“You don’t deserve this room.” My stepmother stood in the doorway, my schoolbag dangling from her hand. I was eight years old. I had just come home from school to find the lock on my bedroom door had been changed. “This is Jason’s room now.” She dropped the bag at my feet. “You’re going to live with your grandma.” I looked at my father. He was staring at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. “Dad…” “Listen to your mother.” That night, I dragged my suitcase to my grandma’s front door. When she opened it and saw me, she froze for three long seconds, and then she pulled me into her arms and wept. 1 It was 2003. I was eight years old. That summer, my father remarried. My new mother’s name was Brenda. She came with a six-year-old son, Jason. On their wedding day, Brenda wore a red dress and a sweet smile. She patted my head and said, “We’re a family now. You can call me Mom.” So I did. “Mom.” She smiled in response, then turned to sweep Jason into a hug. I thought this was the beginning of a new life. My own mother had died when I was two. Grandma told me that giving birth to me had taken a toll on her body, and she’d never fully recovered. For years, Grandma had helped raise me while my father worked, too busy to manage everything on his own. Now we had a new mom in the house. Things would be different, I thought. And they were. Three days after the wedding, Brenda replaced the family portrait in the living room. The new photo showed my father, her, and Jason. I wasn’t in it. I asked my father, “Why am I not in the picture?” He said, “We’ll add you in next time we take one.” When was next time? I didn’t know. But I did know that things around the house were starting to change, piece by piece. Jason’s collection of toys grew, piling up in the corners of the living room. My toys were packed away into a storage closet, deemed “too messy.” Every day, Brenda cooked Jason’s favorite meals: pot roast, sweet and sour pork, honey-glazed chicken wings. And me? “You’re not a picky eater. You’ll eat anything.” Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to be treated differently. I only wondered why Jason got two drumsticks, and I only got one. Why Jason could stay up late to watch cartoons, but I had to be in bed by eight. Why, when Jason made a mistake, Brenda would just say, “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know any better,” but if I broke a single cup, I had to stand in the corner for two hours. I asked my father about it. He just said, “You’re older. You need to be more understanding.” Older? I was only eight. That autumn, things took a turn. Jason was starting elementary school. Brenda said he needed a quiet place to study. My room faced south; it was bright and peaceful. Jason’s room faced north, right next to the busy street. It was too loud. “Let Jason have your room. You can move into the north room.” I didn’t want to. That was the room I had slept in my whole life. The photograph my mom had left me was still taped to the wall. “No,” I said. “That’s my room.” Brenda’s face hardened. “What kind of attitude is that? I’m talking to you.” I looked at my father. He repeated the same line: “Listen to your mother.” That night, I was forced to move into the small room on the north side of the house. Eighty square feet, just enough for a bed and a desk. The window was broken and wouldn’t close properly, letting in a draft of cold winter air. I carefully taped my mother’s photograph to the wall of my new room. It was the only piece of my old life I could hold onto. But it wasn’t over. A month later, Brenda found a new reason. “This house only has three bedrooms. Your father and I have the master, and Jason has your old room… you’re just making things cramped.” She paused, plastering on a look of concern. “I think it would be best if you went to live with your grandma. She’s all alone, it would be nice for her to have some company.” I froze. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re going to live at your grandma’s,” she said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “It’s not like you can’t come back. You can visit on holidays.” I looked at my father. He was sitting on the sofa, his eyes glued to the television, silent. “Dad, say something.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Listen to your mother.” That night, I lay in bed, listening to the wind howl outside my broken window. I didn’t sleep at all. When I came home from school the next day, the lock on my bedroom door had been changed. Brenda held the new key. “I’ve packed your things,” she said, pushing a suitcase toward me. “Your grandma is coming to pick you up today.” I stared at the suitcase. It was a twenty-inch pink one that had belonged to my mother. Inside were all my clothes and schoolbooks. I looked at my father. He was standing in the living room, holding a cup of tea, his gaze averted. “Dad.” He didn’t answer. “Dad, don’t you want me anymore?” He finally looked at me. His eyes were filled with guilt and helplessness, but mostly, they were filled with avoidance. “Your grandma will take good care of you,” he said. “I’ll send money for you every month.” I didn’t cry. I was eight years old, standing in the middle of the living room, in the house I had lived in for eight years, and suddenly, it felt like a stranger’s home. Brenda leaned against the doorframe, a faint, triumphant smile on her face. Jason peeked out from my old room, holding my little teddy bear lamp. “Mom, this lamp is so cool!” “If you like it, you can keep it.” My mother had given me that lamp. I wanted to run and snatch it back. But I didn’t. Because I knew, in this house, I no longer had the right to claim anything as my own. Grandma was waiting for me outside. The moment she saw me, her eyes turned red. “Grandma’s here,” she said, kneeling down to hug me. “Let’s go home.” I nodded. Dragging that pink suitcase behind me, I walked out of the house. The door clicked shut behind me. That day was October 15, 2003. I will never forget that date. Because from that day on, I no longer had a home. 2 Grandma lived in an old apartment complex on the south side of town. It was a small two-bedroom, six hundred square feet. The paint was peeling in places, and the heating was weak, but she had cleaned out the larger bedroom just for me. “Sweetheart, this is your room now,” she said, taking my hand. “From now on, this is your home.” I stood in the room, looking at the neatly made bed, the new desk lamp, and the small potted plant on the desk. Grandma lived alone on a pension of nine hundred dollars a month. She had bought all of this just for me. That night, tucked into my new bed, I finally let myself cry. Not because I felt wronged. But because of her. Grandma was old and not in the best health; she took three different kinds of medication every day. She should have been enjoying a quiet retirement. Instead, she had to take care of me. “Grandma, I’m so sorry.” She held me close, patting my back gently. “Silly girl, what are you sorry for? You’re my granddaughter. If I don’t take care of you, who will?” From then on, I lived with my grandma. Life was simple. She walked me to school in the morning, I ate lunch in the cafeteria, and in the evening, she’d have a hot meal waiting for me when I got home. Her cooking was delicious, simple home-cooked meals that were a world away from what Brenda made. At the very least, I always got two drumsticks. My father had promised to send money. The first month, he sent three hundred dollars. The second month, two hundred. The third month, nothing came. Grandma called to ask, but Brenda answered the phone. “It’s not that we don’t want to give it,” she said coolly. “Money is just tight right now. Jason has tutoring, and that’s expensive. You should teach her to be more frugal.” Grandma’s hand trembled with rage. “That is his daughter!” “And you’re the one raising her, aren’t you?” Brenda’s voice was like ice. “The child is living with you, eating your food. Is it really appropriate for you to be asking me for money?” The line went dead. Grandma sat on the sofa, silent for a long time. I came out of my room and saw her wiping away tears. “Grandma, it’s okay,” I said, kneeling and taking her hand. “I don’t need their money.” “Oh, my sweet girl…” “I’m not a little girl,” I said, my own eyes dry. “Grandma, I’m going to make money someday. I’m going to take care of you.” I was eight years old. Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it myself. But I never forgot that promise. After that, the money from my father stopped almost completely. Occasionally, a hundred dollars would show up, but it was never consistent. Grandma never asked for it again. Her pension, combined with the little she made from mending clothes for neighbors, was barely enough for the two of us to get by. I knew how much she scrimped and saved. The clothes she bought for me were new, while hers were a decade old. She made sure I ate meat, while she ate only vegetables. She couldn’t bear to turn on the heat, so she slept under two thick quilts at night. I saw it all. But I was too young to do anything about it. All I could do was study. I knew that was the only way I could give my grandma a better life someday. On holidays, my father would call. “Sarah, come home for dinner.” Home? Was that still my home? I didn’t want to go. But Grandma would say, “You should go. He’s still your father.” So I went. The moment I walked through the door, I saw the new chandelier in the living room, the new sofa, the thick carpet on the floor. Jason, in a new winter jacket, was playing video games on the couch. Brenda poked her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, you’re here. Have a seat, dinner’s almost ready.” She spoke so casually, as if I were just a distant relative dropping by for a visit. I looked down at my own clothes. It was Jason’s old jacket from last year, one Brenda had given me before the holiday. “It’s still in great condition,” she’d said. “Jason outgrew it, it should fit you perfectly.” Standing in that newly decorated house, wearing Jason’s hand-me-downs, I felt like a complete outsider. At dinner, Brenda placed a large plate of pot roast in front of Jason. “Eat up, Jason. It’s your favorite.” In front of me was a small dish of stir-fried cabbage. My father put a single piece of meat in my bowl. “Eat up.” One piece. Just one. Jason ate half the roast, and I got one piece. I kept my head down and ate without a word. After dinner, my father handed me a hundred-dollar bill. “Here. For school supplies.” A hundred dollars. I glanced at the new television in the living room. It was huge, sixty inches, probably worth over a thousand dollars back then. And the game console in Jason’s hands. And his new jacket. And his Nike sneakers. I took the money. Grandma needed it. “Thanks, Dad.” He patted my head. “Study hard.” That holiday, I only stayed for two hours. I left right after dinner. Brenda stood at the door, politely saying, “Come again soon.” Soon? When was soon? I didn’t know. As I walked away, I looked back one last time. The living room light was on, and through the window, I could see Jason jumping on the sofa while Brenda and my father watched him, smiling. A happy family of three. I turned and walked into the cold winter night. That day, for the first time, I understood with absolute clarity: I had been abandoned by that family. This wasn’t a temporary stay at my grandma’s. It was abandonment. 3 And so the years passed. Elementary school, middle school, high school. I lived with my grandma the entire time. She gave me all the love she had, and the only thing I could do in return was to excel in my studies. I was always a good student. In middle school, I was in the top ten of my grade. In high school, I got into the honors program. Every time I brought home a report card, Grandma would beam with pride. “My Sarah is so smart!” It was her greatest joy. She would boast to the neighbors, “My granddaughter is going to a great university one day!” “Does her father help out?” a neighbor might ask. Grandma’s smile would falter for a second. “He does… he does. He comes to see her every year for the holidays.” Every year. Yes, only once a year would I return to that house. The routine was always the same: a meal, a few hundred dollars, and then I would leave. Brenda was always politely distant, like I was a stranger. Jason ignored me completely. My father would look guilty, but that guilt never changed anything. I got used to it. I stopped expecting anything more. In my junior year of high school, I needed a computer. The school had started a computer science class, and every student was required to have one. I didn’t. Grandma had saved up a few hundred dollars over the years. She wanted to buy one for me. I wouldn’t let her. “Grandma, you need that money for yourself. I’ll ask Dad.” It was the first time I had ever called him to ask for something. The phone rang for a long time before he answered. “Sarah? What a surprise to hear from you.” I took a deep breath. “Dad, I need a computer for school. It’s five hundred dollars.” There was a pause on the other end. “Five hundred?” “Yes.” “Things are tight right now, Sarah. Jason’s starting high school, we’re saving up for his tuition…” My hand tightened around the phone. “Can you lend it to me, then? I’ll pay you back.” “Sarah, don’t talk like that. It’s not a loan. It’s not that I won’t give it to you, it’s just… we’re short on cash at the moment.” “So when won’t you be short?” “What kind of tone is that?” His voice turned impatient. “Doesn’t your grandma have her pension? Ask her to cover it for now, and I’ll pay you back later.” Later? When was later? When I was a child, he said “next time.” Now he was saying “later.” I had waited ten years for “next time,” and it had never come. “Never mind,” I said, and hung up. That night, I told my grandma, “I don’t need a computer. I can use the ones at the school library.” She didn’t say anything, just looked at me and sighed. The next day when I came home from school, there was a used computer on my desk. Grandma had found someone to help her buy it. It cost two hundred dollars. “It’s not new, but it works,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. “It’ll have to do for now.” I looked at the old computer, at my grandma’s graying hair, at her frail, hunched back. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Grandma…” “Don’t cry,” she said, wiping my tears away. “As long as I can see you go off to college, it’s all worth it.” The year I graduated high school, I was third in my class. My scores were good enough for the top state university. Tuition was ten thousand dollars a year. With room and board, it would be at least twenty thousand. Grandma’s savings weren’t enough. I called my father. “Dad, I got into college. Tuition is ten thousand a year.” From the background, I heard Brenda’s sharp voice. “Ten thousand? Your dad only makes five thousand a month, and Jason is still in high school. Where are we supposed to get that kind of money?” “I’m talking to my dad on his phone.” “His money is our money!” she shrieked. “If you want to go to college, ask your grandma! She raised you all these years, is she going to stop now?” I heard my father mumble something, but his voice was too low to understand. Finally, he took the phone. His voice was weary. “Sarah, you should apply for a student loan. I can only do so much…” So much. I hung up. That summer, I applied for a student loan. It covered most of it. For the rest, Grandma emptied out her savings account. “It’s enough,” she said, counting the worn bills. “You go study, Sarah. Grandma will be waiting for you to come back.” The day I left for college, Grandma saw me off at the train station. She stood on the platform, waving and waving. “Study hard, and take care of yourself!” I shouted back, “Grandma, when I graduate, I’m coming back to take care of you!” She smiled and nodded, but tears were brimming in her eyes. I boarded the train. From my window seat, I watched her figure grow smaller and smaller, until she disappeared from view. It was the first time I had ever left her. And it was the last time I ever saw her standing. In my sophomore year of college, Grandma collapsed. A stroke. By the time she got to the hospital, it was too late. She was in a coma for three days. I took a leave of absence and caught the first train back. When I pushed open the hospital room door, I saw her lying in the bed, so thin she was just bones. Her eyes were closed, her skin a waxy yellow. “Grandma…” I fell to my knees beside her bed and held her hand. It was so cold, so frail. The doctor said it didn’t look good. He told me to prepare for the worst. I didn’t believe him. I called my father, begging him to help with the medical bills. On the other end of the line, I heard Brenda’s voice again. “She’s not part of our family. Why should we pay?” “She’s my grandma!” I screamed. “She’s your mother’s mother, not your father’s. It makes no sense for him to pay.” My father took the phone. His voice was a whisper. “Sarah, we really don’t have the money. Jason is starting college soon…” I ended the call. That night, I knelt by her bed, holding her hand, and didn’t sleep. The next morning, just before dawn, Grandma woke up for a few moments. She looked at me, her lips moving, her voice barely a whisper. “Sarah… Grandma is so sorry…” “Grandma, what are you saying?” I cried, clutching her hand, tears streaming down my face. “When Grandma’s gone, you’ll be all alone… you have to take good care of yourself…” “Grandma, you can’t go! You promised me you’d wait for me to graduate so I could take care of you!” The corner of her mouth twitched, as if she was trying to smile. “Grandma… can’t wait that long…” At six o’clock that morning, my grandma passed away. She was still holding my hand. I didn’t scream. I just knelt there, beside her bed, watching the person who had raised me grow colder and colder. My father came to the funeral. He stood in the funeral home, lit a stick of incense, and bowed three times. Then he walked over to me and said, “Sarah, I’m sorry for your loss.” Sorry for your loss. Four words. So empty. He didn’t shed a single tear. After the service, he handed me an envelope. “Here’s two hundred dollars. For your expenses.” I looked at the envelope and didn’t take it. “I don’t need it.” “You’re all alone at school, money must be tight…” “I said, I don’t need it.” I turned and walked out of the funeral home. From that day on, I never contacted him again.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390013", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel