Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I took Betty to school.

The stage had already been set up on the playground.

The main backdrop featured the rainbow and balloons from Betty's drawing.

Even the little sun in the lower right corner that was slightly crooked was exactly the same as in her draft.

But the signature on the backdrop read: Christiana.

I stood at the edge of the playground, staring at those words, and suddenly understood.

Betty hadn't just had her role stolen—her artwork had been stolen too.

Samantha saw me, and a flash of impatience crossed her face.

"Mrs. James, parent viewing doesn't start until this afternoon. You can't go backstage right now."

I smiled.

"I'm here to help my child change clothes."

Samantha glanced at the clean white jacket in my hands.

"Didn't we already distribute the costumes?"

As she spoke, she pointed to the cardboard on the ground nearby.

That gray trash can costume had been carelessly thrown in a corner, with footprints from several children next to it.

Betty instinctively hid behind me. Samantha frowned.

"Betty, what are you hiding from? Didn't you agree yesterday that you'd cooperate with the teacher today?"

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was enough for several nearby parents to hear.

PTA president Rachel walked over.

She wore a champagne-colored suit with a volunteer badge pinned to her chest.

"Samantha, you can't spoil children. If they don't understand, you have to teach them."

She glanced at me and smiled lightly.

"So many of us parents have been working tirelessly. Which child hasn't followed the arrangements? Some people don't contribute money or effort, but when it's time to go on stage, they complain about the role."

"How can there be such a good deal?"

Her son Mendez was standing nearby wearing his prince costume.

Hearing his mother backing him up, he immediately made a face at Betty.

"The trash can is here."

"Later I'll throw paper balls at you. You'd better catch them."

Betty's face went pale.

I turned to look at Mendez.

"Who taught you to talk like that?"

Rachel's expression darkened as she pulled her son behind her.

"A child making a joke, and you, an adult, have to make a big deal of it?"

Samantha also spoke up.

"Mrs. James, today is Children's Day. Everyone's happy. Please don't make the atmosphere awkward."

I asked her, "Can a child be happy being called a trash can?"

Samantha's brow twitched.

"It's just a role name."

"Besides, environmental protection themes need someone to play the trash can. Betty has a quiet personality, so she's more suitable."

I took out my phone and opened a screenshot of the original program schedule Betty had shown me last night.

"Then why did it originally say Betty would play the little artist?"

Samantha's expression changed.

"Program adjustments are normal."

Rachel crossed her arms and sneered.

"Mrs. James, I advise you not to make a scene."

"This school isn't run by whoever has the loudest voice."

"Christiana's father is the school board chairman. Our family handled the gift procurement for this Children's Day. Other parents also contributed to class activity fees."

She looked me up and down.

"And you?"

"Besides dropping off and picking up your child on time, what else have you done?"

"You don't contribute resources but want your child to have center stage. Isn't that teaching your child to freeload?"

I suddenly laughed.

"So children's roles are assigned based on parent contributions."

Samantha immediately interrupted.

"I didn't say that."

But Rachel didn't think she'd said anything wrong.

"Pretty much."

"That's how society works. Letting children understand early isn't a bad thing."

"Children with resources get more opportunities. Children without resources learn to cooperate. When she grows up, she'll thank us for letting her adapt to society early."

She said it so righteously.

Although Samantha didn't respond, she didn't refute it either.

I looked down at Betty.

She was clutching my hand, her little face deathly pale.

I crouched down and smoothed the stray hair from her forehead.

"Did you hear that?"

"It's not that you're not good enough."

"It's that they're dirty themselves and call their disgustingness 'reality.'"

Betty stared at me blankly.

Rachel's expression turned ugly.

"Who are you calling dirty?"

I stood up.

"Whoever feels guilty knows who I'm talking about!"