Chapter 3

Halfway through the second class, my homeroom teacher called me out of the classroom and said Mom was waiting for me at the school gate.

A small surge of hope rose in my heart.

Was Mom here to pick me up, or to bring me something?

I moved step by step to the school gate.

When Mom saw me, she pulled me toward the principal's office. "Process a transfer."

The principal froze, looked at me, then looked at Mom.

"Ma'am, the child has just enrolled..."

"I said process a transfer."

Mom's voice was very loud, drawing other teachers over to watch.

I tugged on the corner of her clothes and begged her in a small voice.

"Mom, I want to go to school here. I like the teachers and classmates here."

Mom shook off my hand.

I staggered and hit the file cabinet beside me.

My forehead struck the corner of the cabinet, and it hurt so much that tears flowed out.

Mom did not even look at me and only repeated to the principal, "Process a transfer."

The teachers around us all looked at us with strange eyes.

Mom ignored everything and dragged me outside by the arm.

The car drove for a long time, and when it stopped, there was a very run-down elementary school in front of me.

The paint at the school gate had all peeled off, and the playground was full of potholes.

"I've already completed the paperwork for you. From now on, you'll keep going to school here."

Mom pointed at the shabby school gate.

I hugged her leg and begged her while crying, "Mom, I don't want to go to school here. Please."

She pushed me to the ground.

My whole body fell into the muddy water at the school gate, my uniform got dirty, and my knee was scraped open.

Several students passing by pointed at me and burst into laughter.

"Look at that idiot!"

"She's so gross."

"Her mom doesn't want her anymore."

I lifted my head, and through my blurry tears, I saw her back as she left.

She left without looking back, leaving me sitting alone in the muddy water, crying.

The students here were savage.

They mocked my old uniform that had been washed pale, stole my lunch, and threw my homework notebook into puddles.

I did not dare cry, and I did not dare fight back.

Because Mom had said that tears were the most useless thing.

I learned to endure and learned to swallow all my grievances into my stomach.

That night, after Dad found out, he and Mom had a fierce argument.

The vases in the house were smashed all over the floor.

I hid behind my bedroom door and saw Dad angrily questioning Mom through the crack.

"Catherine, how can you be so cruel?"

"Do you have someone else outside? Is that why you're torturing Maria like this?"

Mom's voice was unusually calm.

"I don't. I just regret it."

"I regret giving birth to her."

Those words stabbed into my heart like a knife.

I covered my mouth and did not dare cry out loud.

So I was a mistake, an existence that made her regret.

I gently closed the door.

I lay in bed unable to sleep, Mom's words echoing over and over in my ears.

The next morning, I sat up in bed, my eyes dry and sore.

Out of habit, I fumbled around beside the bed, wanting to hug my fluffy Ayuna.

But I felt nothing.

It was not on the bed, and it was not under the bed.

Ayuna, the kitten I had raised for two years, was gone.

"Ayuna? Ayuna!"

I searched the whole house, went through every cabinet, lay on the floor and looked under the bed, and shouted until my throat went hoarse.

Mom walked out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water, her expression indifferent.

She pointed out the window.

On the lawn downstairs, a half-grown stray dog was holding a clump of white fur covered in dirt and blood in its mouth.

"I'm allergic to cat hair, so I threw it down."

My mind went completely blank.

I rushed to the window and saw Ayuna's small body lying on the ground, motionless.

It would never rub its fluffy head against my cheek again.

It would never quietly lick away my tears when I cried again.

I wanted to curse at her, but my throat was blocked, and I could not make a sound.

I rushed over and swept the glass from her hand onto the floor.

Mom slapped me to the ground.

"Look at you. You're attacking me over a cat?"

She crouched down and looked at me irritably.

"I'm telling you, in this house, anything that annoys me, I can throw out."

"That includes the people and things that make you cry, and it includes you too."

I was so scared that I did not dare cry anymore, and I did not dare make trouble anymore.

That night, after Dad came home, he saw my swollen red eyes and pulled me into his arms.

He wrapped me tightly in his arms, and the force felt like he was searching for something to hold him up.

He let out a long sigh, as if he had made some important decision.

"From now on, I will always be by your side."