"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…"

Mom—who's always had sky-high standards for quality of life—waved her hands dismissively.

"What nonsense is that? I'm your mother. You're raising a kid alone right now—if I don't look after you, who will?"

"We're family. Don't talk like that. It makes us sound like strangers."

Vivian smiled softly.

"Actually, I could hire a postpartum nanny too. There are plenty of affordable ones now."

Mom pretended to be annoyed.

"My granddaughter, taken care of by some stranger? You want me to lose sleep?"

The next second, all three of them stopped laughing.

Their gazes landed on my face at the same time.

"Alex? Why are you here?"

"Alex? If you were coming, why didn't you say anything?"

"Listen, your dad will explain. It's not what you think. Your mom, she—"

Panic flashed across both my parents' faces.

Only Vivian had something else in her eyes—calculation, and smug satisfaction. Like she'd expected this all along.

I cut them off with a mocking smile.

"The apartment I helped Vivian find—can't I stop by?"

"You were saying the baby would be left with a nanny. I wasn't comfortable with that, so I figured—raising one kid, raising two, what's the difference? Thought I'd come check in."

"Didn't realize I'd be interrupting."

Dad's explanation died in his throat.

Mom jumped in urgently. "No, it's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

"The postpartum nanny had a family emergency and took leave. I didn't want you to worry, so I didn't mention it. I was planning to come help out for a couple days before we left, so Vivian wouldn't be anxious about the baby while she's away…"

"Then what about the photo you sent me?"

Mom's face went ashen. She still couldn't come up with an excuse.

I looked her up and down.

Other than those reading glasses, everything she was wearing came from money I'd spent at the mall.

I don't know where I wronged her. Where I wronged this family.

For them to repay me like this.

I dug my nails hard into my palm. Even my breathing was shaking.

But with a baby in each arm, I couldn't even vent.

In the standoff, Vivian smiled and looped her arm through Mom's.

"Come on, it's fate. Perfect timing, actually. We were just about to leave."

"Since you're here, come with us. I'll call a car, Dad can grab the luggage, and Mom can buy Alex a ticket."

The moment she finished, my parents' eyes lit up.

"Vivian always thinks of everything. Fine, let's do that."

"That's exactly what Mom meant! I'm just bad with words—couldn't explain it earlier."

"Alex, send Mom your ID number. I'll get you a ticket."

I lowered my eyes.

"I sent it. The day I gave birth and was hospitalized."

Mom gave an awkward laugh.

"Oh right, I forgot. I'm getting old—brain's not what it used to be. Don't hold it against me."

After that, Dad went back upstairs for the luggage, and Mom started buying tickets on her phone.

Vivian walked toward me, baby in her arms.

"Alex, you really came."

I didn't respond. I just watched Mom's guilty profile.

On the payment screen, she backed out three times in a row. Still couldn't complete the purchase.

Mom let out a dry laugh.

"Alex, transfer Mom a little more for expenses. There's not enough for the tickets."

"Enough for the three of you, but when it comes to me, suddenly not enough?"

Mom's face turned cold.

"What kind of way is that to talk? Originally it was three of us, and the budget was set. Wasn't it you who insisted on coming?"

"Besides, I'm your mother. If I go traveling, isn't it only right you pay?"

I took a deep breath. My heart went completely cold.

"I've been working for years. Sending money home every month, like clockwork. All together, it's close to a million. This month I'm on maternity leave—my salary's lower, and I don't have extra to give you. So now you can't take me on a trip?"