The Price of Delayed Love

It was the fifth year after my parents' divorce when I ran into my dad at school.

He had just finished a parent-teacher conference for Ethan, my stepbrother, who was the top student in his grade, and he was beaming.

The moment he saw me, his face fell.

Is this what you usually wear to school? Is this how your mom raises you?

He handed me a business card, his tone condescending.

"Take this. Tell your mom that if she just apologizes and admits her mistakes, I'll immediately enroll you in an advanced placement program. It's better than rotting away in a regular class."

I didn't take it, just stepped back.

"No need, Mr. Maxwell."

His brow furrowed, his eyes filled with disgust.

"Just like your mother, a lost cause. Don't ever tell anyone you're my daughter again."

I clutched the paper in my hand, watching him leave with a calm expression.

He didn't know,

That wasn't my report card.

It was my withdrawal application, after Mom died and there was no one left to pay my tuition.

I refolded the paper and went to the Registrar's Office.

Ms. Davies took it, first flipping to the report card tucked inside, pausing for two seconds.

"Chloe, are you really sure about this?"

"With your grades, dropping out now would be such a waste. You've always been in the top few in your regular class, and your last practice test scores were good enough to get you into a top university."

I gripped my backpack strap, simply shaking my head gently.

Another teacher, who had just returned from outside, was in the office and casually mentioned,

"Mr. Maxwell came for a parent-teacher conference today, and afterwards, he donated an additional scholarship fund to the school, specifically for the top ten students in each grade and those in academic competitions. The principal was just praising him."

Another teacher laughed and chimed in,

"He's truly dedicated to that boy. I heard he's even planned out his future college abroad."

"And the kid is bright, consistently ranking first in his grade. Of course, the school welcomes parents like that."

I stood by the desk, silent.

There were a few other students at the door, here to submit paperwork, and they couldn't help but glance my way.

Someone looked at the withdrawal application in my hand, then at my faded school uniform, and murmured softly,

"They're both kids, but their fates are truly different."

"Someone like Mr. Maxwell, with such a good reputation publicly, donating money to the school and even personally attending parent-teacher conferences, he surely wouldn't neglect his own daughter privately, would he?"

I looked up and met their gaze.

"Whether he neglects me isn't about what he says, but what he's done these past five years."

That person froze.

The office fell silent for a moment.

Ms. Davies looked at me, as if wanting to ask something, but in the end, she didn't. She just placed the withdrawal application beneath a corner of her desk.

I turned and walked out.

The school hallway was long. Light streamed in through the windows, making the floor tiles alternately bright and dark.

I walked past the Wall of Fame and saw the photo in the very center.

Richard Maxwell stood to one side, while Ethan stood in the middle, holding a trophy. Both of them were smiling.

It was a perfect photo.

Polished, shining, like a real father and son.

Who would ever connect them to me?

After school, I went to my part-time job at the convenience store as usual.

After the evening rush, I stood behind the counter again, busy until almost ten at night.

Mr. Henderson, the store manager, poured me a cup of hot water and placed it by my hand.

"Is the school hassling you for tuition again?"

I gave a quiet affirmative.

Mr. Henderson sighed.

"When your mom was still around, she was most afraid of your education being disrupted. Every time she got her paycheck, the first thing she'd ask wasn't if she had enough for herself, but when your tuition bill was due. She always told me, 'We can scrimp and save on other things, but your education can't be cut short.'"

The scanner in my hand paused.

My gaze landed on the shelves, unmoving for a long time.

After Mom left, the first thing that was cut off wasn't my living expenses.

It was that feeling of someone caring about my schooling.

No matter how late I came home, she would always ask if my homework was done, how my exams went.

When she was at her sickest, with needles in the back of her hand, she was still mumbling about my midterms and college applications.

Now, no one asks.

There's no one even to remind me to bring my exam ID.

After work, I went to the local florist and bought a small bouquet of white flowers. Then I bought a discounted cake from a bakery that was about to close, and took the last bus to the cemetery.

The wind wasn't strong tonight; the mountain road was quiet.

I placed the flowers and cake before the grave, squatting down to look at Mom's photo.

"The school asked for tuition again today."

"I submitted the withdrawal application."

I paused, then recounted what had happened that afternoon.

"I saw Richard Maxwell at school today."

"He had just finished Ethan's parent-teacher conference, beaming."

"The first thing he said when he saw me was still asking if I usually dress like this for school. Then he handed me a business card, saying if you just apologized and admitted your mistakes, he'd immediately enroll me in an advanced placement program."

As I spoke, I couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.

The smile was so faint I could barely feel it myself.

"He still doesn't know you're dead."

I unwrapped the cake, cut a small piece with a tiny fork, and placed it on the small plate beside the grave.

"Mom, I originally wanted to hold on a bit longer."

"But I really can't anymore."

"Please don't blame me."

I stared at the gravestone, my throat tightening.

"I know you were most afraid of me not going to school."

"But I've truly tried my best."

The wind swept down from the mountain, rustling the blades of grass before the grave with a faint, brittle sound.

I sat by the grave for a long time, until my phone screen lit up.

It was a message from Ms. Davies.

Please come to school tomorrow to pack up your personal belongings.

The moment I stepped through the school gate the next day, I sensed something was off.

Some people saw me and immediately lowered their heads to whisper to those beside them.

Others held up their phones, pointing them at me, and quickly lowered them when I looked up.

As I walked toward my classroom, passing the staircase, two girls who had been talking suddenly lowered their voices when they saw me, their eyes still drifting to my face.

I reached my seat, placed my backpack down, and then saw several lines written in chalk on my desk.

Ungrateful wretch.

Can't stand to see others do well.

Jealous of her stepbrother.

Every word was written heavily, as if afraid someone might miss it.

I stood there for a few seconds, then took out a tissue from my backpack, moistened it slightly, and slowly wiped the words away.

My deskmate subtly shifted away, as if afraid of getting tangled in trouble.

Just then, Ms. Davies stood at the doorway and called my name.

"Chloe, to the office."

I zipped up my backpack and followed her out.

When the office door opened, my gaze immediately fell on Richard Maxwell.

He stood by the window, his face looking even worse than yesterday.

Vivian sat in a chair, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching a tissue.

Ethan stood beside her, head bowed, looking all hurt and innocent.

Ms. Davies handed me her phone.

"See for yourself."

Last night, an anonymous post had suddenly appeared on the school forum.

The post's title was direct, and its content even more so.

It claimed that Ethan wasn't Richard Maxwell's biological son, yet he was using Richard's money to pave his way, monopolizing all resources.

It also hinted that Richard had abandoned his first wife and biological daughter, only to raise someone else's kid.

The post was quickly deleted, but screenshots had already spread everywhere.

Richard stared at me, opening with a question: "Was it you who posted it?"

I pushed the phone back.

"No."

Vivian immediately wiped away a tear, her voice trembling.

"Chloe, I know you're upset. But Ethan hasn't done anything wrong."

I stayed silent.

There were two other teachers in the office, and hearing this, they couldn't help but side with her.

"Yes, if there's an issue, handle it privately. Don't air it out on the forum for the whole school to know."

Listening to these words, I found it utterly ridiculous.

I hadn't done anything, yet everyone already assumed I was the most suspicious one.

Because in their eyes, Richard was rich and influential, while I was just a student in a regular class who was about to drop out. So, regardless of the truth, blaming me was always the safe bet.

I looked up, addressing Richard directly.

"What good would it do me to post that?"

"I'm already here today to withdraw from school. Do you really think I have time to watch you three play happy family?"

Everyone in the office froze for a moment.

Ms. Davies frowned, "The withdrawal process isn't finalized yet, is it?"

I didn't answer, just gripped my backpack straps tighter.

Richard, however, seemed to grasp something significant, staring at me, his tone suddenly dropping.

"So you did this on purpose?"

"Intentionally staging this withdrawal to make me soft-hearted?"

"Your mom used to love playing the victim card. Now you've learned it too."

I looked up at him sharply.

That sentence was like a needle, stabbing directly into my heart.

The emotions I'd suppressed for a day and a night completely broke at that moment.

"If my mom was truly as good an actress as you claim, she wouldn't have been so thoroughly deceived by you back then."

The office went silent.

Ms. Davies's face changed, and she opened her mouth to intervene, but Richard cut her off with a raised hand.

His face slowly darkened, his gaze fixed intently on mine.

He turned to the teachers in the office and said, "Could you please step out for a moment? This is a family matter."

Ms. Davies hesitated for a moment, then led the others out.

The moment the door closed, only the four of us remained in the room.

No, Ethan was there too.

He stood beside Vivian, his head bowed even lower, his hands clenched tightly.

Richard took a step closer to me, his voice heavily suppressed.

"Chloe, how much longer are you going to keep this up?"

I scoffed.

"What am I 'keeping up'? Did I post it, or did I beg you to acknowledge me yesterday?"

"I came quietly today to withdraw from school. You're the ones who cornered me in this office first thing in the morning, determined to pin this on me."

Richard frowned, "If you weren't instigating things behind the scenes, Ethan wouldn't have suddenly found out about all that."

I looked up at him, questioning him word by word.

"So in your eyes, the truth itself isn't important? What matters is who said it?"

Richard paused.

Seeing the situation was turning bad, Vivian immediately stood up, her eyes red as she looked at me.

"Chloe, I never intended to steal anyone's place, nor did I want you to drop out. If you're really short on money, I can privately help you out financially. But I beg you, please stop targeting Ethan. He knows nothing and has never hurt anyone."

I stared at her.

Her 'my child is innocent' act was exactly the same as five years ago.

Back then, she was just like this, standing behind the crowd, clutching her stomach, claiming she couldn't handle the stress.

Richard immediately turned to comfort her, not even sparing a glance for my mom and me.

I forced a smile.

"You're best at using 'the child is innocent' as a shield, aren't you?"

"It was true five years ago, and it's true now."

What Richard hated most was anyone bringing up five years ago.

I looked at him and suddenly remembered the many years ago when I used to watch from the window, waiting for him to come home.

I was little then, and Mom always defended him.

She said Dad's company was going through a tough time, and things would get better after this rough patch.

Then one day, Richard came home, looking terrible. He sat at the dining table in silence for a long time before telling Mom that the company's finances had collapsed, he was in debt, and he was afraid of dragging us down, so he wanted a divorce first.

Mom's face turned pale that day.

But she didn't blame him.

She only asked one question: "Is it really that hard?"

Richard nodded.

After that, Mom took out all the money she'd saved during their marriagebank cards, savings passbooksshe gave him everything, keeping nothing for herself.

She also took on many odd jobs, sewing clothes for others during the day and helping out in the kitchen of a small restaurant at night, wanting to help him get through that difficult period together.

Back then, what I looked forward to most every day was coming home from school and waiting by the window.

Waiting for him to open the door, waiting for him to pick us up.

Mom always said, "Just wait a little longer, Dad will come when he's not so busy."

I believed it for a long time.

Until later, Richard came again and said that the house also had to be collateral for his debts, and we needed to move out.

Mom still believed him.

She took me to live in the cheapest rental apartment in the run-down part of town, continued to work desperately, and continued to wait for him.

But it wasn't long before news of Richard's remarriage was everywhereon TV, phones, and big screens in shopping malls.

The wedding venue was grand, the lights were bright, and there were many people.

Vivian stood beside him in a wedding dress, and Ethan stood between them, like a child recognized by everyone.

The host said it was the picture of a perfect family of three.

Mom held her phone, her hand trembling.

She watched for a long time before finally coming to her senses. She took me in a taxi to the wedding venue.

But we couldn't even get inside.

Security guards blocked us, and everyone around was staring.

Mom explained repeatedly that she just wanted to see Richard and get some answers.

But no one would let us through.

Later, Richard saw us across the crowd.

I thought he would come over.

But the next second, Vivian clutched her stomach and leaned into his arms, claiming she couldn't handle the stress.

Richard immediately told the security guards to drag us out.

"Don't let them cause a scene here."

Those were the last words he said.

When Mom and I were pushed out of the hotel entrance, it was raining outside.

Mom was drenched but refused to leave, staring at the lights inside.

Later, I chased after Richard, refusing to let go, grabbing his jacket corner and asking him why.

He got annoyed and just shook me off.

I tumbled down the steps, my ear hitting the railing. The pain was so intense I couldn't hear anything.

Mom held me and rushed to several hospitals. The doctors made it clear: if treated early, there was still hope.

But we didn't have the luxury of "early."

Thinking of this, I looked up at Richard.

"Aren't you supposed to be the best at protecting her and her son? Now you can't even stand to hear the truth?"

Richard's face was terrible, and a flicker of unease finally crossed his eyes.

But when he spoke, he still chose to blame Mom.

"What happened back then, your mom just couldn't let go. She refused to accept reality and insisted on blowing things up. If she hadn't kept pestering us, we all could have lived in peace."

I stared at him, feeling a surge of anger flare in my chest.

"Live in peace?"

"Do you know why my ear was damaged?"

Richard froze.

This was the second time today he truly noticed the hearing aid behind my ear.

Yesterday, when we met, he was too busy complaining about my shabby clothes to even notice anything new on my ear.

I raised my hand and tucked my hair behind my ear, letting him see more clearly.

"The day you had us thrown out, I fell down the steps, and that's how my ear was damaged."

"Of course, you don't remember. That day, you were busy getting married, busy comforting Vivian. You didn't have time to care if I'd fallen and gotten hurt."

Richard's lips moved, as if he wanted to argue.

I didn't give him a chance, continuing.

"All these years, my mom and I did try to find you. We called, we messaged, we begged, and we waited. But every time, the call was hung up, or Vivian would pick up and tell us you were busy, to be 'sensible' about it."

"Later, my mom's health worsened, and she was diagnosed with a condition requiring long-term treatment."

"You didn't even bother to properly look at her medical records, assuming it was just another one of my mom's acts."

"Finally, you threw a bank card at me, saying there was money in it, and told me to disappear."

As I spoke, my hand was numb from clenching.

That day, I really believed it.

I thought, no matter how cruel a person was, they wouldn't joke about a human life.

I ran back to the hospital with that card, not even noticing one of my shoes had fallen off, my mind filled with the thought that Mom was saved.

But at the billing office, the staff swiped the card three times, then looked up at me.

"There's no money in it."

At that moment, standing in the hospital lobby, my whole body went numb.

I didn't know whom to blame.

The bank, myself, or the father who never once looked back?

I looked at Richard, my voice growing colder.

"You call that 'living in peace'?"

"Was there ever a single moment when you genuinely wanted my mom and me to survive?"

The room was eerily silent.

Richard looked at me, the expression on his face finally changing.

But after a long silence, his first words were still, "I would never give you an empty card."

I almost laughed.

Even now, his first instinct was to defend himself.

"So you think my mom and I conspired to deceive you?"

"There must be another reason for this," he said.

"Yes, another reason," I stared at him. "But whatever that reason is, the only one who died was my mom."

Richard's face changed instantly.

"What did you say?"

I looked at him and said,

"My mom died."