careless mistake."

At that, he slammed the table, and I jumped to my feet instantly, not daring to lift my head.

"Careless? I'm on construction sites, working my fingers to the bone, layers of calluses on my hands. What's it all for?!"

"It's so you can study hard and make something of yourself!"

"And this is how you repay me? With carelessness?"

My fingers dug hard into my palm, reopening old scabs until fresh blood welled.

My stomach ached with hunger, but I was numb, used to this torture.

I really wanted to tell Dad that I was only one point away from first place.

Even the teacher praised me for being a motivated student.

But why did I seem so worthless in Dad's eyes?

He couldn't tolerate even the smallest mistake.

As I thought this, bitter tears streamed down uncontrollably.

I didn't even dare to cry out loud, only managing muffled sobs.

Seeing my tear-streaked face, Dad wasn't sympathetic; he just got angrier.

"Cry, cry, cry! Is crying going to solve anything?!"

"Instead of crying here, why don't you go review your lessons?!"

"If you don't review everything you've learned tonight, you won't get any dinner!"

I was going to go hungry again tonight.

Even though I'd won a math competition award the day before, and Dad had promised to buy me meat.

Now, that promise was off.

Alone in the dim little room, I flipped through my books. The enticing aroma of meat seeped through the door crack, flooding my nostrils.

My stomach growled painfully, a testament to my suffering.

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped onto my textbook. I finally couldn't bear it and started to sob silently again.

I secretly took out the piggy bank Mom had given me before she left, hugging it and crying over and over.

But as I hugged it, a small slip of paper fell out from the coin slot.

It was a string of numbers. I stared at the paper, stunned for a long moment.

Could this be Mom's phone number?