Five years ago, Summer Peterson, the younger sister of a mutual friend, fell for Daniel Stone at first sight. Everyone laughed, telling me, "She's just a middle schooler. What does she know about love?" Daniel himself repeatedly stated he only saw her as a child. But the young girl remained undeterred, constantly encouraging herself. On the night of her eighteenth birthday, she confessed her feelings to Daniel once more. That night, Daniel smiled, a mix of helplessness and indulgence. "Kid, I guess I'm really stuck with you." Watching Daniel, usually so reserved, speak so softly and tenderly to the girl he had practically watched grow up, I suddenly felt exhausted. I chose an ordinary day and personally handed him the divorce papers. I sat opposite Daniel, my demeanor as calm as if we were discussing a business deal. "Our son is yours. I'm giving up custody." "You can keep living in this house. I'll pack up tomorrow and move out." His hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on me, heavy and unwavering. He clearly didn't understand why I was suddenly making such a "whimsical" decision. "Claire," his eyes held a faint, distant emotion, "if this is about Summer, I apologize. But you know I only see her as a child." He patiently explained, still convinced I was overreacting. I remembered the night my blood sugar dropped. Daniel, having finished work, sat at his desk, constantly glancing at his phone as if waiting for a message. As I stumbled and collapsed by the sofa, he was listening to Summer on the phone, talking about her period cramps. Before, our marriage, while not passionate, was at least respectful. But at that moment, he pulled his gaze away from me, gently instructing the voice on the other end: "Have someone at home brew you some warm herbal tea." And our son, Ethan, seeing his father's lack of reaction, casually pushed me with his foot from where he lay sprawled on the sofa: "Mom, can you move? You're blocking my blocks." It turned out, in their eyes, I, who always gave without question, wasn't even worth a single word of concern, less important than a toy. Eight years of marriage ended abruptly, with nothing more than two signatures. As I packed my bags, Daniel methodically outlined the property division. I barely listened—my lawyer would handle it more professionally. As I dragged my suitcase out the door, he called out from behind me, his eyes deep: "Claire, you still have a lot of things. No need to rush moving out." The house was filled with my belongings, but my suitcase only held a few seasonal clothes. He probably misunderstood, thinking I intended to leave with nothing. "I'm not planning to abandon everything," I said. "Just have the housekeeper organize my things and ship them to me later." Marriage was, at its core, a partnership of interests. I didn't need to prove anything by walking away empty-handed, especially since I was not at fault. Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it, saying nothing more. He followed me out. As I stepped through the main door, he suddenly reached out to stop me: "Are you going back to your parents' place? How are you going to tell them?" I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. They won't bother you." In my peripheral vision, Ethan peeked out from the doorway, watching me silently. His gaze tugged at my heart—after all, he was the child I had carried for ten months, soothed countless times through sleepless nights. I wanted to say "I'm sorry" to him, to offer a few words of caution, so I put down my suitcase and turned. But then I heard him ask Daniel, "Dad, when is Summer going to take me to see the race cars?" That faint pull in my heart instantly vanished. I said nothing more, turning to leave. "I'll have the driver take you." "No need." I refused curtly, not bothering to look back at the calm, indifferent father and son. I bought a train ticket to a quiet coastal town in the Pacific Northwest. Outside the window, a fine mist clung to the mountains and water, like an ink painting. Daniel's and my marriage began as a family arrangement. In the first few years, I was content with our respectful, almost formal, relationship. I had never seen his gentle side until Summer appeared. She showed me that he could be attentive and caring, like a warm older brother. For these past five years, everyone had told me, "She's just a young girl, don't take it to heart." "What does a middle schooler know about love?" "It's normal for high schoolers to idolize someone. It'll fade in a while." "You've been married for so many years. Why are you competing with a young girl?" As if any slight dissatisfaction I showed towards Summer was irrational. So I constantly told myself, "Claire, don't be so petty." But Summer still, little by little, permeated Daniel's and my life— Her handwriting began to mirror his stroke, he remembered her period cycle clearly, her name was constantly on Ethan's lips. There were no overt boundary crossings, it was just… like this. Oh, right. The night I collapsed from low blood sugar was also the "100-Day Video Anniversary" between Summer and him. 4. After settling into the Pacific Northwest, My best friend, Harper, and I explored many places. Blue tiled roofs peeked over white walls, small bridges arched over winding streams, and moss clung to cobblestone paths. Every corner exuded a sense of boundless freedom. We never tired of it. But on the third night, Harper's emotions erupted, and she poured herself drink after drink. Tears streaming down her face, she asked me, "You still haven't answered why men are so obsessed with their idealized first loves." Harper was different from me. She and Liam had been together for seven years, starting in college, a true love story that led to marriage. By all accounts, they should have been blissfully happy. But Liam had a high school ex-girlfriend, a girl he had romanticized into his "white moonlight" over those seven years. The night I filed for divorce, Harper's marriage also shattered. That night, Liam brought his ex back home, right into their bedroom. Harper calmly waited for them to get dressed, then proposed divorce. I thought carefully about her question. Suddenly, the whole "white moonlight" concept felt like a false premise. The moon doesn't emit light; it merely reflects the sun's rays, fabricating its own brilliance. Adorned with stolen glory, how could it possibly remain bright, forever hanging high in one's heart? So——"A 'white moonlight' is nothing more than a trite excuse for them to hide their sordid intentions." Harper didn't seem to need my answer. She buried her head in her knees, already sobbing uncontrollably. For a fleeting moment, I felt that marriage was utterly dreadful. When Daniel's call came, I felt as if I were still lost in a heartbreak-induced dream. He seemed to have been drinking, his voice low and hoarse. "Claire, where are the hangover pills at home? And the stomach medicine?" I paused, then replied, "The stomach medicine is in the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in the study." Daniel moved a few steps, and I heard rustling on the phone, faintly laced with impatience. I waited a moment, then asked, "Did you find it?" The rustling stopped. "Found the stomach medicine." He paused. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I usually don't pay attention, so I didn't know where it was." I hummed in acknowledgment, then instructed him, "Next time, if you need anything, you can ask the housekeeper. She knows everything. Don't call me to bother me." He was silent for a long moment, then mumbled, "Okay." There were no hangover pills at home, only the hangover soup I always prepared in advance. In the past, when it came to Daniel and Ethan, I never let anyone else handle things. I enjoyed doing everything for them, as if that was how I found my worth. Later, I realized I was wrong. Thankfully, "Even at dusk, the sky is still full of fiery clouds." 5. A night of heavy drinking, sometimes lucid, sometimes muddled. I was caught in a bizarre, fragmented dream. There was the 800-meter race, finished with gritted teeth. There was the joy of standing on stage, dreams realized, only to be met with a painful slap backstage. There was the park where Daniel and I walked hand-in-hand, the sunset vibrant. A jumble of good and bad, ultimately coalescing into a jarring ringtone. I jolted awake, disoriented. I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table. It was an unknown number. I pressed answer, and the voice, which had haunted me like a nightmare for five years, returned. "Claire, Ethan invited me to their school's model race car exhibition next week. Do you have any photos of your old handicrafts? Could you send them to me? I'm worried if I make something too good, the style will be too different from what you made before." I closed my eyes. "My old pieces are in the display cabinet at home. You can go…" "The housekeeper cleared out the house, and those things were thrown away as trash," she added, "Ethan told her to." My fingertips grew cold, a sense of utter helplessness washing over me. I looked at the morning light streaming through the window, my voice very faint: "Ms. Peterson, I think you're more concerned with the future, so whether it's the style of the work, or Daniel, or Ethan, just do as you please." "You don't need to specifically inform me of anything. I never stopped you from interfering in another family's life before, and I certainly won't now." "As for Ethan's name, I wish you all the best. Once you reach legal age, you can personally change it for him in your capacity as his stepmother." "Buddy" was the nickname Summer gave Ethan; she found "Ethan" too old-fashioned. Perhaps out of resentment, I had never adopted that name. The purpose of this call was clear to both of us. I was no longer eighteen, so I wasn't interested in playing games of veiled words. But an eighteen-year-old girl's pride is thin, after all. Her stuttered rebuttal was cut short by me: "Is Ethan with you?" A rustling noise came from the phone, followed by faint breathing. I thought he was probably waiting for me to speak. I sighed: "Ethan, you know I'm not your mom anymore. I won't be looking after you from now on, so you don't need to use others to upset me." The call probably served different purposes for each of us. But it no longer concerned me. With that, I lifted my hand and hung up. 6. I was far from as composed as I appeared; a bitter sadness swelled within me. I can't even pinpoint when Ethan started favoring Summer. In the beginning, Daniel wasn't willing to marry me. Our marriage, before it began, was preceded by many acts of rebellion. There was me secretly entering competitions, dreaming of overnight stardom, hoping to bring prestige to our family. There was Daniel, in a cold war with his family over his girlfriend, trying to run away time and again. There was me, kneeling before my parents, begging repeatedly. There was Daniel, after countless acts of defiance, attempting to take his own life. I finally caved under the phrase, "You've enjoyed every privilege, so you should create value for the family." As for why Daniel compromised, I had no way of knowing. Actually, later, in a hazy memory, I recalled seeing another side of him. The original Daniel was an open book, a talkative, cheerful young man. It was through our repeated interactions that he slowly became quiet and reserved, masking all his emotions. Later, as if completing a necessary ritual, we got married. Three years into the marriage, Ethan was born. In the fifth year, Summer appeared. Summer was fifteen then, a bright-eyed middle schooler, cheerful and constantly chattering around Daniel. Daniel, of course, wouldn't take a fifteen-year-old seriously, just as others told me, "What does a middle schooler know about love?" He simply used Summer as an outlet, a way to express the other side of himself that he kept hidden. So, two extremes emerged. The calm and aloof Daniel in front of me became a gentle, smiling older brother in front of that young girl. And a child's development is always a reflection of their upbringing and learned behavior. They are adept at learning; a father's attitude toward the mother determines the child's attitude toward the mother. As Ethan grew, he became increasingly distant towards me. He resented my strictness and preferred to bond with Daniel and Summer. He would unhappily say, "You only know how to control me. Summer isn't like that." He would also innocently ask, "Mommy, how can you not even know this? Summer is so much better than you." Children, in fact, are far smarter than we give them credit for. Ethan discovered that every time he said things like that, I would silently turn away. He started using Summer more and more to hurt me. I had told him that it was wrong. But his father hadn't. Daniel continued to subtly tell him, "Well done!" through his actions. So, inviting Summer and destroying the handicrafts I had helped him with, It was just Ethan, in what he believed was a perfectly natural way, intentionally trying to upset me. 7. Harper said the blues in Tromsø, Norway, were beautiful. We immediately bought tickets for the next day. Hiking along the snowy mountains, as we were about to reach the summit, I received another call from Daniel. I didn't know if he couldn't find something again. But we had already made things clear last time. I didn't answer; I just hung up. After reaching the summit, Harper and I were awestruck by the incredible stillness and power of the landscape. In that silence, she suddenly burst into tears. It was as if this hike was her journey of self-redemption. Strangers who had hiked alongside us offered kind words of comfort. Harper wiped her tears. "It's nothing, I just feel like I've been ripped off these past few years!" "Hey, little sister, the road ahead is long. It's never too late to find your way back." I had intended to wipe away a tear myself, to fit the mood, but I ended up laughing at the kind accent and philosophical words of a local hiker. As we all chatted, my phone in my bag rang. I pulled it out and glanced at it. It was a video from Ethan. Daniel I could ignore, but Ethan was different. From both a legal and a blood perspective, I couldn't completely sever ties with him. So I opened it. The moment the video started, my blood instantly froze. I stared blankly at the playing screen, utterly frozen. Harper, seeing my stillness, leaned closer. Then her face suddenly changed. She snatched my phone, frantically pressing delete.
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