Chapter 2

"Our company's legal department is no joke," Farrah said calmly.

This time, I was the one left stunned.

"Isn't that the guy who tried to sabotage my performance?" she added.

I showed her Kenneth's photo, and she recognized him instantly.

"He said my singing was awful and demanded a refund. Like I'd ever give him one. He listened to the entire show!" Farrah scoffed.

Farrah was still knitting, not missing a beat.

"So... you cornered him in an alley and beat him up?" I asked.

Farrah merely tilted her chin smugly and ignored the question.

Just then, someone started pounding on the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw Josh, totally wasted.

Without Farrah around, he couldn't even manage to dress properly. It was the middle of summer, yet he wore long sleeves. Sweat stains darkened his collar and cuffs.

One more step into disarray and the building security would have mistaken him for a vagrant.

"Open the door! I know you're in there!" he shouted. "You think you can dump me and live happily ever after? Keep dreaming!"

"You're mine in life and death! Even wh en you're buried, you'll still belong to me!" he slurred.

I yanked the door open.

Josh, caught off guard, stumbled and crashed onto the floor.

The bottle in his hand tipped over, alcohol spilling across the floor and overpowering the gardenia fragrance Farrah had carefully placed in the living room.

"You ungrateful little bastard! I'm your father!" he roared.

He staggered up and pointed at me. "You should be convincing your mother to stay with me and make this family work!"

"What family?" I snapped. "The one where we never know if we'll eat tomorrow? Or the one where debt collectors keep pounding on our door?"

I hurled the bottle outside. "Or do you mean the nights you got drunk and smashed my head against the door?"

"That was because you provoked me!" he shouted. "I'm your father—how dare you talk back!"

I raised my phone.

"Mr. Ernesto Neal? Does my dad still owe you money? He's standing right here with me," I said calmly.

Josh immediately panicked and bolted.

"You little brat! Ungrateful trash!" he screamed while fleeing.

Josh's three greatest talents were gambling, lying, and retreating the second things turned serious.

He rarely worked. Most days he wasted away in smoky card rooms, shouting with his friends.

I used to squat beside them, inhaling secondhand smoke and listening to adult gossip.

Before I even learned my alphabet, I could already identify every card in a deck.

Back then, Farrah wore her hair long and worked in a nearby factory. Whenever she smelled smoke on me, she would argue with Josh, begging him to stop bringing me to those places.

But Josh would just say "sure, sure," and next time he'd still drag me along, handing me off to one of the ladies at the table.

After this happened a few times, Farrah just started taking me with her to the factory instead.

The noise there was far better than choking on smoke. She set up a small desk for me, and I did my homework beside her.

The first real family explosion happened when Josh gambled away my entire year's tuition. Farrah lost control. She flipped the table and smashed a plate of pickled beans into his face.

I was too young to help. All I could do was watch her get beaten until her body was covered in bruises.

Something inside her died that day.

Josh always begged afterward. Kneeling, swearing, even writing guarantees.

But before Farrah could forgive him, the grandparents already had.

"Couples don't hold grudges overnight. He's your man, you two are supposed to get through life together. What problem can't be solved?" they'd say.

"Yeah, he knows he messed up, so why not forgive him? It's tough being a guy, just putting food on the table is hard enough," they'd chime in.

I'd be sitting off to the side, chewing my pencil, a little confused. But it was Mom who was really supporting the family.

After that, Josh behaved for a short while, then left town with his useless friends to find work—really just to avoid living on oatmeal and pickled vegetables with us.

Honestly, it was just because the food stash was down to crumbs, and he didn't want to be stuck with us, living off pickled veggies and oatmeal every day.

Farrah hit up every friend she could for loans, just to scrape together enough for my school fees.

She worked days at the factory, nights knitting and freelancing, exhausting herself so I could escape that town.

And I made her proud. I scored a job at a major company.

After Josh left, I noticed a Bentley parked downstairs.

Among battered sedans, it looked absurdly out of place.

I walked over and knocked on the window. After three seconds, the window finally rolled down.

Kenneth looked at me. "I'm here to pick up a document."

Still acting tough, huh?

I invited him upstairs. He pretended to hesitate before stepping out smoothly.

He straightened imaginary wrinkles, adjusted his cuffs and collar.

His tie was flawless. His shoes reflected light.

He looked like he was here to close a 30-million-dollar deal, while I was leading the way in my pilled-up cotton pajamas. Listening to his crisp footsteps behind me, it all felt a little surreal.