Their Debt for My Heart

Sylvia said nothing, just hung her head.

Mom looked at her with disappointment, lifting her chin gently.

“You’re going to get into a top university and inherit your father’s company someday—you’re nothing like that ungrateful wretch who can only get into a lousy second-tier college. Haven’t you forgotten how she snuck into the homeroom teacher’s office during the second year of high school and deleted your name from the math competition?”

“If you hadn’t begged us to spare her, we would have kicked her out of school long ago. How could we have let her frame you during the SAT exam!”

“Sylvia, did she ever consider you a sister? Look at her now—first it’s feigned sickness, then a pretended death, all an act to win sympathy. Next she’ll be up to something far more serious! Had I known her true nature, I should’ve never given birth to her in the first place!”

Mom’s words were like poisoned swords, stabbing into my heart one after another. I was in so much pain that I curled up into a ball, gasping for air.

Is this really how mom sees me?

The truth was nothing like this, yet mom believed it without a shred of doubt.

My sister was never as good at math as me—she was jealous that I could join the math competition. So she teamed up with the homeroom teacher to frame me.

Mom didn’t look at any evidence. She slapped me as soon as she heard my sister’s story.

She refused to listen to my explanation, convinced that I was jealous of Sylvia.

If she’d cared even a little about my grades, she would have noticed that my math scores were always first in the grade, while Sylvia was only twentieth.

I needed that math competition to get early admission to a top university with a tuition waiver—but my sister ruined it all.

Memories of the past flashed through my mind, and my heart turned to ashes.

I just wanted to leave here.

But things didn’t go as I wished.

After the SAT exam, I followed mom back home.

I hadn’t been home in two years. Looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar surroundings, I felt a sense of dizziness.

Every corner of the house was filled with traces of their little family of three.

Mom packed Sylvia’s luggage while muttering angrily, “How can Zinnia be such a terrible sister? The exam’s over, and she still hasn’t come home to help Sylvia pack! She’s always running around outside—just like her deadbeat dad!”

Sylvia coughed weakly. “Zinnia didn’t do it on purpose. Maybe she’ll be home later.”

Mom frowned even more after hearing that.

“You're just too nice, that's why you've always been letting her walk all over you. She’s a born villain, not worth defending. If she doesn’t come back soon, we’ll pretend she’s dead and never let her step foot in this house again! I’ll act like I never had that daughter!”

Mom, I can never come back.

Are you happy now?

I smiled bitterly, my heart aching as if it would shatter.

Sylvia stepped forward to pat mom’s back, calming her down. My thoughts drifted further and further away.

I grew up wandering around with mom, living in a small, shabby rental apartment.

Mom always said that if I hadn’t existed, she wouldn’t be so miserable now.

So I always thought of myself as a burden to her.

That changed when I was ten. Mom, with her stunning looks and clever tactics, married a CEO of a listed company.

She put on a gentle and virtuous act, taking my hand and leading me to meet my stepfather.

That was the first time I saw Sylvia. She was dressed like a beautiful doll, with clear, bright eyes—while my T-shirt and shorts were faded from countless washes.

When she saw Mom, she ran over and threw herself into her arms, her voice sweet and cute.

“Mommy!”

The hand I’d been clutching tightly was pulled away.

I looked up to see Mom hugging Sylvia tightly, her eyes soft and loving. She even spoke to Sylvia in a gentle whisper.

I froze, memories flooding my mind—memories of countless days and nights.

“Starving? Why don’t you find food yourself!”

“Get out of my way—don’t bother me when I’m going out!”

“Why are you crying? Stop crying this instant—you’re so annoying!”

Mom would always yank her hand from mine, leaving me sobbing on the ground from the pain of the fall, never once looking back.

Yet now I see it plainly: my mother was capable of loving a child.

It just wasn’t me.

My stepfather never had any affection for me—he never allowed me to call him “Dad.”

Even Mom told me to avoid calling her “Mom” at home.

I’d never felt loved, so I tried my best to obey them, hoping to earn just a little of their attention.

If Mom told me to play with Sylvia, I did.

If Mom told me to make Sylvia happy, I did.