No More Us, Ex-Husband

I stood by my parents' side, attending a wedding I had no desire to witness. The bride and groom were the "impoverished students" my parents had sponsored for years.

On the stage, the young couple choked back tears, voices trembling as they thanked my parents for their benevolence. It wasn't just tuition for high school and college. No, my parents' generosity had culminated in a commercial apartment worth over a million dollars—deeded entirely to them.

My father walked onto the stage and claimed the microphone, basking in the spotlight.

"Alex Woodward and Maya Swanson are exemplary young people," he announced, his voice projecting the authority of a tenured academic. "Their grades are excellent, and they possess the fortitude to endure hardship. I simply did my small part. I trust their future will only get brighter."

When the couple finally descended from the stage, I stared at them. Confusion curdled into something cold and tight in my stomach.

My mother noticed my gaze and leaned in, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "Gabriel, think of the apartment as a loan. We wrote an IOU. They're about to get married—we couldn't very well let them sleep on the street, could we?"

I couldn't wrap my head around their logic.

"But that apartment..." My whisper came out harsh. "It was bought with twenty thousand dollars from Grandpa and Grandma, plus the twenty thousand I gave you. I'm dating someone too. Why didn't you consider *my* marriage?"

My father turned to me. His expression hardened into a mask of indifference. "You aren't married yet, are you? Besides, what we're doing is building good karma for you."

——

"Building karma for me?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Am I supposed to thank you for giving away my future?"

My mother tried to soothe me. "Gabriel, the apartment can be taken back. Don't worry about it."

"Taken back? How? With a flimsy piece of paper?"

My questions only fueled my father's irritation. He glared at me, eyes dark with warning. "There is a wedding happening right now. Do not cause a scene."

My mother chimed in, clearly thinking I was being petty. "Didn't you say you wanted to focus on your career? You aren't in a rush to buy a house. Besides, whether your relationship even works out is another matter entirely."

I stared at them blankly. Words failed me.

Were these really my biological parents? In what world do parents not hope for their own child's success?

"You want to play the saints? Fine, I can't control that." My voice shook with suppressed rage. "But that apartment contains half a lifetime of savings from my grandparents. And the twenty thousand I scraped together working all these years."

That snapped my father's patience.

"What are you trying to imply? You want us to pay you back?" He scoffed. "Can't you act like a big brother for once? Even if you share no blood, Alex and Maya are your siblings in spirit!"

Our hushed argument had begun to draw the attention of nearby guests.

Lily Woodward, Alex's mother, approached us with a wine glass in hand, oblivious to the tension. Overflowing with gratitude, she toasted my father, declaring that without my parents, her son would have nothing.

My father didn't hesitate. He stood up, downed his wine, and beamed. "Maya is a good girl. You must treat her well."

Lily nodded vigorously. "Rest assured, Professor Fox. It is the least we can do."

*Professor.* The title scraped against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

My father had taught for thirty years in the Chinese Department at a local university. I understood the old-school mentality, the obsession with reputation. But time and again, they sacrificed what belonged to me to impress outsiders.

Why?

It had been this way since childhood. They always claimed it was for my own good, but it was nothing more than vanity. They lived for their "face."

"I don't care about your charity projects." My voice cut through the noise of the banquet. "Give me back Grandpa and Grandma's money. Give me back *my* money."

My mother immediately gripped my arm, nails digging in, signaling me to shut up.

"That is the blood and sweat of two generations," I continued, undeterred. "It is not a prop for your ego."

If our family were wealthy, perhaps I wouldn't care. But the truth was, we had barely saved anything over the years.