The notice that my daughter was being expelled from school was placed in my hands, and the reason—[cheating with a smartwatch]—was glaringly harsh. I stormed into the school to argue my case, only to be publicly humiliated by the homeroom teacher and the principal: “Children from single-parent families lack discipline. It’s only natural for them to have bad character!” “The evidence is conclusive. If you keep making a scene, watch out—you might even lose that easy little job of yours!” I looked at the red marks on my daughter’s wrist from being shoved during the argument, and at those hollow eyes full of despair. Then I picked up the phone and dialed the number that had been buried away for six years. “Daniel Shaw,” my voice was ice-cold, “our daughter is being bullied.” “I only have one question. What do you gain by forcing a child who loves studying to death and destroying your own bloodline for the world you’re trying to protect?” The line went dead silent, and then a voice sounded from the other end, as if it had come straight from the depths of hell: “Send me the address. I’m on my way.” 1 The smell of old paper and ink in the records room was the quiet comfort I had known best for the past six years. I was thirty-three this year, an ordinary librarian at the city library. Life was tight, but I thought it was enough to protect the peace between me and my daughter, Stella. Until that dark afternoon, when a sharp ringtone tore through the fake calm. The call was from Stella’s homeroom teacher, Ms. Turner, and her tone was cold and mechanical. “Parent of Stella Carter, please come to the school immediately. We need to speak to you in person about Stella Carter’s serious violation of school rules.” “School rules?” My heart sank hard. “Stella, she—” “Come here first.” The call was hung up, leaving only the buzzing of the dial tone. By the time I rode my old bicycle to Marlowe High School, the sky had already started to drift with fine rain. The grand gates of that prestigious school blurred before my eyes. When I pushed open the teachers’ office door, Stella was standing alone in the corner, her face deathly pale, her body trembling slightly. The moment she saw me, her eyes turned red, but she bit her lip so hard she refused to cry. Behind the desk, Ms. Turner pushed up her gold-rimmed glasses, her gaze sharp and cold behind the lenses. Next to her sat Principal Harris, smiling in a way that revealed nothing. “Mrs. Carter, you’re here.” Ms. Turner spoke first and pushed a sheet of paper toward me. “This is the school’s decision. Take a look.” Black words on white paper. The most eye-catching part was the bold title. [Disciplinary Decision Regarding Stella Carter’s Academic Misconduct] The contents were even more heartless. During a critical recent exam, Stella Carter used a smartwatch to cheat. The offense was serious and had a bad influence. After discussion by the school board, it has been decided that she will be disqualified from the city-level outstanding student selection and expelled from school, with the matter to be reported to all schools in the city. My vision went black, and I nearly lost my footing. “Cheating? Impossible! Stella would never do that! She has always earned her grades through her own hard work!” “The evidence is conclusive.” Ms. Turner sneered and pulled a transparent evidence bag out of the drawer. Inside was an ordinary smartwatch. “On the day of the exam, the cameras showed her looking down at her watch multiple times. The tech department also recovered the watch’s receiving records, and there was answer information transmitted from outside. Stella herself also admitted that the watch was hers.” “I admit the watch is mine!” Stella finally couldn’t hold back and shouted through tears, “But I never used it to cheat! I wasn’t even wearing it that day! I put it in the deepest part of my backpack! Someone framed me!” “Framed?” Principal Harris spoke slowly, his voice oily with condescension. “Mrs. Carter, we understand how you feel. But the school handles problems based on evidence. Right now, all the evidence points to Stella Carter. And, from what we know, children from single-parent families may indeed… lack enough attention and guidance in some areas. It’s understandable to make a mistake for a moment. But rules are rules.” He stressed the words “single-parent family,” like a poisonous thorn, stabbing straight into my deepest pain. 2 “What do you mean by that?” My blood rushed to my head. “Just because she comes from a single-parent family, does that mean she deserves to be framed? What kind of child Stella is, don’t you know? How many times has she brought honor to the school? And now you’re going to ruin her future just because of one camera and a record that can be faked?” Ms. Turner slapped the desk and stood up. “Mrs. Carter! Watch your tone! This is a place for reason, not a place for you to throw a fit! Your daughter has a problem, and instead of reflecting on your own parenting, you’re questioning the school’s fairness? Like mother, like daughter.” Her words were like icy spikes dipped in poison, stabbing through the reason I was trying to hold onto. I looked at Stella. Her small body trembled violently with anger and humiliation. Tears slid down silently, and the despair in her eyes broke my heart. “Stella, let’s go.” I took my daughter’s cold hand and didn’t look again at those two hypocritical faces. I knew we would get no justice here. When we walked out of the office, the students and teachers we passed in the hallway all gave us strange looks, and the murmuring was like the buzz of flies. Even Stella’s old classmates kept their distance from her. When we got home, the small apartment that had once been full of books and warmth now felt suffocating. Stella locked herself in her room, and the muffled sound of her crying cut at my heart like a dull knife. I sat in the living room, looking at the rain growing heavier outside the window, feeling cold all over. I remembered six years ago, when I had fled from another place full of power and coldness with Stella, who had only just learned to walk. I thought that if I hid in the ordinary noise of the city, I could buy peace. I had given up my once-brilliant academic talent and willingly become a simple librarian, only asking that my daughter could grow up safe and happy. But why was the world even taking away that little humble wish? “Mom…” I didn’t know when Stella had come out. Her face was still streaked with tears, and she threw herself into my arms, her voice hoarse. “Why are they doing this? Ryan Brooks’s grades aren’t even as good as mine. Is it just because his dad donated money to the school? Mom, I didn’t cheat… I really didn’t…” I held her tightly, my heart twisting like a knife. “I know, and I believe you, Stella. Don’t be afraid. Mom will get justice for you no matter what.” At that moment, a heart that had been silent for many years seemed to slowly wake up inside me. I couldn’t fall. My daughter was watching me. 3 Over the next few days, I started fighting back. I went to government offices, and after hearing my account, the reception staff told me blankly to go home and wait for notice. Then nothing happened. I tried contacting the media, but the calls either didn’t go through or I was politely told that they needed to verify things, and then there was nothing after that. Marlowe High School’s announcement saying the evidence was conclusive had already been released, and rumors spread at shocking speed. The neighbors looked at us with disdain and avoidance. Even at the library where I worked, there were whispers starting up. The director politely reminded me to be mindful of the impact and suggested I take temporary leave. Stella was getting worse and worse. She didn’t dare go out and stayed curled up in her room all day, her eyes empty. That girl who had once been bright-eyed and hungry for knowledge was gone. What made me feel most hopeless was that I realized I was facing a net with no holes. Principal Harris, Ms. Turner, and the Brooks family behind the scenes had woven a huge web of connections, easily defusing every appeal I made. That day, I gathered my courage again and went to the city education bureau, hoping to see someone higher up. Outside an office, I unexpectedly ran into Ms. Turner and Ryan Brooks’s father. The well-known local businessman, Mr. Brooks. They were laughing and talking as they came out with someone who looked like a leader. Ms. Turner spotted me and curled her lips into an undisguised sneer. Mr. Brooks swept a contemptuous glance over my cheap clothes, as if I were just an annoying bug. The official frowned and said to the staff beside him, “Why are all kinds of people allowed in here? Pay attention to the optics.” At that moment, all my courage and persistence collapsed. I wasn’t chasing the truth. I was throwing an egg at a rock. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness washed over me like a tide. I stood alone in front of the cold municipal building and watched them drive away. For the first time, I understood what despair really was. When I got home, Stella was curled up in the corner of the sofa and asked me softly, “Mom, is it because of me that you got dragged into this too? Maybe… maybe we should just forget it. I don’t want to go to school anymore…” “No!” I almost shouted it, but tears surged out of me uncontrollably. I held her. “Stella, we can’t let this go! If we do, your whole life will be ruined! Even if I have to give up my life, I’ll clear your name!” But how could I fight? My strength, in front of them, was as small as a speck of dust. Just when I was about to be swallowed by despair, one afternoon while cleaning out old things, I accidentally found a long-forgotten iron box. Inside were several medals I had once won in math and physics competitions at home and abroad, now dulled with age. Under the medals was a photo. 4 In the photo, a young me stood shoulder to shoulder with a young man in a white shirt, his eyes bright and sharp, on a university campus, both of us smiling with carefree brilliance. That was Daniel Shaw. Stella’s father. Six years ago, he vanished from our world as if he had evaporated, leaving behind only a vague, almost cruel breakup letter. Carrying a child, I endured immense pain and the gossip and pointing fingers around me before giving birth to Stella. I went from hating him to slowly trying to forget him, pouring all my love into my daughter. I had never thought about finding him. The name, and the world it might represent, was the past I had deliberately avoided. But right then, looking at the face in the photo, the face that had once been full of ideals and passion, and looking at my haggard daughter in my arms, who had been unjustly accused, a crazy and humble thought began to grow in my heart. Could he maybe still be willing to help us, even a little? Even if it was only because Stella was his blood? The thought made me feel ashamed, as if I had betrayed the persistence of the past six years. But I had no way back. I rummaged through everything until I finally found a number that had almost been forgotten, a private number he had once said, “No matter when you call this number, you’ll be able to find me.” With trembling fingers, I pressed the dial button. Hearing the ringing through the receiver, my heart pounded as if it might burst out of my chest. The phone rang for a long time. Just when I thought no one would answer and was about to hang up, someone finally picked up. “Hello?” It was a steady male voice, carrying a trace of barely noticeable caution. Not him. My heart sank. Of course. Six years had passed. The number might have changed hands long ago. “Sorry, wrong number.” My voice was hoarse as I prepared to hang up. “Wait!” The other person’s voice suddenly became urgent, even carrying a hint of unbelievable shock. “This number… may I ask, are you Mrs. Vivian Carter?” I froze. How did he know my name? “I am Vivian Carter. Who are you?” “Thank God! You finally called this number!” The other person sounded excited and relieved. “Mrs. Carter, please wait! Don’t hang up! I’ll transfer you to Mr. Shaw right away! He’s been waiting for your call!” Mr. Shaw? Waiting for my call? Before I could react, I heard hurried footsteps and suppressed conversation on the other end. Then, a voice that I would remember to my grave, a voice I had not even dared to recall carefully in my dreams, came through with a tremor of disbelief and buried urgency, crossing six years of time and crashing hard into my ears: “Vivian? Is that you? Vivian!” It was Daniel Shaw. He was really still using this number. And he called me “Vivian,” the nickname only the closest people would use. The immense grievance and all the hardship I had borne alone for the past six years broke through in an instant. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t cry out, but tears still poured down. “Daniel…” I forced out a few words with all my strength, my voice broken beyond repair. “Our daughter… Stella… she’s being bullied…”
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