Chapter 4

I didn't argue with her. I turned and went back to my bedroom.

Then immediately took out my phone and opened the college application system.

I entered the password. A line of bright red text appeared on the screen: Password incorrect, please re-enter.

I tried three times in a row. All wrong. My hands were shaking.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I walked out of the bedroom again.

Phone in hand, I walked up to her and held the screen in front of her eyes, suppressing my anger as I asked:

"What's going on? What did you really do with the computer today?"

The faucet was turned off.

My mother shook off the water, turned around, wiped her hands on her apron, then looked at me, completely self-righteous:

"College applications are such a big deal, I had to help you check."

"You're young, you don't understand. What's the use of just looking at the school's reputation? You need to look at the major, the employment prospects!"

"Today Mom pulled some strings, spent thirty thousand dollars, and hired an experienced consultant to review your schools and choose majors for you."

"They're all local. After graduation you can become a high school teacher—so stable, so good!"

"I already changed your college application for you. You don't need to worry about it."

Thirty thousand dollars. She was really willing to spend.

I was so angry my voice shook.

"Who gave you the right to change my college application? Did I ask you to apply for me?"

"Change it back right now! Tell me the password!"

Hearing this, she immediately put on that life-or-death act again, pointing at me and shouting:

"Tell you? You'll definitely change it back to those out-of-state schools, won't you?"

"Let me tell you, no way! If you dare change the application, don't recognize me as your mother! I'll act like I never gave birth to a son like you!"

She'd said this line many times.

In my past life, every time she said it, I would cry, beg her, compromise.

This time, I looked at her, watched for a few seconds, then turned, pulled open the door, and ran out.

"Julian! Where are you going? Come back!"

Her shouts were shut inside.

After running out of the apartment complex, my phone rang.

It was my mother's sister, Martha. I hung up without expression.

It rang again quickly. This time it was my mother's brother, Brandon.

Twitter also started going crazy with notifications.

[Julian, how can you treat your mother this way? Raising you alone wasn't easy for her!]

[I heard you want to apply to out-of-state universities? Going so far isn't good. Be obedient and stay with your mother.]

One message after another, all urging me to be sensible and obedient.

Looking at those words, I found them absurdly laughable, but I knew I couldn't fight head-on right now.

The college application deadline was in three days.

Even if I found a way to reset the password and change it back, my mother would definitely cause more trouble.

I sat in a pavilion, scrolling through Twitter in frustration.

I came across a photo posted by a senior one year ahead of me showing his computer programming competition award. My spirits lifted—I had an idea.

Just after I finished messaging the senior, my phone rang again.

This time it was Aunt Michelle. I answered.

"Julian! Where are you?"

Michelle's voice was urgent.

"Get to the hospital quick! Your mother collapsed!"

When I arrived at the hospital, my mother was already awake.

She was leaning against the hospital bed, pale-faced, receiving an IV drip.

Seeing me enter, she snorted coldly and turned her head away:

"What are you doing here? I don't have a son like you."

"What are you saying!"

Michelle tried to smooth things over, pulling me to sit down.

"Julian rushed over as soon as he heard you were sick."

"Julian, I'm not criticizing you, but your mother didn't eat all day because of you, running around everywhere. She collapsed from stress and anger. Can't you be a little more understanding?"

I'd heard these words too many times.

Every time, I would compromise under the weight of family obligation.

I knew that this time, I could only compromise too.

For my future, to make my mother lower her guard, I had to compromise.

I lowered my head, my fingertips digging into my palm, and said hoarsely:

"I understand."