One AM, I was mopping the floor at the convenience store when I bumped into my own mother. She was wearing a cashmere coat worth thousands, holding her two-year-old daughter’s hand, picking out imported milk for her shopping basket. Seeing my name tag, her smile froze. “Give me your account number. I’ll transfer you some money so you and your dad can get something decent to eat.” I pushed her hand away. “No, thanks, Ms. Vance.” She frowned, looking at my twisted knuckles and the old scars on my palm. “Where’s your dad? Is he not taking care of you? At least tell me, I’ll come pick you up.” I stared at her. “He can’t anymore.” “He’s dead. Died three years ago.” She didn’t believe me. She said my dad was a master at playing the victim. But soon after, she barged into my tiny rented apartment and saw Dad’s memorial photo— She shook my shoulders wildly. “Where is he? He can’t be dead!” I shook her off. “The night you spent eight million on a painting for Caleb Blackwood, my dad was biting through his lips in pain on his hospital bed.” “One less splurge from you, and his surgery would’ve been covered.” “And that card.” “The one you said had three hundred thousand in it, when I tried to withdraw it—” “There wasn’t a penny.”
It had been three years since I’d seen my mother, and I found her in a convenience store. One AM. The store was empty. I was bent over, stocking bottled water on the shelves, when the sensor bell chimed at the entrance. A woman holding a little girl, around two years old, walked in. I continued working, not paying attention. It wasn’t until the woman came to the checkout counter with a bottle of water that I looked up. Our eyes met. The expression on her face froze. I was stunned for a moment too, but quickly recovered. “Twelve dollars total.” I scanned the barcode, my voice as flat as a machine’s. She didn’t pay. She stared at my name tag. My name tag read: Autumn Dawson. “Autumn?” Her voice was trembling slightly. “Is it really you?” I didn’t answer her question. “Twelve dollars. How will you pay?” Her gaze moved from my grease-stained uniform to my deformed knuckles, then to my worn-out canvas shoes with peeling soles. “Why are you so thin?” She frowned. “Where’s your dad? If he’s not taking care of you, at least tell me, I’ll come pick you up.” I forced a small smile. “Ms. Vance, either pay for your things or step aside.” She glanced back. There was no one behind her. She sighed. “Give me your account number. I’ll transfer you some money so you and your dad don’t have to suffer.” I looked up at her. “No, thanks.” “Never saw you care so much about Dad and me before.” Her face darkened. “You’re as stubborn as your dad. If you hadn’t stuck with him back then, would you be working the night shift at a convenience store now?” The little girl tugged on her coat. “Mommy, I want milk.” She bent down, picked up the child, and looked at me again. “Tell your dad not to be stubborn. If he’s willing to apologize, I’ll take you in. Your life wouldn’t be worse than it is now.” My fingers tightened on the cash register. “My dad and I don’t need your concern. We’re strangers to you. Talking like this, people might misunderstand.” Her eyes flickered, as if she wanted to say something. But she swallowed it. She put down twelve dollars, turned, and left. After she left, my colleague peeked out from the back. “Who was that just now? She had quite the entourage.” I didn’t look up. “Don’t know her.” Another colleague came over, holding her phone screen in front of me. “I looked her up. Isn’t that Eleanor Vance from Vance Corp.? The CEO who’s always in the news for her charity work?” “Look at this interview. She says her biggest regret in life is her ex-husband and daughter.” I glanced at the screen. “She’s good at faking it.” “But she donates real money to charity, and she even started a children’s foundation named after her daughter!” I stopped what I was doing and looked at them. “She pretended to be poor to her ex-husband, transferred all their savings when they divorced, and dumped all their debts on him.” “Her husband went from being a teacher to a warehouse mover just to pay off the debts she left behind.” “She says her biggest regret is her ex-husband and daughter? But then she physically pushed her own daughter’s hand into broken glass, making it so I could never draw again.” They froze. “You… How do you know all this so clearly?” I flipped my name tag. Autumn Dawson. “Because I’m her daughter.” They immediately fell silent. After my shift, I didn’t go back to the rented apartment. I stopped at a bakery for the smallest cake, then a flower shop for a bouquet. It was a forty-minute walk to the cemetery. The cake and flowers I placed in front of the gravestone. In the photo, Dad wore a white shirt and had a gentle smile. I knelt down in front of him. “Happy birthday, Dad.” “I ran into her today.” “She still thought you were alive.”
The next day, as soon as I walked into work, something felt off. Mr. Henderson, the manager, was behind the counter, wiping sweat, his face pale. Eleanor Vance sat on a lounge chair in the middle of the lobby. An unopened coffee sat in front of her. Her assistant, David, stood behind her, holding a file bag. The manager saw me, his eyes looking like he’d seen a lifeline. “Autumn, Ms. Vance said the milk she bought yesterday was bad, and her daughter got sick.” “You, you come over and explain to Ms. Vance…” I glanced at him. “Explain what? If it’s not past its expiration date, it’s not our problem.” Then I walked towards Eleanor Vance. Her gaze was already fixed on me. “Ms. Vance, what exactly do you want?” She looked up. “The milk yesterday had a quality issue. Lily drank it and threw up all night. Her dad isn’t happy.” I scoffed. “So? Are you here to complain? Or are you looking for an excuse to drag me in front of Caleb Blackwood and make me apologize to him?” Her face changed. I continued. “Isn’t that what you did three years ago? My dad and I were always the ones apologizing first, kneeling first, making amends first.” Her brows furrowed. “My business with your dad is not for a child to judge.” “I’m not a child anymore.” I stared at her. “The year you threw my dad and me out when I was sixteen, that’s when I grew up.” “Threw you out?” Her voice rose. “Your dad dragged you out himself! He knew what he did!” I looked at her, unsure whether to be angry or laugh. “What did he do? What he did was get framed by your precious husband.” “It’s been three years. Did you ever once look into the truth?” She slammed her hand on the armrest of the chair. “Did you learn to lie through your teeth from your dad? When has Caleb ever harmed you? He’s a thousand times better to Lily and me than your dad ever was!” I retorted coldly. “Better? Better enough to stomp on your own daughter’s hand? Better enough to press my dad’s face to the ground where you couldn’t see?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t want to waste any more time with her. “Ms. Vance, I advise you to leave now. You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.” She finally stood up. “I want to see your dad. Let him explain it himself.” That sentence made my whole body stiffen. Several customers in the store were watching. I stared at her. “See him? You lived in the same house with him for seventeen years, did you ever really know him?” She was too angry to answer for a moment. She threw down a business card and left. Gold embossed: Eleanor Vance. My colleague came over. “Autumn… Are you okay?” I tore the business card in half. “Help me get a few more shifts. I’m still three hundred short on rent this month.” She looked at the shredded paper in my hand and didn’t dare to ask anything else. After work that day, I went home and looked at my dad’s photo. “Dad, she’s looking for you.” “She said you know what you did.” I buried my face in my knees. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Three years ago, our family lived in a three-bedroom apartment. Dad was a teacher at a private school. Every day, he’d come home, hum while he cooked in the kitchen. I was in my first year of high school, spending all my free time in the art studio. That year, I won first prize in the art competition. The judges said I had exceptional talent with color and recommended me for early admission to a top art school. Mom didn’t come home often. But when she did, she’d sit on the couch and watch me draw. She’d smile and say my talent was like hers. Those were the happiest days of my life. Until one day, Mom suddenly stormed home, slamming the door. She smashed Dad’s phone on the floor, pointing at him. “Michael Dawson, you’re absolutely shameless!” “Look at these pictures yourself!” On the table was a stack of printed photos. Dad hugging a young woman, picking out jewelry at the mall. Dad’s face went white. “That’s not me, Eleanor, listen to me—” “Shut up!” She slapped him. “Caleb Blackwood investigated for a month! You’ve been with that student for a whole year!” I rushed out of my room. “Mom, let Dad explain—” She didn’t even turn around. “He cheated on me, he cheated on you. I can’t stay in this house for another day.” That night, the lawyer arrived. The agreement was already drawn up. The house was hers, the car was hers, all the savings were hers. Dad got nothing. Dad’s hand kept shaking as he signed. “Eleanor, those pictures are fake… Let me investigate, just give me a week—” “You don’t have a week. Be out by tomorrow.” I knelt, tugging at her skirt. “Mom, please don’t go. Can you just let Dad prove it? I don’t want you two to divorce—” She suddenly shoved me. I flew backward, hitting the back of my head on the corner of the coffee table. I instinctively put out my right hand to brace myself. My palm landed on a glass cup on the table, shattering it. Shards of glass embedded themselves in my palm and between my fingers. Blood gushed out instantly. The pain made my vision go black. Dad rushed over and held me. “Eleanor! Call an ambulance quickly!” Mom glanced at me. A flicker of panic crossed her face. But at that moment, Caleb Blackwood walked in through the door. He saw the blood everywhere and covered his mouth. “Eleanor, what happened… This is so scary…” Mom’s expression changed instantly. She quickly went over, hugging him to comfort him. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to do with you.” She didn’t look at me again. Caleb was an unknown actor back then. He was handsome and spoke in a sweet, soft voice. He said he grew up in an orphanage, with no parents. He said my mom was the best person in the world to him. He said if my mom didn’t take care of him, he wouldn’t want to live. Mom believed it all. She gave him all her tenderness. My right hand underwent three surgeries. The tendon damage was too severe; my fingers couldn’t regain their flexibility. From then on, I couldn’t hold a paintbrush steadily. My early admission to the top art school was revoked.
That winter was the hardest time for my dad and me. Dad was fired from the school. Somehow, those fake photos got to the school administration. The woman in the pictures looked about the same age as his students. Even though it wasn’t the same person, the parents raised a fuss, and the school couldn’t cover it up. I never had proof of who sent the photos, but I had my suspicions. No job, no house, no savings. Dad moved me into a cheap apartment, less than ten square meters. The walls were covered in mold, the windows leaked air, and in winter, it was so cold you could see your breath. Dad worked as a mover in a warehouse during the day and washed dishes at a restaurant at night. Fifteen, sixteen hours a day, he got so thin his cheeks became hollow. My hand was still bandaged. Every day after school, I’d go to the supermarket to help people carry groceries. Two dollars a trip. At first, we could afford bread. Later, we couldn’t even afford to buy much of that. Every meal, Dad would put all the good food in my bowl. He’d say he wasn’t hungry. But I’d hear him get up in the middle of the night to drink cold water several times. One day, I came home from school and smelled meat cooking. I opened the door and saw a table full of dishes on the coffee table. Next to it, a small cake with a crooked candle. “It’s your birthday today,” Dad smiled, stroking my head. “Eat your cake, then do your homework.” I looked at the dishes, then at his increasingly hollow face. “Dad, how much did you eat?” He said he’d eaten. But in the trash can, there was only an empty instant noodle packet. I didn’t eat the cake. I stared at the flame for a long time. Then I cried. Late that night, I saw Dad sitting on the steps outside our rented room. Under the streetlight, he was flipping through his phone gallery. All of them were old photos of Mom. Not a single one deleted. I crouched beside him. “Dad, don’t look anymore.” He turned off his phone and pulled me into a hug. “Autumn, I’m sorry. Your dad isn’t capable.” I buried my face in his chest. “You are capable, you’re the best dad in the world.” A few days later, I scrolled past a news headline. Eleanor Vance and Caleb Blackwood attending a charity gala. She in a white haute couture gown, he in a custom-made suit. Holding hands on the red carpet. The headline read: “Vance Corp. CEO and Her Beloved Find True Love, Long-Term Commitment to Philanthropy.” The comments were full of praise. Saying she was loving and righteous. Saying she started from scratch and found true love. Someone asked her if she’d like to talk about her ex-husband and daughter. She looked at the camera, her eyes slightly red. “That’s my biggest regret in life. If someday they’re willing to come back, my door will always be open for them.” I almost crushed my phone. “Her door will always be open?” I turned to Dad. “Then I’ll go try.” The next morning, I helped Dad to Mom’s new house. A seaside villa, with three luxury cars parked out front. Security guards stopped us at the iron gate. “Who are you looking for? This isn’t a place for you.” Dad, his eyes red, said, “I’m Eleanor Vance’s ex-husband. I need to see her.” The intercom buzzed. Five minutes later, Mom appeared at the door. Silk pajamas, hair disheveled. “Michael Dawson, what are you doing here?” Dad gritted his teeth. “Eleanor, I’m not here to reconcile. Autumn’s hand needs a follow-up, and I’m injured too… Can we borrow some money?”
Before he could finish, Caleb Blackwood peeked out from behind her. Seeing Dad and me, his face instantly changed, and he shrank back behind her. “Eleanor, they’re here again… Are they going to cause a scene…?” Mom turned to comfort him. When she turned back, her face was completely cold. “Michael Dawson, have you no shame? You messed up, and you’re still coming here asking for money? What do you take me for?” I stepped forward. “He didn’t do anything wrong! Those photos are fake! Why wouldn’t you investigate?” Mom glanced at me. “The child doesn’t know any better, your dad corrupted her. Someone, please escort them out.” The security guards came up and pushed us. Dad was pushed down onto the steps. I knelt to help him up. The door closed in front of us. The moment it shut, I heard Caleb Blackwood laughing inside. After that, Dad’s body couldn’t hold up anymore. He hadn’t thought much of the fall at the warehouse at the time. But later, he started having frequent stomach pains, couldn’t eat, and visibly wasted away. I dragged him to a community clinic. The doctor’s expression after reading the report is something I’ll never forget. “Stage two stomach cancer. Immediate surgery is required, or it will progress to stage three.” Surgery plus follow-up treatment, at least three hundred thousand. For us, that was an astronomical sum. I had already dropped out of school by then. Working at a coffee shop during the day, and cleaning at a karaoke bar at night. At most, I earned three thousand a month. Dad didn’t want me to drop out. But we couldn’t afford tuition at all. I said it was okay. My drawing hand was already ruined anyway, so going to school or not made no difference. Three hundred thousand. I tried every method I could think of. We only raised twenty-three thousand on GoFundMe. Relatives had long cut ties. Community aid had a six-month waiting list. Finally, I called Mom’s number again. The first few dozen calls, all busy tones. But online, her news was everywhere. Throwing a birthday party for Caleb, booking out an entire commercial street. Spending eight million at an auction on an oil painting. The painting was of a little girl running in a field. She spent eight million on a painting. But she couldn’t answer my phone call. Later, after dozens of attempts, the call finally connected. “What do you want now?” Her voice was cold. I clutched the phone, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Mom… Dad has stomach cancer. Stage two. He needs three hundred thousand for surgery, please… He’s really not doing well…” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Are you and your dad putting on another act? Last time it was an injury and asking for money, this time it’s cancer. Next, will it be a will?” I crouched in the hospital corridor, tears falling one by one onto the floor tiles. “I’m not lying… I can have the doctor talk to you…” “Enough. I’ll give you one last chance.” Two days later, David, her assistant, came to the hospital. He handed me a bank card. “Ms. Vance said there’s three hundred thousand in it. Take it, and don’t call again.” I took the card with both hands. Like holding a life in my hands. I ran back to the hospital room, kneeling by Dad’s bed. “Dad, the money’s here. You can get the surgery now.” Dad looked at me, his eyes red. He laboriously raised a hand and stroked my head. “Autumn, your mom gave it to you?” I nodded. He didn’t say anything. He turned his face away, tears flowing into his pillow. I took the card to pay the bill. I waited in line for a long time. Finally, it was my turn. I handed the card into the window. “Transfer three hundred thousand, for surgery.” The staff member swiped it. Then swiped it again. She looked up at me. “Insufficient balance.”
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