On my first day of kindergarten, my mother pulled out a small, green booklet. "Hazel, from now on, only Mommy will be picking you up after school." I instantly understood what that meant. Crying, I ran forward and hugged my father, who was packing his bags. "Daddy! I don't want you and Mommy to get a divorce!" "I want to ride on Daddy's shoulders! I want to go to the amusement park with both of you!" But no matter how much I begged, the father who usually spoiled me rotten just yanked me away with a dark expression and walked straight out the door. My classmates constantly mocked me for being a fatherless child. They threw my backpack in the trash and stuffed my lunchbox full of disgusting bugs. Even the teachers repeatedly punished me, making me stand in the back of the classroom because my test papers were missing a father's signature. Through all those hardships, I finally managed to get into my dream university. When I excitedly returned home holding my acceptance letter, I heard my mother talking on the phone: "Arthur, you can move back in over the next couple of days. That way, I won't have to sneak around behind Hazel's back to see you every day." "Her grades are outstanding. Our test can finally come to an end." "You used to spoil her so much, I was worried she'd turn out wrong. It seems that taking away one parent's love really did make her much more self-reliant and well-behaved!" Watching my mother slip her marriage certificate back into her wallet, I finally understood. The so-called "divorce" was nothing but a fraudulent scheme they deliberately orchestrated to test if I could become independent. All those years of suffering through slander, abuse, and bullying—it was all a massive joke. Since they loved fake divorces so much, I decided to give them a real one. Let me help you finish what you started! 1 Seeing me walk in, my mother hurriedly hung up the phone. "Hazel, you're back? Come here, Mom has some great news for you." Looking at the fake smile plastered on her face, and recalling the conversation she just had with my father, a wave of intense nausea washed over me. "Hazel, Mom has decided to get back together with Dad." "Haven't you always wished for Dad to come back and be with you? He's coming home in a couple of days, and our family will never be separated again." Having my father come home had indeed been my deepest wish since childhood. On my first day of kindergarten, just because I refused to eat a single bite of vegetables during dinner, my father suddenly threw down his chopsticks, stood up, and started packing his bags. "Hazel Sterling! When are you going to fix this terrible habit of being a picky eater?!" "How many times have I told you, your father hates picky eaters! Are you only going to be satisfied when we separate?!" My mother, who was usually so gentle, immediately pulled back the hand that was about to serve me a piece of meat and roared at me. I was so terrified I didn't dare move a muscle, staring blankly as my father packed his luggage with a furious scowl. My mother stood to the side with her arms crossed, looking thoroughly disappointed in me. That was the first time I had ever seen such terrifying expressions on my parents' faces. It felt like I had committed a heinous crime to warrant such coldness. But I was just full; I wasn't being picky. It wasn't until my mother pulled out that small, green booklet—the official divorce certificate—that I finally understood. My parents were divorced. Actually, there had been warning signs before this. Before that day, if I did even the slightest thing that displeased them—maybe waking up a minute late, or not brushing my teeth long enough—they would throw their red marriage certificate on the floor, stomp on it repeatedly, and scream at the top of their lungs that they were going to turn the red booklet into a green one. They didn't hit me or curse at me, but they would cry and threaten me, filling me with immense fear and guilt. "Hazel, the moment the booklet in Mom's hand turns green, you'll become an unwanted child!" "If you don't want everyone to know that you destroyed this family, then you better behave and make things easy for us!" Yet, after every screaming fit, they would instantly revert to their usual calm, gentle selves. They would even hug me tightly and apologize, looking heartbroken. Over time, in order to make them completely worry-free, I learned to be incredibly harsh on myself from a very young age. I tried with all my might to mold myself into the perfect child they desired. Because only then would my mother take me to buy the cupcakes I liked. Only then would my father let me ride on his shoulders at the park. And only then would this family remain whole. But all my efforts were ultimately destroyed over a single bite of vegetables. I cried until I couldn't breathe, clinging desperately to my father's leg, apologizing over and over again. But he just yanked me away with a look of absolute disgust. My mother also looked impatient. She covered her ears and snapped: "What are you crying for?! It's not like we're dead! You still have Mom to live with." But things were far from as simple as they made it sound. From the moment my father walked out that door with his luggage, I never had another day of peace. Overnight, everyone found out about my parents' divorce. But instead of anyone showing me sympathy, they all came to scold and mock me. "You're the one who drove your dad away, aren't you? What a jinx!" "Hazel is an unwanted orphan! Let's not play with her!" The ignorant malice of children is the most immeasurable and the most hurtful. They threw my backpack in the trash and deliberately filled my lunchbox with disgusting bugs to terrify me. Some classmates even pushed me down the stairs when I wasn't looking. And it was all just because my family was broken. In their eyes, that made me a freak. If the children were that cruel, the disdainful looks from the adults left me even more helpless. The teachers automatically categorized me as an unruly, bad kid and constantly made things difficult for me. "Why doesn't this test paper have signatures from both parents? Go stand in the back of the classroom!" "Your reading voice wasn't loud enough this morning. You're staying after school to read for an extra hour!" I tried to defend myself several times, but no one wanted to listen to me. I wanted to go home and pour out all these grievances to my mother, but looking at our desolate home and my mother's constant sighing, I couldn't bring myself to say a word. I just told myself to endure it, to work a little harder. Maybe if I did, my father's heart would soften, and he would come home. I turned my grief and anger into motivation. Finally, on the day I got accepted into my dream university, my father decided to return. But the happiness I had anticipated didn't arrive. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust. I had been treated as a joke and mocked for so many years. And from the very beginning, it was all just a fraudulent scheme targeting me. 2 "Why aren't you saying anything, Hazel? Are you too happy for words?" Seeing me standing frozen in the doorway, my mother called out again. "Your dad is very satisfied that you got into Yale. He's decided to forgive you." I let out a cold laugh. Suddenly, I didn't want to play the role of the perfect, obedient child anymore. "It took him over a decade to forgive me. Dad sure holds a grudge." "So his only standard for measuring whether a child is good or bad is based purely on their academic performance?" "If I hadn't gotten into Yale, and only got into an ordinary state college instead, was he planning to continue abandoning this family?" "Hazel Sterling! Watch your tone!" Hearing this, my mother instantly exploded. She grabbed the water glass next to her and hurled it at me. "You think reading a few books makes you special? Now you're talking back to adults, huh?" "Yes, you're absolutely right! If you had scored even one point less, your father wouldn't have forgiven you so easily!" The water splashed all over me, and the sharp shards of the shattered glass ricocheted off the floor, cutting my ankle. I flinched in pain, but my mother just breathed heavily, looking away and snapping: "Alright, hurry up and change your clothes. We're going to a restaurant to have dinner with your dad." "He specifically booked a private room to celebrate you getting into a top university. Don't embarrass him." I wiped the water off myself and applied ointment to the cut on my ankle. When I looked up again, I was back to being the obedient daughter they expected. I nodded meaningfully and turned to go into my room. When we arrived at the restaurant, the man was already waiting in the private room. This was the first time we had formally met since my father left home. The man in front of me hadn't changed much. In fact, he looked even more vibrant, and his clothes were much more refined. It seemed that without me—his "burden"—he had indeed lived a very comfortable life all these years. "Hazel is here! Dad hasn't seen you in years." "Look how tall you've gotten. You're a young woman now!" "Oh my, what happened to your ankle? Are you hurt?" My mother smoothed it over with a laugh. "When this silly girl heard she was coming to see you, she was so excited she couldn't walk straight and tripped." "What about you? You see your daughter and completely forget about your wife?" My father immediately smiled and wrapped his arm around my mother's waist. Watching the two of them sitting across from me, acting so sickeningly sweet and inseparable. My stomach churned violently, and I nearly threw up. But my father completely failed to notice my discomfort. He eagerly pulled out a chair for me and kept piling food onto my plate. Seeing me sitting stiffly in the chair without touching anything, he finally asked in confusion: "Why the long face? Aren't you happy to see Dad?" Seeing me remain silent, my mother rolled her eyes and slapped me hard on the back. "This girl has an incredibly withdrawn personality. She acts half-dead at home too, never smiles." "She acts like she's being abused. She doesn't know how good she has it!" They kept nagging, shifting into lecture mode again. I slowly exhaled, slapped my chopsticks down on the table, and abruptly stood up. "I have a withdrawn personality? I don't know how good I have it?" "Ask yourselves honestly, do you two even have the right to say that?" "All these years, have you ever genuinely cared about me?" Since I was little, whenever I was slandered for being fatherless, my mother would stand by and watch with cold indifference. Even after returning home, she would join the outsiders in verbally abusing me. "It's all your fault! That's why your father divorced me!" "Now that I'm dragging a burden like you around, no one even wants to look at me for remarriage!" "Still crying? You have no right to cry!" "If you want people to respect you, then study hard!" I was bullied outside and battered at home. And my father, after leaving home, never contacted me again. He ignored my text messages and wouldn't answer my calls. Even if we accidentally crossed paths on the street, he would pretend not to know me and quickly walk away. The suppressed grievances had piled higher and higher, yet I never had the chance to release them. The moment I talked back, my mother immediately raised her hand and slapped me across the face. "You kept it together for all these years, but you finally couldn't hide that rotten temper of yours, could you?" "We used a hands-off parenting style! It was to toughen you up, to make you truly independent! Why can't you understand our good intentions?!" My father sat to the side and let out a helpless sigh. I rubbed my stinging cheek and gave up making pointless arguments. When I pulled a document out of my bag, my father's expression instantly froze. He glared at me in sheer disbelief. 3 "Child Support Payment... Supplemental Agreement?" "Hazel, what are you doing?" I cleared my throat and said expressionlessly: "According to the law, if the non-custodial parent fails to make regular child support payments after a divorce, the child has the right to demand the arrears." "Dad, all these years, I have never received a single transfer from you in my bank account." My father immediately panicked. He stiffened his neck and roared: "I transferred that money to your mother's account!" I turned to look at the woman beside me, who was slowly lowering her head. "Mom, did you ever receive Dad's transfers?" All these years, my mother and I had lived frugally, scraping by in absolute squalor. She used to be a full-time housewife. After my father left, she worked odd jobs here and there, her income highly unstable. We moved into a smaller, run-down, subdivided apartment. When our clothes tore, we patched them and kept wearing them. We only bought groceries late at night when the wilted produce went on clearance. Our quality of life plummeted, and the child support we were supposed to receive every month was nowhere to be seen. Seeing my mother stay silent, I smiled. "Or is it that you actually snuck over to Dad's place to eat and sleep every single day, keeping me completely in the dark?" "You guys lived in a big house while leaving me in a cramped, drafty, subdivided room." "While you were eating delicacies, I was meticulously calculating how to save pennies just to barely fill my stomach." I was going to continue, but my father suddenly slammed his hand on the table and barked: "What kind of nonsense are you spouting, girl?!" "Your mother and I divorced a long time ago. Why would she come looking for me?" "Furthermore, when we got divorced, we agreed that I wouldn't need to pay your child support!" I nodded as if I understood, playing along with his words: "If that's the case, then bring out that green divorce certificate and let me see it again." "Let me confirm that you two actually did get divorced back then." "Hazel!" My mother's voice cracked. She was clearly panicking. Back then, they dared to flash that green booklet in front of me because I was too young to realize the certificate was a fake prop. If she brought it out now, she would immediately be exposed. My mother subtly covered her purse, trying to sound calm: "Your father and I have remarried now. The divorce certificate was taken back by the civil affairs bureau ages ago." "Honestly, why do you have to bring this up on such a happy occasion?" I refused to back down: "Then bring out the remarriage certificate and let me see it." "That shouldn't be hard, right?" The two people across from me were instantly left speechless, their faces turning uglier by the second. "What's wrong? Can't produce it?" "Or is it that you never actually got divorced in the first place?" "And it was just a fraudulent scheme you orchestrated to 'test' me?" I let out a sigh. When I spoke again, my voice carried a hint of a sob. "You kept saying it was all for my own good, to make me more independent." "But I was so young back then, and you couldn't even guarantee I was fed and warm!" "When I was being bullied, you stood by and watched with total indifference as if it had nothing to do with you!" "Dad, Mom, you truly are monsters." "Hazel! Shut the hell up!" My father was so furious the veins on his temples were throbbing. He kicked his chair back and glared at my mother in a frantic rage. "Carol! Look at the monstrosity you raised!" "Her grades might be up to standard, but she hasn't learned a damn thing about how to be a decent human being!" "How dare she speak to her parents like this? All that education went straight to the dogs!" My mother's face cycled between red and white. She opened her mouth several times but didn't dare say anything. Finally, she probed cautiously: "Hazel, when you came home this morning, you heard me on the phone, didn't you?" I was watching my father's furious meltdown with great interest and didn't bother acknowledging what she said. My father suddenly roared: "So what if she heard?!" "Hazel, your mother and I faked the divorce. So what?!" "We were forced to do it so you could grow up better!" Emboldened by my father, my mother joined in, trying to argue back. "Your dad is right!" "All the hardships you suffered when you were little were to forge your willpower!" "If we had pampered you from childhood, I guarantee you never would have gotten into Yale!" "Not being grateful is bad enough, but to actually slander your parents' good intentions... it's just a sin..." Listening to them desperately trying to assign some noble value to their ignorant, selfish actions, I couldn't help but find it hilarious. Seeing that I wasn't giving them any reaction, the man quickly reached his breaking point—exactly as I had anticipated—and finally said the words. "Carol, I can't keep this ungrateful wretch anymore!" "We're getting a divorce. You keep the kid. This time, it's non-negotiable!"
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