My parents were famous. I only ever saw them on television. They were always on the front lines of war zones, claiming the environment was too dangerous, so they left me in the countryside with my grandmother. But later, they adopted their deceased colleague’s daughter. They brought her to live with them, pouring all the love and compensation they owed me onto her. She became their precious darling, never having to look at her parents through a cold screen. Years later, when they finally remembered I existed, I had already survived a severe fever that burned away any remaining affection I had for them. 01 I got sick. It wasn’t critical, but it lasted a long time. It started with a bet I made with my parents’ adopted daughter, Harper, to see who could reach the top of the mountain trail first. The winner could ask our parents to attend their parent-teacher conference. When I pushed myself to the limit, braving the cold morning wind and dew to reach the summit, I saw my parents and Harper—playing the perfect family of three—smiling and pitching a tent, getting ready to photograph the sunrise. Seeing me arrive, Harper smiled brightly and spoke up. She said, "I only said we’d race to see who gets here first. I didn't say how we had to get here." She said, "Chloe, haven't you figured it out yet? On the same path, to reach the destination, you only have your own two feet. But I have Mom and Dad to carry me. You lost from the very beginning." My parents, holding their cameras behind her, heard our conversation and realized what was going on. They looked a bit awkward and were about to invite me to watch the sunrise with them. But I had already turned around and walked away without a second glance. "Let her go!" I heard my mother’s angry voice from behind. "Why can't she be sensible like Harper? If she knew how to be close to her parents like Harper does, instead of always wearing that cold, miserable face, why would we ignore her?" Hearing those words, I couldn't help but find it ridiculous. My parents always said I didn't know how to soften my stance, that I didn't know how to get close to them or please them. But during the fifteen years they were absent from my life, I couldn't even see them. How was I supposed to learn how to be close to them? How was I supposed to know how to do something no one had ever taught me? After returning home, I fell ill. It should have just been a slight chill from the morning dew, but I developed a high fever. My entire body felt heavy, completely drained of energy. Before completely passing out, I managed to dial 911 for an ambulance. Then, I plunged into darkness. During that time in a coma, I saw my childhood again. When I was very young, I always saw my parents on TV. And only on TV. They were nationally renowned journalists. College sweethearts who shared the same passions and ideals. After graduation, they chased their shared dream, rushing to the front lines of major news events. Later, they even volunteered to go overseas to war zones, eating and living with refugees devastated by conflict. Before they left, they took one last photo. In the picture, I was still a baby swaddled in blankets, held by a smiling, gentle man and woman. A family of three, happily leaning against each other. At that time, I didn't know that would be the last time I would be hugged by my parents for the rest of my life. That was the one thing that made me beat my chest in frustration countless times during my childhood. I hated myself for not developing memories earlier—so I could at least remember what it felt like to be in my parents' arms. That would have definitely been an experience worth remembering for a lifetime. Unfortunately, there are no "what ifs." Communication technology wasn't very advanced back then. I was dumped with my grandmother, who lived alone in a rural town in the Midwest. The old woman didn't really know how to use the clunky cell phone my parents left her. At the beginning of every month, she would lean on her cane and walk miles to the post office in town to see if there were any letters for us. When I got a little older, she took me with her. Every time before we left the house, I would put on my nice Sunday dress that I usually saved for special occasions, and I would wear two flower clips in the shiny black braids Grandma tied for me. I thought my parents could see me through the letters, so I had to dress up beautifully for them. But I never received a single letter. It wasn't until third grade, when my English teacher assigned us to write a letter to our mothers, that I finally realized letters were only sent one way. My parents wouldn't magically appear in the post office to hear me tell them how much I missed them. Thankfully, even without letters, we had the television. My parents had been abroad for years, missing Thanksgiving and Christmas for seven or eight years straight. Occasionally, they would ask someone to send Grandma some new appliances. When that 45-inch color TV was set up in our living room, it drew many neighbors to come and watch. Grandma was hospitable, inviting everyone in to watch TV together. Once the antenna was set up and the TV was turned on, it happened to be the evening news. The anchor in a suit said a few words, the screen cut, and a man and a woman in plain clothes holding microphones appeared on the screen. In that instant, my eyes lit up. The people on the news were my parents. Standing in front of the smoke of war, they concisely reported on the local situation and urged society to extend a helping hand to the innocent refugees suffering from the disaster. Looking at their faces, which were much more weathered than in the photograph, I walked toward the TV in a daze. "Daddy, Mommy..." I looked up, calling out to them loudly, but received no response. 02 From then on, watching the news became my unbreakable habit. They weren't on the news every day, but whenever they were, I would always have a good dream that night. In the dream, my parents took me with them, and we went exploring together. They would hold me in their arms, rub my head, and call me their sweet girl. Later, I started middle school in the town. By then, cell phones had slowly become more common. One day after school, I dug out that old cell phone from Grandma's nightstand that hadn't been turned on in a long time. I charged it, and when I found the number saved under my parents' names in the contacts, my heart pounded uncontrollably. The call didn't go through; the phone plan had been out of minutes for a long time. Later, I saved up my allowance for a long time, silently reciting that string of numbers that represented my parents every day. Finally, on my birthday, I gave a ten-dollar bill to the owner of the convenience store at the edge of town and borrowed her phone to dial that number. The phone rang for a long time. Just when I thought no one would answer. That gentle male voice that haunted my dreams day and night sounded. "Daddy!" I shouted his name excitedly, telling him it was Chloe. But he was silent for a long time. It seemed he couldn't even remember that he had a daughter named Chloe back in his hometown. When he finally spoke, his voice was rushed. He said, "Chloe, Daddy is busy with work. I'll call you back later. Be a good girl and listen to Grandma." After saying that, he hung up directly without waiting for my reply. Holding the phone, which had been warmed by my ear, I felt a deep sense of loss. That was the first time in my memory that I had spoken to my father. A child's intuition is actually very sharp. On that very day, I suddenly realized something. My parents didn't miss me as naturally as I missed them. From then on, I couldn't break the habit of waiting in front of the TV for the news, but when I waited, I was never as excited as before. I used to imagine I was a loved girl, thinking my parents also wanted to see me through the screen. But now, I finally understood that they didn't seem to love me. To them, I was a stranger who left little impression because we had been apart for so long. 03 A turning point happened when I was in high school. At that time, in order to get into the journalism industry, I buried myself in my studies all day. High school required boarding, so I naturally lost the opportunity to watch the news every day. One day after evening study hall, I saw Grandma standing at the classroom door leaning on her cane. She had even specifically put on a new dress. As soon as she saw me, she said excitedly, "Chloe, your mom and dad are back! Let's go pick them up." In that moment, the books in my hand fell to the floor, and the whole world was reduced to a ringing sound in my ears. I was going to see my mom and dad. They would finally no longer be just cold images existing on a screen. I could throw myself into their arms and act spoiled. I could hold their hands, sit next to them, and show them all the certificates of achievement I had earned over the years. Growing up in the country, I didn't have any special talents. Those certificates commending me for ranking first every year were the only things I could proudly present. I wanted to know if they would be proud of me. I hurried to the station with Grandma. While waiting, I adjusted my hair countless times. I quietly bought a pack of wet wipes to clean my face. Using the reflection on the steel armrests of the station seats, I checked my appearance over and over again, constantly regretting that I hadn't washed my hair before coming out. I was afraid my first impression on them would be bad, but then I thought, since they are my parents, they shouldn't judge. I had already entered puberty by then, and my ignorant self-esteem had long since taken root. I thought, since my parents neglected me so much when I was little, when I see them, I should act a bit reserved so we’d be even. Grandma and I ultimately didn't wait for my parents. When we had been sitting at the station until past midnight, a friend of my dad's came looking for Grandma. He said my dad had called him, saying they were stopping in Washington D.C. for only a week. Once they finished handing over their work, they would be deployed again, so there was no need to make the trip back to their hometown. They told us not to wait. I listened to this news numbly, my head dizzy, only feeling that this was exactly what they would do. But there was an added layer of contempt for them in my heart. I thought, Grandma is getting old. Even I know to respect and care for her, yet they let their own mother's expectations fall flat time and time again. Perhaps they weren't as wonderful as I imagined, perhaps... they weren't even as good as me. After going back, I got a high fever. While I was sick, I found out the reason for their return from the uncle who came to visit me. The war zone they were stationed in had been completely destroyed by artillery fire. The attacks came too suddenly; the journalists were a step too slow to evacuate, and many were injured. My parents, to record the war-torn city firsthand, forcibly delayed their departure until the very end. Their best friend—the photographer who had braved life and death with them—died as a result. They carried the weight of their friend's life and expectations, making them even more unwilling to stop. After returning to regroup, they quickly packed their bags and headed to the front lines again. As if to express their guilt, they had someone buy new cell phones for Grandma and me. They even took the initiative to call me. But we were indeed strangers. After exchanging a few polite words on the phone, we had nothing left to say. Before hanging up, my dad told me to study hard and said that mom and dad were waiting for me ahead. But my attention was entirely on the crisp "Daddy!" from a little girl that came through the receiver. Yes, they had adopted their colleague's daughter. That girl, five months younger than me, was very pitiful. Her mother died when she was very young, and now she had lost her father. My parents took her in. War is cruel and dangerous, but they kept Harper by their side. 04 Later, perhaps it was out of genuine heartache for Harper. To ensure Harper could grow up happy and safe, they returned to the States, stopped being journalists, and found stable government jobs, settling down in the city. They used all their savings from over the years to provide for my sister, giving her the best education and family environment. From beginning to end, no one remembered the mother and daughter forgotten in the countryside. Slowly, my beautiful fantasies about my parents began to dissipate. I no longer longed for their love, and the journalism major I had once prioritized was crossed out of my plans. Seeing this, Grandma often comforted me. She said, "No matter what, Grandma will always love Chloe. So Chloe has to treat herself well. If Chloe loves herself, Grandma will be happy." I studied harder and harder, wanting to pass my exams early and get a good job so Grandma could live a better life. But things rarely go as planned. During my junior year of high school, Grandma slipped on a puddle at the doorway while going out to buy groceries and fell. She didn't tell anyone, living alone as usual. She even promised over the phone that when I came back for the monthly break, she would make my favorite braised pork ribs. But before the monthly break arrived, I saw my parents who had returned to the hometown to handle Grandma's funeral. They stood at the door of the principal's office, followed by a girl with a tan complexion. As soon as she saw me, she snorted coldly and turned her head away. She was truly confident and arrogant, wearing all her emotions on her sleeve. As for my parents, looking at the decent middle-aged man and woman standing in front of me, we were speechless, the atmosphere strange and awkward. Until they told me that Grandma had passed away. They came to pick me up to fulfill Grandma's dying wish, to take me to the city to raise me. In that moment, my whole world seemed to shatter. I forgot how I cried and screamed, begging them to take me to see Grandma. But ultimately, all I saw was a cold tombstone. They comforted me as if it were their right, saying that without Grandma, I still had Mom and Dad. Their words of comfort felt unfamiliar and stiff, like they were reading lines from a script. Harper, whom they had adopted, made a face at me from behind them. "Mom and Dad don't owe you anything. When I was suffering with them in the war zones, who knows where you were enjoying yourself." She looked very indignant, muttering this in the background. It was that single sentence that completely ignited my fury. Ignoring my parents' attempts to stop me, I rushed forward to hit her. My parents tried to pull us apart several times but failed. It wasn't until I fiercely yanked a tuft of hair from Harper's head, her scream piercing the silence of the cemetery, that a sharp slap echoed. The mother, who had always been praised for her elegance, looked at her palm in a daze, then at my red and swollen cheek. Belatedly, she tried to step forward to touch me. I turned my head to avoid her. Behind me, Grandma's warm smile was printed on the black-and-white photograph. I finally realized that in this world, I was completely alone. Even though I had found my parents, they already had another daughter. They poured all the guilt they owed me onto her. In the end, they even hurt me for her sake. "Don't expect anything from them anymore, and don't love them anymore. From now on, love yourself well." In the dream, an old and kind voice sounded. The gentle tone was so familiar. She said, "They are foolish. They lost their best girl. They will regret it." I couldn't help but let my eyelids flutter, and a tear slid from the corner of my eye. 05 When I woke up again, my heart just felt empty. All the emotions born from yearning for parental love had vanished. I was calmer than anyone else. Seeing me awake, the nurse checking the beds showed a look of sheer surprise. "You're finally awake! You were in a coma for four days," she said, about to call my parents. She came back a moment later, looking a bit awkward. "Your mom was just here. She must have had an emergency; I can't reach her right now. She should be back later." I knew what was going on. Today was Harper's parent-teacher conference. Since my senior year, the two of us had been fiercely competing in grades. Finally, in the latest diagnostic test, I took the first place that Harper had always held. But Harper said that even if I got first place, it was useless. Mom and Dad wouldn't care. They would still only go to her parent-teacher conference. I refused to accept that, which led to our race up the mountain. Thinking about it now, it was just a pointless ego battle. My parents' love was illusory, but knowledge was solid. I had already achieved the rank I wanted; there was no need to compete with Harper anymore. In the evening, my mother finally arrived. The nurse had finally gotten through to her half an hour ago. She rushed over, holding a box of cake. She was perhaps a bit guilty and apologetic. But when the nurse told her I had already discharged myself and left, the guilt on my mother's face instantly turned into anger. I didn't have a phone, couldn't hail a cab, and didn't even have spare change for the bus. I could only walk home. It was easy for my mother to catch up to me driving halfway. Before she even rolled the window down completely, her angry voice reached me: "Chloe! Why are you so insensible! Do you have any manners, standing your own mother up?!" "I waited for you from 8 AM to 5 PM." I looked at her calmly. "I had no money on me. You only paid the medical bills. I was starving, couldn't buy food, and could only walk home first." She hadn't expected me to say that. She froze for a moment, then turned her face away and told me to get in the car. I obediently got in. Sitting in the front seat, she spoke awkwardly: "I was delayed by something. I bought you a gift to apologize. You shouldn't be mad at your parents over such a small thing." Hearing this, I calmly looked around and finally rested my eyes on the cake box. "It's my sister's favorite brand and flavor. Looks like she did well today, is this her reward?" As if I had hit a nerve, she took a deep breath, ready to explode again. But the moment she looked up, she met my calm, unrippled gaze in the rearview mirror. There was no grievance or anger like before, just a calm narration of a fact. "Chloe?" She sounded unsure and startled, calling my name. I just curled the corners of my mouth, offering a polite, business-like smile. When we got home, the hospital had probably already told my dad what happened during the day. At the dinner table, he rarely scolded my mom, telling her to be more thoughtful in the future. After saying that, he tried to smooth things over. "This was Mom and Dad's fault. Don't be mad, Chloe. Mom and Dad will definitely change." His voice revealed a hint of guilt. From beginning to end, no one asked why I got sick. They just wanted to gloss over it. In the past, I might have felt wronged, but now I just wanted more time to study. There was no need to argue with irrelevant people. "I won't." My calm voice came out. Irrelevant people and things obviously weren't worth my anger. Under their scrutinizing gaze, I ate slowly. I didn't prepare after-dinner fruit for them anymore, nor did I offer a massage. I turned around and went upstairs to do practice problems. Around 9 PM, there was a knock on the door. "Chloe, are you free right now? Can Mom and Dad talk to you for a bit?" My dad's cautious voice came from the door. This was a treatment I had never received since moving in. I frowned, looking at the physics problem under my pen, and couldn't help but click my tongue. "No need." Finally, I politely declined them. I rejected them, but they became persistent, insisting on talking to me. I knew they thought I was throwing a tantrum because I felt neglected, thinking they just needed to coax me. But gradually, they started to panic. Because they realized I truly, completely didn't care about them anymore. 06 I no longer woke up early to prepare their favorite breakfast and tea, just so I could be the first to say "good morning" to them. In the past, they used to say I was too rigid and didn't know how to act cute and sweet with my parents like Harper did. But they accepted my kindness without hesitation. Just like now, when they saw me in the morning, they still instinctively reached for their teacups, even though there was no longer the hand-ground coffee or herbal tea I used to painstakingly prepare for them. They attributed my behavior to anger and tried to talk to me several times, but I refused. After repeated rejections, they finally felt guilty. My dad, who usually only drove Harper to school, surprisingly asked if I needed a ride. I didn't refuse. The pace of senior year was already tight, and I didn't want to waste more time squeezing onto public buses. However, seeing me get in the car, Harper threw a tantrum and refused to go to school. With no other choice, my parents ended up driving us separately. My mom's workplace wasn't on the way to our school. After dropping Harper off a few times, she started complaining openly and subtly in front of me. I didn't act "sensible" and yield like I used to. I just pretended not to hear. Over time, her look of dissatisfaction grew. But I had long stopped caring about her opinion of me. After I stopped trying to please them, my life ushered in unprecedented peace and relaxation. One day, Harper refused my mom's car and caused a scene, demanding my dad drive her. She thought that since my mom was already dissatisfied with me, once my dad stopped driving me, my mom would definitely refuse too, and I would have to walk to school. But my mom uncharacteristically said nothing, just drove me with a dark expression. In that moment, the secret joy in Harper's eyes turned into panic. I was equally surprised. On the way to school that day, I don't know what my mom was thinking, but she was so distracted that she accidentally rear-ended the car in front of us. When the muscular, fierce-looking owner stepped out of his car, she visibly panicked. She rarely drove unless it was to pick us up, and getting into an accident left her flustered. Just as she was helplessly about to call my dad, I, not wanting to be delayed any longer, stepped out of the car. I calmly took her phone, called the insurance company, and then stepped forward to negotiate with the driver. She watched the whole process from the side, hesitating to speak several times. Fortunately, having grown up in the village and dealt with rascals alongside my grandmother, I found the driver to be quite reasonable. In the end, the incident was resolved without much trouble. And my mom, who witnessed the whole thing, started looking at me with admiration instead of dissatisfaction from that moment on. That evening at the dinner table, she proactively told my dad about what happened. Hearing it, he also praised my composure. They generously praised me, put food on my plate, and casually asked about my life at school. But I had no interest in answering. I picked out the dishes they gave me—the ones Harper loved—put them aside, and ate my meal in silence. Then, under the ugly expressions of the family of three, I calmly put down my bowl and chopsticks, turned around, and went upstairs to study. But this distance didn't deter them. They actually became even more interested in me. After discovering this one strength of mine, it was like they had opened Pandora's box, unable to hide their curiosity and exploration of me. They used to think I was dull and boring, unwilling to spend time with me. But now, the more they paid attention to me, the more they discovered my strengths. I had excellent grades, was self-motivated, enjoyed helping classmates, and had a good reputation among my peers. I was clean, kept my room bright and tidy, was a great cook, and even knew how to knit and garden. These skills, which I had learned in the countryside to ensure a better life for my grandmother and me, made them feel novel and surprised. So in their eyes, my dullness became maturity, my boringness became sensibility. They observed me constantly. Just like now, my mom looked at the heavy old photo album in my hand and let out a sound of pleasant surprise. In this album, every moment of them as journalists captured by the print media had been carefully cut out and treasured beneath yellowing plastic protectors. With the decline of print media over the years, even they might not be able to find some of these pictures again. But now, they were all perfectly preserved in this album. "Chloe... did you collect all these specifically for Mom and Dad?" My mom's voice choked up. She looked very moved, reaching out to hug me, but I stepped aside to avoid her. Seemingly not expecting this reaction, she stood there awkwardly, wiped her tears, and then her eyes lit up again. She seemed certain that everything I was doing now was just a tactic used by a love-starved child to get her parents' attention. She turned and excitedly went to share the "heartfelt gift" she had accidentally discovered with my dad. But she didn't know, I was about to throw this album away. Three days later, she and my dad saw that album in the recycling center at the neighborhood gate. When she came to me angrily holding the album, I just said calmly: "I was going to throw it straight into the trash, but someone picked it up. Next time I'll throw it further away." That one sentence completely ignited the anger she had been suppressing for days. For the first time in a year, she raised her hand to hit me again. But my dad stopped her in time. "Let's go outside to talk." My dad tried his best to soothe my mom's emotions. As he led her away, he glanced at me. I ignored him and just went back to my room to continue memorizing SAT vocabulary. 07 I don't know how they discussed it. From that day on, they paid even more attention to me. This made Harper dissatisfied. She threw a tantrum many times, hoping to bring our parents' attention back to her. But the effect wasn't great. Instead, it was her own grades that gradually began to drag. She was actually very smart, but in the past, she only cooperated with her studies when our parents took turns coaxing her. Now that her focus was off, her grades plummeted. Finally, three months before graduation, my parents noticed her regression. That day, Harper was brought home from school crying. Her homeroom teacher had called my mom in for a talk, its words full of warnings and reprimands regarding Harper's current state. In the past, as Harper's parent, my mom only received honors and praise at school. This was the first time she was lectured like this. Feeling humiliated, she couldn't help but scold Harper a few times. And starting from the moment my mom unconsciously blurted out, "Why can't you be as sensible as Chloe and save us some trouble," Harper couldn't stop crying. My mom panicked and had to take her home first. As soon as she got home, Harper rushed into my room and threw my things all over the floor like a madwoman. When I returned home, I saw this chaotic scene. Seeing me, Harper's just-calmed emotions erupted again. "Get out! Get out! You're the outsider! When Mom and Dad were struggling to survive under a hail of bullets, you were nowhere to be found!" "Why do you get to enjoy the good life forever!" She roared at me with red eyes, like a lion defending its territory, desperately trying to drive away the intruder. "Harper..." My parents looked at her, not knowing what to say. In the end, they actually cast pleading glances at me. What were they pleading for? Hoping I would say something soft to coax Harper, or hoping I would humbly admit that I was the outsider in this family. I looked at the parents who still wanted to pass the buck at this moment, and couldn't help but sneer from the bottom of my heart. Right. Only people like this would only care about pursuing their dreams, leaving their elderly mother and young daughter in the countryside without a care. Only people like this would, to move themselves, infinitely indulge the adopted daughter of a colleague, letting her become lawless at the age when she most needed discipline. They had always been people like this—naive and cowardly, with selfish and cold blood flowing deep within them. They might be good journalists, but they are absolutely not people I should admire. Grandma, it turns out you were right. They are not worth my love; I should save that love for myself. I didn't say anything more. I stepped over the mess on the floor, bent down to grab a few essential items of clothing, and after packing slightly, I turned and walked toward the door. "Chloe, where are you going?" My mom called out from behind. "I'm going to board at school." This time, I didn't look back. I said: "Harper is right. This has never been my home, and you are not my parents. There's no need for me to stay here." "What do you mean by that?" My dad, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly raised his voice. I ignored him and quickly walked out the door. "Chloe!" My mom chased after me. For the first time, when she spoke to me, even her voice was trembling. It seemed she also felt that after this departure, I would have nothing more to do with them. As if afraid to hear my answer, she raised her pitch before I could speak: "I know you're resentful, thinking Mom and Dad neglected you before. But Mom and Dad know we were wrong, and we're changing. Whether it's Harper or you, you are both our daughters. Why can't we just live together peacefully..." "We can't." I stated decisively. "It was you who indulged Harper's greed, and it's you who can't handle the balance between your two daughters. With parents like you, we will never live peacefully." The color drained from her face the moment she heard this. This was the first time she had heard such blunt, sharp words from me. She moved her lips, seemingly wanting to say more, but I cut her off directly. I said: "If I had a choice, I wouldn't want to be your daughter anymore. You should go back to how it was before, just having Harper as your only daughter." After saying that, without waiting for her reaction, I turned and left. This time, I walked very briskly. That yearning for love during my lonely, repressed childhood, which had once become a shackle binding me, was finally broken today. In the days to come, you must love yourself. I told myself in my heart. I must live even more wonderfully, carrying Grandma's expectations for me.
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