"Savannah, how’s the scholarship going? Did your teacher give you any trouble?" Dad asked.
I swallowed the anger, setting the milk down in front of him. "It’s fine. I gave up the scholarship and gave it to Scott. I also promised I won’t fight him for the next spot."
"You haven’t eaten much the past few days, have you?" I could tell he was just trying to sound like he cared. "I bought this with the money I made selling cardboard boxes."
Dad let out a relieved sigh and pushed the milk towards me. "Good, good. I heard the Harlow family is really powerful. We can't compete with them, so don’t worry. Even if I have to borrow money, I’ll make sure you finish college."
"Just drink the milk, Savannah. You’ve been looking tired. I can see you’ve lost weight, you need something to get your strength back."
Dad rubbed his forehead where Scott had hurt him, trying to sound casual about it, but I could tell he was faking it.
I still couldn’t shake the image of him kneeling outside the school gate for three days.
But now, I wasn’t sure when he was being real with me and when he was just acting.
I looked at his hands, no calluses, no signs of a hard day’s work. And my mom, even though her clothes were worn out, her face was still smooth and soft. They didn’t look like people who had ever really struggled.
The bitterness inside me bubbled up, but I couldn’t stop it.
Mom, noticing I had been standing too long, quickly helped me back to the room.
Dinner that night was a disaster. Discounted vegetables from the market—yellowing leaves, bugs crawling on them and white eggs floating in the soup.
Dad gave an awkward smile, looking embarrassed. "Savannah, your mom spent half a month’s living expenses on that cake for you. We're a little short on money right now, but we’ll make do. Once I get paid from the construction site, we’ll go grab those spicy hot wings you love."
It was hard to say anything. Everything felt fake now.
My mom started crying too, her voice trembling. "It's my fault I couldn’t give you a better life. Because of me, you couldn’t even get the scholarship... Savannah, I’m so sorry."
I stared at the sad, greenish food on the old dining table and pushed the plate toward them, my face completely blank.
"It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. You’re both tired from work. You eat. I’m not hungry today," I said, my tone flat.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look, but I didn’t miss the flicker of disgust in their eyes.
Before, whenever they made a meal, they would always scoop the food into my bowl, saying they couldn’t finish it.
I used to feel touched and sad, thinking they were skipping meals just to keep me well-fed. Now, I knew better. They didn’t like the food. They didn’t like me.
I took a small bite, chewing through the tears that blurred my vision. But all I could taste was bitterness.
Seeing me eat, my mom sighed in relief, like she had just solved some great problem.
Then Dad’s phone alarm went off. He answered quickly, pretending it was an urgent call.
"The construction site’s rushing work before the New Year. No time for a break," he said as he grabbed his coat and stood up.
Mom followed right behind him, pulling on her cheap, patched-up cotton jacket. "We’ll stay out late setting up a stall," she said. "We need the money for your tuition next semester."
I limped after them for a few moment, keeping my distance. My heart sank as I saw Mom climb off the rundown car and step into a Bugatti.
Dad tossed his work clothes on the side of the road like trash, brushing his hands off before casually throwing his jacket over his shoulder.
I jumped into a taxi to follow them. Eventually, their car stopped at a five-star hotel.
Standing outside the restaurant, I heard Scott’s voice, dripping with fake concern. "Dad, Mom, is Savannah okay? I told them not to hurt her legs. It’ll make her injury worse."
Dad chuckled and sipped his wine, tossing a sleek black card onto the table. "She can walk, so she’s fine. You did well. She’s disabled anyway and I don’t want her drawing attention at school."
