My mom once dumped the richest man in our city. Eight years later, I beat up his son. My teacher forced my mom to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. The billionaire pushed open the classroom door and froze. "I used to treat you like a princess, terrified you'd melt if I didn't hold you tight enough. And you're on your f***ing knees?" "Sarah, whose pride are you trashing right now?" 1 I never had a dad. I didn't even know any of my extended family. As long as I could remember, it was just my mom raising me. She worked the night shift at a convenience store and often came home very late. So, she asked our neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, to add an extra plate for me when she made dinner for her own granddaughter. It wasn’t a handout, of course. My mom paid Mrs. Higgins for my meals every month. But Mrs. Higgins would take that money and turn around to buy me milk and fresh fruit. She constantly sighed about how hard my mom worked and told me not to tell her about the extra treats. I’d nod, and she’d praise me for being such a good girl. Honestly, I just felt that if I was good, it would make things a little easier for my mom. At school, I was the most invisible kid in the class. I paid attention during lessons, but I never raised my hand or showed off. My classmates called me the "Little Mute" because they thought I didn't like to talk. The truth was, I just liked listening to them talk. In third grade, the most popular topic of conversation was everyone's families. Some kids would broadcast everything—from their dad’s hemorrhoids to their mom fighting off his mistress. There was a boy in my class named Connor Hayes. He was a new transfer student, and he constantly complained about his CEO dad. He said his dad had a temper like a rabid dog and a face as cold as a widower. He said his dad never had time for him; it was just drivers and nannies at home every day. He said his dad only cared about money. For his birthday, he just had his secretary drop off a black Amex card. ... Long story short, he hated his dad. But I envied him for having one. I didn't know why, but out of all the kids in class, I wanted to be close to Connor the most. Because I didn't have a dad, and rumor had it, Connor didn't have a mom. In a way, we were the same kind of different. One day, while we were lining up to go home, Connor was complaining about how terrible his dad’s cooking was. I couldn't help but chime in: "My mom makes really good desserts." If he just talked to me, I thought, I could bring him some of my mom's desserts. But Connor turned his head and glared at me viciously. "What's that supposed to mean?" I looked at him, confused. "You're making fun of me for not having a mom, right?" Connor shoved me hard, his face twisted in anger. I fell hard onto the pavement. While I was still in shock, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Evans, yelled from behind: "Chloe! Are you blind? You're ruining the line formation! Get up right now!" I had no choice but to slowly pick myself up and brush the dirt off my clothes. Ever since I spoke to Connor that day after school, I inexplicably became the thorn in his and his little posse's side. Every time he walked past my desk, he’d pinch my arm through my shirt. If we crossed paths in the hallway, he’d purposely ram his shoulder into mine. Not to mention, he was always surrounded by a gang of followers. Every time I walked by, they would yell out of nowhere: "Chloe, the Little Mute, what a loser." Then they'd make weird, mocking noises with their mouths. I gathered my courage and decided to tell the teacher. However, when I went to Ms. Evans's office, she was sitting cross-legged, holding her phone. I didn't know who she was talking to, but it was "Mr. Hayes" this and "Mr. Hayes" that, and her whole face was lit up with a smile. I stood at the door for ten minutes, and she didn't even notice me. The bell rang. The next period was English. I had no choice but to go back to class. Our English teacher had assigned an essay that day. The prompt was: "My Father." I didn't know how to start, so I sat there staring at a blank page for the entire period. The sky outside was an ashy gray, looking like it was about to rain, making everyone feel gloomy. Connor, however, was ecstatic. He announced to the whole class that his dad was coming to pick him up today. When school let out, it started pouring. In a cruel twist of irony, out of the entire massive school campus, Connor and I were the only two kids left without anyone to pick us up. The security guard brought us into the guardhouse. Connor looked furious. He kept yelling into his smartwatch: "I don't care! I don't want to hear your excuses! You have to come get me!" Then he dropped his wrist and started stomping the floor violently, thump-thump-thump. I thought he looked like an angry, unreasonable little monkey. I don't know how much time passed, but the Hayes family's driver finally appeared outside the guardhouse. "I don't want you. Where is my dad?!" The little tyrant threw a tantrum at the driver outside the window. Looking troubled, the driver made a phone call. Not long after, a tall man holding a massive black umbrella walked over at an unhurried pace. The sky was still dark, and the wind was howling outside— Although the umbrella obscured his face, you could tell from his straight, imposing posture that he possessed a calm confidence, unafraid of any storm. Connor jumped up, rushed out of the guardhouse, and threw himself toward the man. The man reached out a single hand and effortlessly caught Connor by the collar of his jacket, stopping him mid-air. It was a hand that looked powerful and safe—large, with pronounced knuckles. It looked exactly like a father's hand should. The man set Connor down. Holding the umbrella with one hand, he tilted it so it mostly covered Connor. Then, without hesitation, he smacked the back of Connor's head. It was a crisp, solid thwack, like slapping a ripe watermelon. I stared, a little dazed. Connor didn't mind. Instead, he suddenly turned around and shot me a smug, gloating smile. "Loser." He taunted me with a funny face. "Have fun waiting by yourself!" 2 I ended up just staying in the guardhouse. I practically finished all my homework before the torrential rain finally stopped. The security guard, Mr. Miller, even shared his dinner with me—a delicious basket of steamed buns. I thanked him and walked back to the apartment my mom and I rented. I did a quick sweep with the mop, read a chapter of a book, and my mom finally came home. The bedroom door pushed open, and my mom poked half her body in, smiling brightly: "Hey sweetie, why aren't you asleep yet?" I instantly noticed she was hiding her other arm behind the door. "Mom! Did you hurt your left hand?" She scratched her head: "You've got sharp eyes, kiddo. 20/20 vision for sure." I asked her what happened. "A box fell on it at work," she sighed. "It's fine now, but I can't use my left hand for a couple of weeks." "Does that mean you can stay home and rest for those couple of weeks?" I asked carefully. "What kind of generous capitalist do you think I work for? Taking two weeks off? Do I still want a job?" I lowered my eyes, feeling a bit upset. "Ta-da! Look what I got!" My mom suddenly raised her voice, quickly pulling out a container of roast duck and a can of beer from behind her back to change the subject. "My boss actually gave this to me." "Were you planning on eating it all by yourself before you saw me?" I asked quietly. She scratched her cheek. "Am I that kind of person?" I had to remind her of the numerous "cold cases" where she had secretly eaten takeout, drank boba, and binge-watched TV shows in the living room while I was asleep... In the dim light, we polished off the roast duck. I suddenly remembered seeing Connor's dad today, so I softly asked: "Mom, what kind of person was my dad?" I knew my mom didn't like talking about my dad. But after a moment of silence, she actually told me: He had a bad temper. He spent all his time working. To solve problems, he only knew how to throw around black credit cards... "What did he look like? Did he have big hands?" "Pretty big. He was pretty tall too." My mom burst out laughing. "Why are you asking?" I wanted to hear her say more, but my mom's voice went flat: "Kiddo, knowing these things is useless. He's dead." I had to ask one last question with pleading eyes: "Did Dad love me back then?" She stroked my hair, her voice softening. "Go to sleep, sweetie." I don't know why, but her smiling face looked so sad. The next day, I got to school early and finished writing the English essay I hadn't completed yesterday. When I turned the essay in, Ms. Evans actually took mine and read it aloud to the whole class as a model essay. "My Father" My father often has a stern face and always looks unhappy. My father is always very busy and has no time to take care of me, but I know he is always by my side. My father is the best father in the world. Whenever it rains, he drops all his work to come to school and pick me up. His hands are so big, just like his big black umbrella, capable of shielding me and my mother from the storms of the entire world... After school, Connor found me, his face filled with rage: "You thief! You clearly wrote about my dad." He reached out to shove me. I quickly backed away, but he chased after me, pinning me against the wall at the back of the classroom, yelling fiercely: "Thief!" I suddenly felt a surge of anger. I used all my strength to shove him forward. I was actually taller and stronger than him. He fell hard onto the floor, his face immediately turning black as he started cursing at me. I had never heard so many vicious words in my life! The new and old grudges combined. Not only did I not let him go, but I straddled him, throwing a punch for every curse word he spat. By the time we came to our senses, Ms. Evans had rushed into the classroom. She let out a shriek, yanked me off Connor, and held him, comforting him for a long time. Connor put on a fake crying act, whimpering a few times, and cried out emotionally: "Ms. Evans, my dad entrusted me to you. I've always seen you as a mother. You're all I have left, boo-hoo-hoo." Ms. Evans turned her head and glared at me fiercely: "Chloe! Right now, immediately, tell your mother to come to the school!" 3 "Does your daughter have violent tendencies?" Ms. Evans's voice was shrill. "Look at what she did to Connor!" Connor immediately let out a whimper, pretending to be in extreme pain. Ms. Evans turned to him, her voice turning gentle. "Connor, be a good boy. I called your dad; he's on his way." My mom had her left arm in a sling. She was still wearing the green vest from the convenience store, and a cheap baseball cap with the store's logo. She looked like she had rushed over; her bangs were blown into a messy tangle. She glanced at me and said anxiously, "Chloe is usually very well-behaved. She wouldn't hit someone for no reason." Ms. Evans raised her voice. "Are you saying I'm framing your daughter?" "That's not what I mean," my mom said quickly. "I just want to hear the child explain what happened." "Chloe," Ms. Evans turned to me coldly. "Tell me yourself, what did you do wrong?" I stubbornly pressed my lips together. Ms. Evans seemed furious. "Fine, if you won't say it, I will." "When lining up to go home, you broke the rules." "Your classmates don't like you. You have absolutely no ability to integrate into the group." "And now you've resorted to assaulting a classmate." "Earlier, when I asked you, you wouldn't say a word. You've even started being deceitful." "I'm asking you, do you have any respect for me as your homeroom teacher?" My mom looked at me, her lips moving. "Ms. Evans, there must be some misunderstanding..." Ms. Evans let out a contemptuous laugh. "Since you insist on turning a blind eye to your daughter's faults, I have nothing more to say." She firmly placed her thermos on her desk. "I can't teach her. You need to find another teacher. Go ask around yourself and see which homeroom teacher in this school is willing to take her, and transfer her out immediately." My mom turned pale as soon as she heard that. Although she wasn't a very conventional mother, she was extremely strict when it came to education. Usually, if I scored below an 80 on a test, she wouldn't hesitate to give me a spanking. To her, education was more important than her own life. "That's not true." My mom was starting to panic. She pleaded, "Ms. Evans, please give Chloe one more chance. She's young; she doesn't know better." Ms. Evans turned her head away, let out a cold hmph, and faced the wall. My mom continued to plead bitterly, saying almost everything she could think of. But no matter what my mom said, Ms. Evans just told her to find someone else to take me. But in a school, what homeroom teacher would willingly take a student that someone else rejected? "Please, have some mercy." My mom raised her injured arm. "I will discipline Chloe properly when we get home. Please don't give up on her." Ms. Evans turned back, but still spoke critically, "How can I trust you?" My mom paused, as if making up her mind. "Ms. Evans, I'm usually very busy with work and don't have time to pay attention to Chloe's mental state. She's always been alone, and no one taught her what she should or shouldn't do." I stared at my mom, stunned. It was the first time I had ever seen her speak so formally. But my mom gripped the armrest of a chair, slowly knelt onto the floor, and pleaded once more. "Ms. Evans, the person who made the mistake is actually me, her mother. I failed to raise her right; it's not Chloe's fault. Please, give her one more chance." As she spoke, her shoulders, which were usually thin but straight, hunched forward deeply. I stared at her, paralyzed. This was my mom—the woman who was usually joking around, never taking anything seriously; the woman who was kneeling on the floor, humbling herself to beg the teacher not to give up on me; the woman who taught me to be an honest person and to work hard in my studies... A difficult life had never crushed her, but at this moment, she surrendered her dignity for me. I couldn't hold on any longer. I immediately hugged my mom's shoulders and knelt down beside her. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. Mom, it's not your fault." I had never regretted anything so much in my life. Tears poured from my eyes, and I felt like my heart was breaking into pieces. Ms. Evans seemed startled too, and she lowered her voice. "That's not what I meant..." "I'm sorry, Ms. Evans." I started crying too. "I promise I'll never hit anyone again." Amidst the commotion, Connor suddenly yelled excitedly, "Dad, you're finally here." Ms. Evans was startled. She quickly pushed us aside, bent over, and hurriedly applied lipstick using a small mirror on her desk. The first thing I heard was a cold voice: "Connor, tell me yourself, what trouble have you caused this time?" The office door was pushed open, and footsteps approached from a distance. The man's voice seemed to carry a mix of exhaustion and annoyance: "Confess right now, before I have to hit you." I felt my mom's body stiffen. She turned her head for a glance, then immediately lowered it, as if she had seen something unbelievable. For a moment, I felt like she wanted to hide under the desk. "Mr. Hayes." Ms. Evans stood up with a radiant smile. "You misunderstood. Connor was the one being bullied today. Please don't scold him." The man stopped casually behind her. "Who bullied him?" "Her." Ms. Evans pointed at me, sighing. "There's something wrong with this girl's head." I didn't dare argue back. I could only turn around, lay prostrate on the floor, and say, "I'm sorry." The man crouched down. He looked at the bruises on Connor's face, his tone completely flat. "You got beat up? Does it hurt?" Connor quickly let out a pitiful "Mhm." The man frowned, yet said mercilessly, "Useless." After criticizing Connor, his sharp eyes swept toward me. "A little girl, getting into fights at such a young age. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?" I was glared at by his dark, menacing eyes, almost scared to tears again, and could only bite my lip tightly. "She really lacks proper upbringing at home," Ms. Evans quickly interjected. "I've already lectured her, and her mother even knelt down to apologize. Sigh... Mr. Hayes, how do you think we should handle this?" "How to handle it?" The man slowly repeated the question, his voice dripping with unmistakable coldness. Hearing this, I immediately sat up, scrambled forward blindly, and grabbed the hem of his suit jacket. "Sir, I didn't mean to. I swear, I'll never bother him again." Mr. Hayes looked down at me, suddenly frowning. With one hand, he pinched my chin, his gaze revealing a mix of confusion and bewilderment. "Why do you... look so much like..." He didn't finish his sentence. After a long silence, he just shook his head. "Ms. Evans, let it go." Connor, however, shrieked, "How can we just let it go?" "Then what do you want?" Mr. Hayes's tone was impatient. "I want Chloe to apologize to me in front of the whole class tomorrow." Connor rattled on. "She also mocked me for not having a mom last time." Mr. Hayes's face turned dark as a storm cloud, while my mom's face went completely white. She sneakily glanced at Connor, her eyes filled with pain and conflict. She seemed to want to say something but bit her lip, burying her head even lower, her body trembling slightly. I was a bit worried and quickly squeezed my mom's hand tightly. "Enough, you little brat." Mr. Hayes raised his hand and grabbed Connor by the collar. "I think you really are asking for a beating." "Getting beat up by a little girl is embarrassing enough, and you want the whole class to laugh at you?" Ms. Evans seemed completely surprised that the matter would be dropped so easily. She pursed her lips and said, "Since Mr. Hayes isn't pursuing it, Chloe's mom, you should apologize to Mr. Hayes." My mom didn't say a word, trembling even more violently. Ms. Evans was getting impatient. "Chloe's mom? Does muteness run in your family?" Mr. Hayes seemed to finally notice the woman still kneeling on the floor. He turned his head casually, and with just one glance, he froze. He released his grip on Connor's collar and stood up instantly. "I'm sorry." My mom finally spoke softly, her head still buried low. The man's lips parted, as if it took all his strength to call out a name: "Sarah... is that you?" I had no idea how he knew my mom's name. "You've mistaken me for someone else." My mom immediately turned her face away, but her left hand, trapped in the cast, agonizingly clenched into a fist, as if enduring something terrible. "It's you." Mr. Hayes stared fixedly at my mom. The expression on his face was indiscernible—whether he was crying or laughing, hateful or joyous, his entire face twisted terribly. "Sarah—" He seemed to chew the name up, his eyes locked onto my mom. "When did you get back?" My mom turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze. Even Ms. Evans noticed something was wrong. Her face changed instantly. "Does Mr. Hayes know her?" "More than know her." He seemed utterly furious, unable to hold back any longer. He grabbed my mom with one hand and pulled her up from the floor. "Eight years since we last saw each other, and this is how you look? Poor and pathetic?" "Sarah, I treated you like a princess back then. I was terrified you'd melt if I didn't hold you tight enough, and today you're kneeling on the fucking floor?" "Whose pride are you trashing right now?" "Get up!" After pulling my mom up, she immediately grabbed my hand, looking like she wanted to drag me away as fast as possible. But Mr. Hayes maintained a tight grip on my mom's thin wrist. Under everyone's gaze, this tall, imposing man's eyes actually grew red-rimmed. "Sarah, after all these years, won't you even look at me?" He seemed to realize something and suddenly looked at me. "How old are you?" I nervously darted my eyes between the two of them. I was actually eight years old. I didn't know why my mom lied about my age. But I figured she must have had her reasons. Mr. Hayes, hearing her answer, looked devastated. "You... you got married?" 4 Perhaps sensing the tension, Connor started groaning and clutching his stomach, complaining that he felt sick. Ms. Evans quickly reminded Mr. Hayes to take his son to the hospital for a check-up. My mom gave Connor a deeply concerned look, bit her lip, and followed them to the hospital. The doctor said Connor was fine. My mom wanted to pay the medical bill, but Mr. Hayes wouldn't let her. He said pointedly, "Since you haven't shown any concern for eight years... there's no need to fake it now." After the check-up, Connor demanded his dad buy him roasted chicken wings. My mom stood by for a long time, looking like she wanted to say something, her eyes entirely glued to Connor. And Mr. Hayes's eyes were entirely glued to my mom. I rubbed my stomach and told my mom I was hungry. As if suddenly remembering, she tightly grabbed my hand and got ready to leave, but Mr. Hayes wouldn't let us. I don't know what he said, but my mom reluctantly agreed to have dinner together. She just looked like a wilted flower. I sat across from Connor, and they sat across from each other. This was my first time at a fried chicken place. I buried my head in my bowl and kept eating. "Has this child never had a full meal?" Mr. Hayes's tone sounded inexplicably sour. "Does her dad not want to feed her?" My mom let out a cold laugh but didn't say anything. I lifted my head from my bowl, looking gloomy. "My dad is dead." Mr. Hayes's dull eyes lit up again. I didn't know what he was plotting. Halfway through the meal, they started arguing again about some topic I couldn't catch. Mainly, it was Mr. Hayes speaking with a sharp, passive-aggressive edge. It was uncomfortable to listen to. My mom ignored him and told me to finish eating quickly. Halfway through, Connor made a fuss about needing to go to the restroom to wash his hands. My mom patted his head and took him to the restroom. I found it a bit strange. My mom actually really disliked other people's kids. Just now at the hospital, and while eating, my mom had been proactively taking care of him. She almost seemed to have forgotten about me... Mr. Hayes glanced up at me and said, "That's your second bucket. Can you really still eat?" I sheepishly put down my chicken wing. Mr. Hayes suddenly pulled out a napkin and wiped my hands for me. I secretly watched him. I suddenly noticed that this Mr. Hayes had exceptionally long eyelashes. When he looked down and didn't speak, he was as handsome as a movie star. In a flash, he seemed to transform from an overbearing CEO into a disappointed, wounded middle-aged man. "Was your dad... good to your mom before?" he asked me in a low, bitter voice. I had never met my dad, so I didn't know how to answer. At that moment, my mom returned, standing at the restaurant exit and calling my name. I quickly stood up. "You should ask my mom... but you need to use a nicer tone." "Chloe." Mr. Hayes suddenly grabbed me. I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea how he knew my name. He slipped a piece of paper into my hand. Mr. Hayes whispered to me, "This is my contact info. If you ever run into a situation where someone bullies your mom like today, call the number on here. Uncle will come, no matter how busy he is." He hesitated for a moment, looking at me, and added reluctantly, "If someone bullies you, you can call too." My mom firmly declined Mr. Hayes's offer to give us a ride. She held my little hand as we walked home. I decided to ask her directly, "Mom, do you like my classmate?" "Yes," she answered. I felt a bit sad, so I decided to badmouth him a little. "Mom, don't let his pathetic act fool you. He's actually just a really spoiled, angry little monkey." My mom smiled. "Why did Chloe beat him up today, and say he doesn't have a mom?" I quickly recounted the whole story from start to finish. My mom fell silent for a moment before saying, "How about this... why don't we invite him over for fried chicken wings this weekend, Chloe? I'll make some really good ones, and we can explain things to him face-to-face?" I was reluctant, but I nodded anyway. We walked a bit further, and my mom asked hesitantly, "What... what did Mr. Hayes say to you?" I hesitated a bit, but I told my mom and then asked, "Do you hate Mr. Hayes, Mom?" My mom said "Mhm." "Then can I keep his business card?" I looked up at her. She hesitated. "Keep it... but if you need something, come to me. You are not allowed to go to him." A question suddenly popped into my head: "Mom... did you and Mr. Hayes have some kind of relationship before?" Under the moonlight, my mom's expression seemed dark. After a long pause, she finally spoke: "We used to be... in love. Now... he probably wants to get revenge on me." Before going to bed, I went to close the living room window. But under the window, I saw a parked Rolls Royce. I had seen Mr. Hayes driving it today, and even the license plate was the same. Was Mr. Hayes downstairs? My heart started pounding. My mom said he was an enemy, so was he keeping an eye on us? I pulled out the business card he gave me earlier that day. It read: Arthur Hayes. It turned out his name was Arthur Hayes. I felt like I had seen that name before. Where had I seen it? Oh... at my mom's place. On the nightstand in her bedroom, there was a framed poem— "The light skiff has passed ten thousand mountains." (Note: The Chinese character for "ten thousand mountains" is Wan Guo Shan, which was the original Chinese name. The English name Arthur Hayes is used here, but the poem reference loses its direct connection. A localized alternative could be a framed quote or a special memento related to the name Arthur, like a King Arthur legend quote, but to keep the poem vibe, we'll adapt.) "The once and future king." I tilted my head in confusion, then placed the business card on the coffee table. I had a feeling... he didn't seem like someone who came to get revenge on my mom.
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