Ever since I can remember, my parents' relationship was like a pile of loose sand. They argued and later, they just started living apart. Christmas, a time that should have been for family, came and went, but Mom never showed up. The next day, a lawyer knocked on our door with divorce papers. I don’t know what was written on them, but I saw Grandpa and Grandma fly into a rage over it. In the biting winter cold, they bluntly shut the door in the lawyer’s face. That polite lawyer stood in the freezing wind for ten minutes, finally just saying, "Well then, I'll see you in court." Those words cast a depressing shadow over the entire holiday season. I was never the favorite in this house anyway, so I just took on all the chores, treading carefully, terrified of upsetting anyone. Dad pulled a fat envelope of cash from his pocket, grinning as he handed it to my younger brother: "Ethan, Merry Christmas!" Ethan took the money and gave Dad a sweet kiss on the cheek. Dad dotingly pinched Ethan’s little face, his eyes full of love. That scene filled me with envy. After finishing the chores, my heart pounding, I pulled my report card from my backpack and handed it to Dad, hoping to see him smile. Who knew that the moment he saw it, his face would change, and he’d snatch it and rip it to shreds. He looked down at me, his voice full of reproach: "Do you know how hard I work for money? And you have the nerve to ask for Christmas money with this!" Grandma, always quick to read the room, immediately chimed in: "Just like your mother, ungrateful!" Before the words were even out, she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face several times: "Hurry up and clean this mess, you little jinx, can't even let people have a peaceful holiday!" I was dizzy from the blows and stumbled to the ground. When I came to my senses, the room was empty. I knew clearly that in this family, I was just an extra. I was eight that year, and it was also the last Christmas I spent in our old town. The day of departure drew near. Dad was taking Ethan to the city. Before leaving, Grandma shoved me into the car with a look of disgust: "Let her go take care of Ethan; someone needs to do the work around the house." Dad hadn't wanted to take me, but hearing that, he reluctantly agreed. Deep down, I understood. Grandma and Dad had already discussed it—after the divorce, one child each. They were determined to keep Ethan, and I was just being temporarily taken to look after him. When the time was right, I’d be dumped with Mom. I could only console myself that maybe, with Mom, things would get better. In court, my parents fought tooth and nail for custody of Ethan, while I could only sit silently on the bench, awaiting my fate. When Mom walked out of the courtroom, devastated, I knew the answer. Before the hearing, the lawyer had softly asked me, "Little girl, do you want to live with your dad, or your mom?" I looked out the window at the birds hovering in the cold winter air, as lost and alone as I was. "Who would want me?" My heart was bitter. I originally wanted to say, "I'll go with whoever wants me," but the reality was, it seemed no one wanted me. I wore a drab dress, just like my life, a shade of gray. That day, I went back to Dad's place to pack my things, just as he brought some friends home. They ate, drank, and partied for a long time, finally leaving me to clean up their mess. Someone pointed at me and asked, "Whose kid is this? Haven't seen her before." Dad, with his arm around Ethan, glanced at me casually, "Kid from our old town. Her mom's coming to pick her up later." I stood frozen, the broom in my hand feeling like it weighed a ton. When the agreed time came, Dad sent me downstairs early. He uncharacteristically stuffed an envelope of money into my hand: "Don't come back unless it's important." He paused, then added, "And don't come back even if it is." I didn’t reach for the money, not because I didn’t want it, but because it was too cold that day. My hands were already frozen stiff, and my heart had turned to ice. I stared hard at the man before me—he was clearly my father, so why did he detest me so much? He stubbornly shoved the envelope into my coat and walked into the elevator without a backward glance. The Christmas cheer hadn't faded yet; kids on the street corner were happily setting off fireworks and firecrackers with their fathers, their laughter crisp and clear. My heart full of grievance, I slammed the envelope on the ground and stomped on it several times. I didn’t want the money; I just wanted my dad’s love. Thinking this, tears welled up, and I burst out crying, hoping so much that Dad could hear my heart. But I knew he wouldn’t turn back. Tired from crying, I stubbornly stared at the street corner, hoping Mom would come for me—I still had Mom, didn't I? I waited alone in the cold wind, from day to night, until every house had turned off its lights and gone to sleep. Finally, a beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness, and a distant call came: "Ella?" The light shone on me, warmth chasing away the chill. I ran over, and the person's face gradually became clear—it was Grandma, that kind-faced old woman. Mom had married far away, and Grandma rarely visited us. The last time I’d seen her was four years ago when Ethan was born. Full of anticipation, I looked behind her, about to ask about Mom. She pulled a steaming hot pastry from her pocket and stuffed it into my mouth. I had been hungry for so long, and the savory aroma filled my mouth. I wolfed it down, and then I heard her say, "You'll stay with me for a few days. Your mom went to earn some money." I nodded. A thought crossed my mind: Mom was having such a hard time. I had to help her take good care of Grandma. But Grandma was lying. Mom didn’t want me either. I waited for three years. My mom never came back, never even called me. At first, I would eagerly pester Grandma, "Why doesn't Mom call me? Is Mom coming back for the holidays this year?" Grandma would mysteriously pull out a bag of snacks. "Your mom sent these. She knows you love them." Not long after, as if by magic, she’d pull out a brand-new dress from behind her back. "Look, it’s your favorite color." Again and again. Every so often, Grandma would pull out [a gift from Mom]. It wasn't until later. I discovered Grandma would sneak out at night, rummaging through trash cans, picking up bottle after bottle, can after can. Her small, thin frame carried that huge bag of recyclables, moving step by step, carefully searching, afraid to miss a single one. This was her secret. That night I cried for a very, very long time. The next day, my eyes were so swollen I could barely open them. She, instead, asked me, "Are you missing your mom?" I rushed into her arms and shook my head, hugging her very, very tightly. Later on, she asked me if there was anything I liked recently; she would call my mom. My eyes instantly reddened, and I held back tears, afraid she’d notice. "There's nothing I like, Mom... has it too hard." I didn’t want Mom anymore; having Grandma was good enough. Even though I said that, Grandma still went out every night under the cover of darkness. Worried, I followed her from a distance. The putrid smell from the trash cans drifted on the wind, making me want to gag. When she found me, a flicker of embarrassment crossed her face. "You child, coming out without wearing more clothes!" She took off her thick coat and put it on me, not forgetting to explain, "I can't sleep at night, so I come out to move around a bit. You have school tomorrow, hurry back!" My nose tingled, my eyes welled up, and I took the bag from her hand. "Grandma, let's go home." "I can't sleep without you by my side." Grandma paused, then her face broke into a smile. When I first came to the countryside, I slept far away from her, curled up in a corner, shivering from the cold but too scared to make a sound. After that court case, when I saw her again, I was already eleven. Mom was getting remarried and came back to invite Grandma to the wedding. She pulled a few clothes out of her suitcase, saying she bought them especially for me. She pressed them into my hands, smiling, "Hurry and try them on. You've never seen such nice clothes, have you?" When I took the dress, the smile froze on my face. The dress had shiny sequins and cheap lace trim. Not only was it several sizes too small, but it was also something far too childish for my age. Three years apart, I had grown taller. But I forgot, she didn't know. Or perhaps, she never knew, not then, not now. I laughed self-deprecatingly, wondering what I was even expecting. In the end, I put that dress at the very bottom of my closet, out of sight, out of mind. I went to the city with Grandma for her wedding. The scenery outside the car window flew by: paved roads, tall buildings, and at night, rows of bright streetlights. Grandma’s eyes sparkled with excitement: "If only you could study here." I stubbornly shook my head. I just wanted to be with Grandma; even if life was a bit harder, it didn't matter. I just needed to work hard. That night, we stayed in the city. Grandma and I felt awkward and out of place in the fancy apartment. My mom pointed at Grandma's feet with a frown, "Mom, you're filthy. Go wash up." A look of embarrassment and helplessness flashed across Grandma's face, and she quickly nodded. She had barely taken a few steps when she turned back to ask where the faucet was. My mom rolled her eyes in exasperation, sighed deeply, and said, "I shouldn't have brought you. You're such a bother." I shot up, stood protectively in front of Grandma, pulled her into the bathroom, and washed her feet for her. "We're going back tomorrow!" When I woke up, Grandma was gone. I frantically searched the entire apartment, calling her name several times, but only echoes answered me. I stood there, cold sweat breaking out all over my body. Gradually, I found it hard to breathe and collapsed weakly to the floor. Last night, Grandma told me Mom wanted me to stay in the city to study; everything in the city was the best. But I knew it was she who had begged Mom for a long time. She even took out all her savings from selling recyclables. Only then did Mom reluctantly agree. Grandma had tricked me again. This time, I decided to follow her wishes, study hard, and never disappoint her. Later, I secretly called Grandma, sobbing for a long time before I could speak: "Grandma, I'll work hard to get into Northwood High. Will you come see me then?" Her voice thick with emotion, she answered, "Okay." Mom's new family was wealthy, so her status at home wasn't very high. Taking me in to study in the city seemed to have created a rift between her and Mr. Davis. To live here peacefully, I carefully tried to please everyone. Including Gavin. Gavin was Mr. Davis's son. When I first came to the house. I habitually tried to be nice, giving him half of the cake Mom rarely bought for me. Gavin threw it on the floor and said flatly, "Disgusting." All I got in return was him bullying me even more. My grades couldn't keep up with the city's pace. During midterms, the school called for a parent-teacher conference. Mom lost face and slapped me in front of everyone in the classroom. Because I was third from the bottom, and Gavin was last. "It's bad enough your own grades are terrible, but you're also a bad influence on your brother!" It was clearly Gavin who had locked me in the girls' bathroom, making me late. But she didn't even ask why. I finally understood she was trying to suck up to the Davis family; even if it meant me getting hit, as long as Gavin was happy, it was fine. I half-covered my face, tears welling up, biting my lip to keep them from falling. In that moment, I really, really missed Grandma. I wanted to get into Northwood High, to keep my promise to Grandma, so I endured it. As soon as I got home, Gavin was kicking a tattered piece of cloth around by the door. I recognized it instantly—it was the vest Grandma had knitted for me! He wasn't satisfied with just stomping it; he deliberately tore it. I knew he did all this on purpose, just to drive me away. I used all my strength to push him down hard, my eyes red as I screamed, "If you're so tough, go pick on your dad! What kind of is it to bully me!" Gavin set the torn vest on the ground on fire. He glared at me: "So what if I bully you? Who asked you to come to my house! This is my house!" My feelings were the same as his; I hated this so-called blended family. Everyone faked harmony on the surface, but in reality, they all despised each other. But Gavin would only take it out on me. I looked down on him. The emotions I had suppressed for so long finally boiled over. I fought with Gavin. Mr. Davis came home from work and saw this. He picked me up and threw me hard to the side. "You dare bully my son in my house!" "I give you food, I pay for your school, and instead of being grateful, you're this arrogant!" I got up, wincing in pain, tears uncontrollably welling in my eyes. "He started it, he's always..." He pointed to the front door and yelled at me, "Get out of my house now, get out!" My gaze followed his pointing finger to the doorway, where my mom was standing, witnessing everything. She frowned at me without saying a word, showing no intention of speaking up for me. Clinging to hope, I pulled on my mom's sleeve, my voice hoarse as I pleaded, "Mom, can I stay?" "Grandma is still waiting for me to get into Northwood High. I promised her." I don't know which words were wrong, but she slapped me across the face. "You troublesome thing, why don't you just die? You just keep dragging me down!" This was the second time she told me to die. Even though when she gave birth to me, she had risked her life. But why give birth to me only to tell me to die? What did I do wrong? Before I could recover from my shock, she had already rushed over to Gavin, anxiously checking his injuries. I stood alone at the door, unable to go in or out. Just standing there. Watching the happy, harmonious family of three. From beginning to end, I was just an outsider. My mom threw all my things out the door, her eyes filled with disgust: "Take your trash and get out. Don't be an eyesore here." After saying that, she didn't even glance at me before slamming the door shut. Shutting me out. I left the Davis house. I would never come back. That day, I don't know how long I walked. Until my legs were sore and numb, until the soles of my shoes wore thin. With every step, a little closer to home. I don't know how long I walked, my heels gradually aching and swelling. Until I stood before that door. Suddenly, I wanted to cry again. I took a deep breath but didn't have the courage to knock. I was afraid to see Grandma's worried expression, afraid to see her disappointment. In the end, I squatted by the door, quietly waiting for dawn, feeling an unprecedented sense of peace. I was home. Grandma was startled when she opened the door in the morning, surprised and overjoyed to see me. "Why are you back!" My eyes reddened, and I pursed my lips, unable to say a word. I was afraid if I spoke, I would break down crying, so I could only silently hold it in. I carefully observed the expression on her face, worried if Grandma would blame me for being difficult. She glanced at my feet and secretly wiped away a tear. I followed her gaze; my socks were soaked with blood, and the soles of my shoes were worn through. Only now did it start to hurt. "It's good you're back, it's good you're back." Her voice was very soft. I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or to herself.
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