The Son They Threw Away for a Stranger

Hearing those words, my heart felt like a pile of cold ashes. I couldn’t bear to listen any longer.

I returned to my room and stayed awake the entire night, my mind spinning with what my parents had said in the bathroom.

They must have forgotten how the scar on my face came to be.

When I was five, they locked me inside the house while I was asleep so they could take Charles to an amusement park.

They left without realizing the gas stove was still on, boiling water. The pot boiled dry, causing an explosion that sent sparks flying onto the curtains.

That day, I woke up to thick smoke, coughing and terrified, curled up on the balcony, screaming for help.

If not for our neighbor who rushed over to save me, I might have died in that fire.

But when I escaped the blaze, flames had already burned the side of my face. The scar has remained ever since.

Because of it, I was mocked endlessly by classmates—called ugly, freakish.

What hurt even more was that when my parents came home, they assumed I’d caused the fire myself by playing with matches.

They beat me mercilessly, even though I was trembling with fear.

It wasn’t until the police investigated and confirmed it was their negligence that they reluctantly stopped.

Fifteen years have passed. They never apologized once.

And now, it no longer matters.

The next morning, my phone rang—it was my girlfriend, Emily.

“You’re downstairs at my house?”

I leapt from my blanket, threw on my clothes, and rushed down.

Seeing Emily made the ice around my heart melt just a little.

“Why are you here on New Year’s Day?” I asked.

Her smile warmed me. I brought her inside just as my parents were getting ready to go out.

But when they saw her, both froze in place.

My mother looked Emily up and down, surprised.

“Son, is this… your classmate?”

I nodded. “Emily—my girlfriend.”

Emily greeted them sweetly, “Happy New Year, Uncle, Auntie.”

While I went to get her a glass of water, I noticed my mom whispering something to my dad in the kitchen.

Curious, I moved closer to eavesdrop.

“Dad, that girl is beautiful,” Mom said in a hushed voice. “Why don’t we introduce her to Charles?”

Dad frowned. “She’s our son’s girlfriend. How can you say that?”

Mom waved it off. “Both of them are our sons—flesh of our flesh. What’s the difference?”

“William’s health is poor, and he has that scar. He’s not a good match for her. Charles is handsome and polished—they’d look perfect together.”

“In any case, I like that girl. She has to marry Charles.”

Dad looked uncomfortable, but said nothing more.

I quickly stepped away, pretending I hadn’t heard anything, and returned with the water.

My hand trembled as I handed the glass to Emily.

I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or the growing disappointment that churned inside me.

I couldn’t understand it—why would my own parents try to steal their biological son’s girlfriend for an adopted son who shared no blood with them?

The last warmth I held in my heart cracked and shattered.

I didn’t want to stay home any longer. I took Emily’s hand, intending to take her out to see a movie.

But my mother stopped us, smiling warmly.

“Where are you two going? Stay for lunch.”

I was about to decline, but Emily quickly accepted, eager to make a good impression.

Lunch that day was the most extravagant I’d ever seen at our house—dishes I’d only dreamed of growing up.

During the meal, my mother suddenly suggested shopping with Emily.

When I offered to join them, she smiled and said,

“Why would you come? Let us women shop on our own.”