And under that help-seeking post, a new reply appeared:
"This method really works. I've already moved in with my daughter. That annoying neighbor didn't even notice!"
I turned my head, my gaze landing on my home—turned into a warzone from caring for the baby, stuff scattered everywhere.
My heart immediately soured.
I thought of last time, when I snagged a box of cherries from a livestream flash sale and brought them to Mom and Dad. I hadn't even tasted a single one myself.
But before I could get through the door, they threw me out along with the box.
"What's the point of buying something that expensive? You might as well give me cash. This is all just capitalism's trick. Aren't these the same cherries that grew back in our hometown?"
That day I was eight months pregnant. I squatted on the ground, picking up the cherries one by one, and cried until my eyes stayed swollen for three days.
But now, toward Vivian, they'd completely changed their tune.
I took a deep breath and messaged my parents.
"Where'd you go traveling? I'm in a bad mood too. Let me come with you to clear my head."
The next second, Mom's call came in.
"Alex, what do you mean by that? We've already been gone for days. If you come now there's no direct bus—you'd have to transfer a bunch of times. Mom can't bear to see you suffer like that. You'd better not run around. Wait until I get back."
I smiled bitterly.
"Is that so? How many places did you visit? I didn't see you post anything on social media. I thought you were still in the same spot."
Mom's tone turned flustered instantly.
"That's because I haven't had time to edit the photos yet. You know your dad's camera skills—they're awful!"
"If you don't believe me, I'll send them to you."
Three photos came through quickly.
I opened them, and my heart turned even colder.
They hadn't even bothered to crop out the AI watermark at the bottom.
To lie to me, they really put in the effort.
"See, Alex? Mom's been so exhausted these past few days I barely looked at my phone. Traveling really takes it out of you."
Before I could respond, Mom said hurriedly:
"Gotta go—bus is here. Your dad and I are getting on, okay? Signal's terrible here, hanging up."
Right after I hung up, a message from Vivian popped up at the top of my screen.
She'd sent me a screenshot of a transfer.
Split into three payments, totaling 1.3 million.
The source account was my parents' retirement card. I'd been depositing into it for three years; I knew that number by heart.
"Thank you, Dad and Mom, I got it! I love you guys so much. When the baby grows up, I'll tell her too—that she's a child who grew up being doted on by Grandpa and Grandma!"
My fingertips trembled. My heart actually skipped a beat.
Just as I was about to reply, she withdrew it.
"Sorry, sis, sent it to the wrong person."
"You didn't see anything, right?"
I didn't reply. Those screenshots kept flashing before my eyes.
One million was what I'd desperately saved up for the family after I started working.
Three hundred thousand was my parents' retirement money.
They hadn't kept a single cent for themselves.
And they hadn't spent any of it on me or my child either.
They gave it all to Vivian.
In an instant, it felt like a dull knife was sawing back and forth across my heart. The tearing pain stripped away all my rationality.
Since they were the ones who were heartless first—
Then I didn't need to keep up appearances either.
I picked up my sleeping son and went downstairs.
I took a cab straight to Vivian's apartment complex.
The place she lived in was something I'd only found after we broke up—after begging this person and that person, pulling strings and bothering a whole circle of people.
All because my parents thought the cheap places had a bad environment.
And the expensive places Vivian didn't want to pay for.
Everything I'd once given to this family now felt like a slap across my face.
Burning hot. The sting went straight to my heart.
Just as I entered the complex gate, I ran straight into three people coming out, holding a child.
Vivian put on her usual act, pushing back:
"Mom, you really don't need to come all this way—it's too hard on you. My place is small, not as comfortable as that apartment my sister gave you. Seeing you squeeze onto the couch every day, it really breaks my heart…"
