Chapter 3

During the years we raised our daughter together, he never took responsibility for her education. He simply praised her constantly, regardless of right or wrong.

I told him repeatedly not to spoil her, that she needed proper guidance so she would not go astray, but he always replied, "Guidance? What's the point? She's going to get married someday anyway. What does it matter to me?"

Even when I suggested enrolling her in a modeling class, he dismissed the idea outright and said, "What's the point of her learning that?

"It's just a waste of money. If you insist on it, sign her up yourself. I'm not spending a single dollar on it."

His words made my heart sink.

I could not help but wonder whether, just because she would get married one day, she was no longer his daughter, and whether he truly did not care about her life at all.

No matter how much I tried to reason with him, he would not budge.

For my daughter's future, I did not take him to court over the divorce. I gave up what I was entitled to, went through with it, and did not ask for a single extra dollar.

From that moment on, I worked myself to the bone to raise my daughter on my own.

My daughter never stopped blaming me for the divorce and held a deep grudge because of it.

She called me old and ugly, said I was always trying to control everything, that I could not stand seeing anyone happy, and accused me of driving her beloved father away.

She tried every tactic she could think of to pressure me into giving up custody so she could live with David.

But I would not budge, and that only made her resent me even more.

No matter how much I tried to explain my reasons, she would not listen. In her eyes, I was simply badmouthing her father.

Now that I had been given a second chance, I decided I would no longer consider her future.

If she was so attached to her father, then she could go live with him for all I cared.

After canceling all of her tutorial classes, I finally let out a long breath and stood up, looking around the room.

The living room walls were covered with her certificates of merit.

She had inherited my looks. She was tall, graceful, and beautiful. Over the years, she had trained as a model and won many awards. She had once been my pride.

But she never took pride in any of it. To her, those achievements were meaningless, since they would not help her find a good husband.

She seemed to have forgotten that when she was three, she once saw models walking the runway on TV and, in her soft little voice, said she wanted to become one when she grew up.

Her eyes had been bright, full of wonder.

I had been moved by that passion and decided then that I would support her dream with everything I had.

But now, she had completely forgotten what she once said.

Her ultimate goal in life now was the same as David's vision for her future: to marry a good man, with no need to pursue her own sense of self-worth anymore.

I shook my head and let out a sigh.

This was what she wanted. There was nothing I could change anymore.

I strode over and, without hesitation, pulled every certificate off the wall, tore them in half, crumpled them into tight balls, and threw them into the trash.

From this moment on, she would no longer be my pride.

After stripping the wall bare, I picked up a large cardboard box and walked toward her bedroom.

After the divorce, I had used almost all my savings to buy this apartment. It was in the city center, close to her school, just over 750 square feet, with two bedrooms, a living room, and a small storage room.

She took the two main rooms, one as her bedroom and one as her study. I moved into the storage room, barely large enough for a single bed and a wardrobe. That left me nowhere to work except the coffee table in the living room.

On my days off, I either did housework or sat at the coffee table working on my laptop, making PowerPoint presentations for online sellers to earn some extra money. Today was no exception.

Back then, I had wanted each of us to have one bedroom, but she threw a tantrum, crying and yelling that she needed two, or she would move in with David instead.

No matter how much I tried to reason with her, nothing worked. In the end, I gave in and let her have her way.

Even after taking up most of the space, she still acted as if I were in her way. Every time she passed through the living room, she would snap, "Get out of here. Go somewhere I don't have to see you."

I swung open her closet and began pulling out her pretty clothes, tossing them into the worn cardboard box one after another.

Then came the shoes, hats, scarves, and pajamas. Everything went in.

Once the bedroom was cleared out, I went straight to the study.

By late afternoon, I had cleared out all her belongings, packed them into four large boxes, and given the place a quick once-over.

Then I moved my things out of the storage room and arranged them between the two bedrooms.

Finally, I stacked the four boxes in the storage room.

If she wanted to stay, that was her choice. If not, she could go live with David.

I no longer cared.

After finishing everything, I lay down on the queen-sized bed and ordered a generous takeout meal.

In my previous life, I had been saving for her tutoring, cutting back on everything. I rarely dined out or ordered takeout.

At last, I could spend on myself.

I worked hard to earn money so I could live better, not to spend it on an ungrateful daughter.