The day the students got into a fight was the day I saw Liam again, ten years after he’d shattered my life. The boy who’d thrown the punch was wiping away tears, calling him “Dad.” Liam froze when he saw me, his face a mask of shock. It took him a long moment to remember his manners. “Ms. Rhodes,” he managed, his voice strained. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.” I kept my expression professionally placid, handling the apologies and the matter of compensation with detached efficiency. When everything was settled and the other parent had left, he lingered, hovering at the edge of my desk, words caught in his throat. “I remember you never wanted to be a teacher,” he said, his voice quiet. A faint smile touched my lips as I walked him to the office door. “People change. So do their plans.” Just like my feelings for him. A chapter I’d closed a long, long time ago. 1 The squabble between the children was a flash flood—it came fast, and it was over just as quickly. The two boys were already laughing as they ran out of the office, the other mother trailing behind them. Only Liam remained, standing there, his gaze fixed on me. It wasn’t exactly a burning stare, but it was far from calm. “Have you… have you been okay, all these years?” My smile didn’t waver. It was the same polite, impersonal smile I gave every parent. “The workload is heavy, but thankfully, the students are well-behaved for the most part.” I nodded towards the door. “Mr. Blackwood, you should talk with Leo when you get home. He admitted he was wrong this time, but if he hits another child, the next set of parents might not be so understanding.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He abruptly changed the subject. “I mean, in all this time, have you ever…” “Dad!” A child’s voice echoed from the end of the hall. I instinctively took a step back. “Come on, let’s go home! Mom’s gonna be mad if we’re late!” The rest of his question died on his lips, swallowed back down. My smile remained perfectly in place. “Drive safe, Mr. Blackwood.” By the time I turned back to my desk, he was gone. Lena, the math teacher, bustled in, dropping a stack of papers on her own desk. “Leo Blackwood getting into another fight?” she asked casually. My pen paused over a worksheet. “Another?” “Oh, right, I forgot you just transferred here. You don’t know the legend of Leo. He’s the little hellion of the third-grade class.” She rolled her eyes. “Gets sent to the office almost every week. The weird thing is, he’s always sorry. Cries his eyes out, begs for punishment, says he’ll never do it again. And then, next week, rinse and repeat.” She sighed. “Makes you wonder what’s going on at home.” Frowning, I pulled up Leo Blackwood’s student file. Father: Liam Blackwood. Mother: Phoebe Shaw. “You know Nexus Innovations, the big tech firm downtown? That’s his dad’s company,” Lena chattered on. “And his mom owns that chic art gallery over on fifth. They’re the perfect power couple—a brilliant entrepreneur and a celebrated artist. You’d think they’d produce a prodigy, but instead, they got a little demon spawn.” Lena clicked her tongue and slid a form across my desk. “Oh, by the way, the principal noticed you only listed yourself under family contacts. He said you need to complete it.” I gave a soft “Mm,” my eyes still on the screen. “I grew up in a group home. I don’t have any other family.” “Oh.” Lena’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry… I’ll just… I’ll take this back to him later.” She busied herself with her papers, though I could feel her stealing guilty glances at me. Finally, she mustered the courage to speak again. “It’s okay, Ms. Rhodes. Really. One day you’ll fall in love, get married… you’ll have a family of your own.” She even started showing me pictures of her single friends, offering to set me up. I shook my head, thanking her for her kindness. “I was in love, once. A long time ago. I almost had a family.” “What happened?” I just smiled, saying nothing more. What happened was he built a family with someone else, and I was left alone all over again. Lena’s face soured with disgust. “Let me guess, you ran into a real piece of work. Where’d you find him, in a dumpster? The city sewer?” Her bluntness made me laugh, my gaze drifting back to the file on my screen, to the name under the “Father” category. The sound of children shouting on the playground faded into a distant hum, and suddenly, I was back in my freshman year of high school. The first time I met Liam, it was also because of a fight. I’d punched a classmate for calling me an orphan. He’d beaten up the gym captain for calling him a jinx. Two stubborn kids, refusing to apologize, with no parents to call. We were made to stand together by the flagpole, a public spectacle for the entire school to see. As the principal’s lecture droned on, Liam noticed the cotton stuffed in my nose and the cut on my index finger, still oozing blood from a piece of shattered glass. His dark eyes narrowed. “You lost?” I bit my lip. “I skipped breakfast. Wasn’t at my best. Next time, I’ll make him beg for mercy.” He paused for a beat, then said with an air of casual confidence, “Next time you get into a fight, find me first. I’ll make sure you win.” Lena leaned forward, her hand propping up her chin. “So you fought because of some jerk classmate. Why was he fighting?” I rubbed the faint scar on my index finger, my eyes moving from the word “Father” down to the next of kin listed in his old school files. Grandmother. “His father died when he was young. His grandparents passed away in elementary school, and his mother got sick in middle school. His tuition was paid for by handouts from relatives and neighbors.” “Everyone at school said he was cursed. A jinx.” Lena’s jaw dropped. After a long moment, she let out a heavy sigh. “A pair of lost souls.” I pressed my lips together. The truth was, after we both got into a top university, our pair of lost souls became a trio. My best friend, whom I hadn’t seen in years, ended up at the same school. She came running toward me, giddy with excitement, and accidentally crashed right into Liam. The milk tea he’d made for me splashed all over both of them. Worried their first impression would be ruined, I rushed to introduce them. “This is my boyfriend, Liam.” “Liam, this is my best, best friend from the group home, Phoebe.” 2 My relationship with Liam was hardly what you’d call romantic. In high school, we spent our days in class and our nights skipping study hall to hand out flyers, just to earn enough for the next day’s meals. After our shift, we’d huddle together in the hallway outside his mom’s hospital room, using the dim corridor light to tutor each other. My literature was strong, my math was weak; he was the exact opposite. To keep from disturbing the patients, we wrote everything down on scraps of paper. We filled five whole notebooks over three years, and our final exam scores were identical. The day the results came out, his mom was too anxious to eat. I was trying to feed her some porridge when she gripped my hand, her eyes red-rimmed. “Renee, honey… if you and Liam don’t get into the same university, will you still come visit me?” Her voice was thick with emotion. “It’s okay if you fall for another boy later… but please, will you come back and be my daughter? Renee, I just can’t bear to lose you.” Liam walked in with a basket of clean laundry to find us both sobbing in each other’s arms. He looked utterly helpless. “We can do long distance if we have to,” he said, trying to soothe us. “And we’ll get married the second we graduate.” “After all,” he added, his voice full of certainty, “we’re meant to be together forever.” When we started college, I moved out of the group home, and his mom was discharged from the hospital. He couldn’t bear to accept any more charity from relatives, so we both took out student loans. University life gave us more time to work. I took two jobs; he took three. We were in different departments, so the only time we really had together was the short walk back to our dorms after our shifts, leaning against each other, dreaming about the future. We made a pact: we’d get the coveted, fully-funded study abroad spots in our junior year, then head to the States together. After that, marriage. That bright, hopeful future fueled us. We studied harder, worked longer, and saved every penny. But just as we’d saved enough, fate decided to play a cruel joke. Liam’s mom got worse. She was admitted to the ICU. Every dollar we had saved vanished into a black hole of medical bills. We borrowed more, but it was never enough. Her condition was volatile, and he spent every waking moment camped outside the ICU, unable to leave. I skipped all my classes, working from dawn until deep into the night on only three hours of sleep, wiring him every cent I earned. During that time, we never spoke of the future. Our texts were a grim exchange of hospital notices and my transaction receipts. The future was a distant luxury; just getting through the day was a battle. But thankfully, just before the application deadline for the study abroad program, his mother’s condition stabilized. The suffocating tension of the past six months finally broke. He rushed back from the hospital, I quit two of my jobs, and we threw ourselves into a frantic marathon of studying, desperate to catch up and ace the final exams for the program. The results were posted. Once again, our scores were identical. But we had missed an entire semester of classes. Our attendance grades were zero. He appealed, explaining he was caring for his sick mother. I didn’t need to appeal; every professor knew I’d been working to make ends meet. Filial piety trumped poverty. I lost. My spot was revoked and given to the student with the third-highest score. Liam was furious. He stormed the dean’s office, ready to confess that all my work, all my sacrifices, had been for him. But it was too late. The decision was final. His fists were clenched at his sides. “If you’re not going, then I’m not going either,” he declared. But this was his dream. He’d always wanted to study business in America, to come back and build a company, to give his mom and me a better life. I fought back the tears, my voice sharp as I grabbed his hand. “If you dare turn this down, Liam, I’m breaking up with you.” He broke down, sobbing, pulling me into a crushing hug and swearing a desperate oath. “Renee, wait for me. I swear I’ll come back for you. I’ll come back and marry you, and I’ll give you a home.” His voice was ragged. “If I ever let you down, may I be torn to pieces!” Listening to my story, Lena was already a mess, sniffling uncontrollably. “You two went through so much,” she choked out. “It’s just… it’s too cruel.” “So why didn’t you get married? Did something happen to him in the States? An accident?” I shook my head, my face calm. “He fell in love with someone else.” Lena’s sobbing stopped abruptly. She wiped her eyes and her hand curled into a fist, her expression turning to pure fury. “Then he would have been better off dead.” I suppose life just isn’t fair. Every time I thought I was about to have a family, the world would throw another obstacle in my path. The day the study abroad list was posted, the girl with the third-highest score was cheering in front of the announcement board. She turned, and our eyes met. “Renee!” “Phoebe?” I was still reeling when she threw her arms around me in an excited hug. She’d accidentally bumped into Liam, who was holding the milk tea he’d made to comfort me. And just like that, the only two students from our entire university going abroad that year had found each other. 3 Phoebe and I both grew up in the same group home. I was a few months older, so I naturally fell into the role of her protector. I’d give her the first bite of any food I managed to snatch, let her have first pick of the donated clothes, and when the opportunity for a real education came, I made sure she got into the better art school. So when I found out they were going to be in the States together, she puffed out her chest and promised me, “Don’t you worry, Renee. I’ll keep a close eye on Liam for you. I won’t let any other woman get near him!” At that moment, all I could think was: at least Liam won’t be alone. He’ll have a friend. After they left, my life reverted to the frantic pace it had been before the exams. His mom and I needed to live, to pay rent, to buy her medication. The only way was to work relentlessly, catching sleep whenever I could in the back of a lecture hall. Lena frowned again. “But that’s his mom. Why were you the one doing everything—caring for her, paying for her medicine, working yourself to the bone to support them?” she demanded. “What was he doing in America, just living it up? Did he not work? Did he not send you a single penny?” I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them and gave a slight nod. In the beginning, he called me every day, complaining about how expensive everything was, how he couldn't find a job, how he was barely eating. Phoebe would get on the phone too, whining about how different it was from home, how even our days in the group home were better than this. My heart ached for them. I scraped together what little I had left and wired it to them, just so they could eat. Then the calls became less frequent. After six months, they stopped altogether. They’d still accept the money transfers, but they never replied. Just then, Lena’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the time, quickly packed her things, and clocked out for the day. I took one last look at Leo Blackwood’s file before getting up to head home. In the shower, I pulled off the silk scarf I always wore. The ugly, jagged scar on my neck was stark against my skin. A gift from Liam. Ten years ago, that spring, I couldn’t reach him. Phoebe wasn’t answering either. Panicked, I scraped together my last few dollars, bought the cheapest red-eye flight I could find, and went to him. I found them under a maple tree, locked in a passionate kiss. When they finally broke apart, he gently tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. They looked at each other and smiled, their eyes shimmering with a light I knew all too well. A soft breeze rustled the leaves. The warm glow of a streetlamp bathed them in golden light. They looked like a painting, like a line from a gentle poem. Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, tearing them apart. The mug I was clutching—I threw it at his face. But as I spun to slap Phoebe, he threw it back. It hit the side of my head. Scalding hot water splashed out, cascading down my neck. I’d forgotten. The lid had been broken since the day they first met. It never sealed properly. I never had the money to buy a new one. The searing pain was unbearable, but Liam didn’t seem to see it. He pulled Phoebe behind him, shielding her, his eyes cold as ice as he stared at me. “Renee, if you’re going to hate someone, hate me. Phoebe has done nothing to you.” Hate. Oh, I hated. Ignoring the blistering burn, I screamed at them, my voice cracking with tears, demanding to know why they had betrayed me. Phoebe was crying too. At first, it was just quiet sobs. But as a crowd started to form, her voice rose to a fever pitch. “Renee, you don’t understand how hard it’s been for us here! You’re safe back home, but we only had each other to lean on! Us getting together… it was inevitable!” I refused to accept that. “You think my life back home has been a picnic? You had each other! Who did I have? I had no one!” Liam stepped between us, keeping me at bay, his body a protective wall in front of her. His eyes were downcast, his expression chillingly remote. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” “But Phoebe isn’t lying,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “We’ve been through a lot together this past year. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you to worry.” A cold wave washed over me. I stared at him, forcing out each word. “A lot in one year, Liam? So the seven years we spent together, everything we went through… that just counts for nothing?” “Do you have any idea that right before I got on that plane, your mother was talking about you? Worried sick that something had happened?” My voice rose, hysterical. “You haven't called her once in six months! You just took the money I sent and started a new life with my best friend!” His head snapped up. His lips were a thin, hard line, his eyes black holes of shame. I knew that look. He’d carried the weight of poverty his whole life, and money was his deepest insecurity. For years, every time he saw the relatives who’d loaned him money, he would shrink into himself, making himself small. And now, he had to face the fact that for years, he and his mother had been living on my charity. “Renee, I took your money. I owe you,” he said, his voice flat. “What do you want as repayment? Is my life enough?” Before I could process his words, he pulled a small folding knife from his backpack. Without a moment’s hesitation, he plunged it into his own stomach.
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