When I was discharged from the hospital after giving birth to my son, a trending post popped up on my phone while I was paying the bill.

"A neighbor I've only met twice just had a baby and insists I help take care of it, but my daughter also gave birth these past few days, and I really don't know how to refuse. Asking netizens for help."

The comments were all over the place, but the author only replied to one.

"Simple—just tell her you two are getting up there in age, and now that you're retired, you're planning to travel. Then go stay at your daughter's place. If the neighbor can't find you, there's nothing she can do. Wait until her kid's older, then move back."

My eyes lit up. That netizen's emotional intelligence was off the charts.

At the same time, I couldn't help looking down on this ungrateful neighbor. Only greeted each other twice—how could she have the nerve to make such an unreasonable request?

Luckily, my mom had agreed to help me with my son.

But when I opened my front door, the house was empty.

I called my parents. No answer.

Two hours later, Mom finally texted.

"Alex, while we're still young and can get around, your dad and I talked it over—we're going to travel for a while. Not sure when we'll be back. What I promised you might have to wait. Hang in there on your own for now."

My hand holding my son went stiff.

I opened my cousin Vivian James's account. Sure enough, she'd posted an update.

In the video, Mom's aged figure bustled around in the kitchen while Vivian cradled a newborn in her arms.

Caption: "A kid with a mom is a treasure. Thanks to Mom for helping me lighten the load. Love you for ten thousand years!"

1.

I stared at those words, reading them over and over.

It wasn't until my son started wailing from hunger that I snapped out of it.

The water and electricity had been cut off. I couldn't even mix formula.

I called Mom. The phone rang for ten minutes before she picked up, sounding harried.

"Hello? Alex? What's wrong? Why are you calling now? I'm busy."

I took a deep breath. "Mom, what did you mean by that message?"

"Didn't we agree three days ago? When I got discharged, I'd hand the baby to you and go back to work. You suddenly changed your mind—what am I supposed to do? The company's waiting for me to chair a meeting!"

She fell silent for two seconds. When she spoke again, her tone had turned cold.

"Alex Fox, get this straight. I'm your mother, not some nanny you hired."

"I raised you for decades. I've worked hard enough. I finally retired and can enjoy life, and you still want me to take care of your kid? Fine—I didn't say I wouldn't. But at least let me catch my breath first, okay?"

Tears welled up in my eyes.

That help-seeking post—what was there I still didn't understand?

I, her biological daughter, had become the neighbor she'd only met twice.

And the cousin she was rushing to help? That was the daughter she truly claimed.

"Then how long before you can come back?"

"Don't know! I just arrived at the first tourist spot and you call me. My good mood's completely ruined. Fine—no sightseeing today. I'm going back to the hotel to rest."

Dad took the phone.

"Alex, your mom's going through menopause. Don't take it to heart."

"But don't blame me for saying this—you upset her for one day, our trip gets delayed one day, and we come back one day later."

I understood perfectly.

They thought I was a nuisance just for making a phone call.

Vivian's soft voice drifted through the speaker: "What's wrong? Did your older sister find out you came to see me and get upset?"

"How about I personally apologize to her?"

Mom's response was ice-cold:

"No need. Wherever I go, do I still need to report to her?"

"Old Mr. Fox, hurry up and hang up, stop talking so much. Just hearing her voice is annoying, like a debt collector. She can't even settle down for two days."

Before Dad hung up, I asked him:

"Aren't you and Mom traveling? Why does it sound like Vivian's there too?"

He coughed twice. I could practically hear him scrambling for an excuse.

"Oh, it's like this—your sister isn't doing well. Bit of postpartum depression. Your mom thought getting out would help her relax."

"Vivian's baby has a postpartum nanny. We found her through connections back home—cheap. You didn't want outsiders caring for your kid before, so your mom didn't mention it. Alex, don't overthink this."

After hanging up, I felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

Don't overthink it—yet they did exactly what would make me overthink.

Eight years ago, when Vivian moved in, I knew this family was going to change.

Little me didn't know how to express the unease, so I could only throw fits at home.

Demanding the newest backpack. Demanding pretty notebooks.

As if Dad and Mom agreeing meant I still had a place in their hearts.

I got the backpack. The notebooks are still in my cabinet today.

But after that, Dad and Mom drifted further and further away.

They thought I was immature. That I wouldn't be a good older sister. That I wouldn't take care of Vivian on my own.

When I was sad and crying hard, all I ever heard were lectures.

"You're the older sister—you have to set an example. Look at you crying like this. If Vivian sees, what will she think? That we abuse children?"

"Vivian's parents died horribly. Your dad and I can't just abandon her. She's your real sister now. Be more sensible. When we're not around, take care of her."

When I cried so hard I couldn't breathe, Mom used up her last shred of patience.

"Alex Fox, look at yourself! You can't even compare to a single strand of your sister's hair. Vivian lost her biological parents and she didn't cry like you! I'm so disappointed in you!"

After that, all of Dad and Mom's attention went to Vivian.

Along with their love.

I thought once I started working, if I just sent them more money, their eyes would finally land on me again.

A million dollars later, I didn't even get a smile.

That's when I learned some things can't be bought.

Vivian and I fell in love around the same time. Got our hearts broken by scumbags around the same time.

I got divorced. She had a breakup.

Dad and Mom rushed off to comfort her without a second thought.

And me? All I got was:

"All you do is bury yourself in work. Why would anyone stay married to you? No wonder he left."

"Well, now it's done. Family's broken. You can keep working. Go on—no one's stopping you."

My son's crying pulled me back to reality.

One hand holding him, one hand gripping the utility card, I used every ounce of strength I had left to get the lights back on and the water running.

After mixing his formula, he fell asleep fast.

I changed his diaper in a blur, washed the bottle.

Dead tired.

When I finally opened my phone to unwind, I saw Vivian had posted another video.

In it, Mom helped her rock the baby to sleep.

Vivian sat on the balcony soaking in sunlight, her cheeks still carrying that girlish sweetness—so much collagen it practically spilled off the screen.

Dad walked over right on cue with a plate of cut fruit. Half of it was imported cherries I could never bring myself to buy.

The caption read:

"Dad and Mom say I'll always be eighteen in their eyes~ Always the little princess of the family~"

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…"