"Just call me Lei," the nickname my mother once gave me.
She passed away when I was twelve, leaving me behind with responsibilities I was never ready for. After her death, my father chose another woman over us. Just like that, he walked out of our lives, leaving me to shoulder everything alone—especially the responsibility of raising my younger sister.
At first, I cried every night. I questioned everything—why us, why now, why like this? But as time passed, I realized something painful yet true: not everything happens according to your time or your plans. Life moves forward, whether you're ready or not.
That realization hit me the hardest when I turned eighteen.
My sister, Audrey—is the only family I have left. She's the only one who stayed, the only one who believed in me through every up and down, through every breakdown and silent suffering I tried to hide.
Now, at twenty-four, I continue to live not just for myself—but for her.
I was sitting on the balcony of our second-floor apartment, quietly drinking my cup of coffee. The morning air was calm, almost peaceful—until it wasn't.
"You're enjoying your coffee, but your rent hasn't been paid yet, huh? What's your plan, young lady?"
The landlady's voice echoed from below, sharp and unforgiving.
I froze for a second.
Looking down at her serious expression, reality hit me—I hadn't paid the rent yet.
I forced a small smile. "I'll pay later after payout. I promise."
She crossed her arms. "Make sure you do. It's already one week delayed, and I need the money now."
Then she turned around and walked away without another word.
I let out a quiet sigh, gripping my coffee cup a little tighter.
Inside the apartment, I saw my little sister sitting at the table, studying while eating her breakfast. It was Saturday, so she didn't have classes, but she still chose to spend her morning doing her homework.
I sat beside her and helped her.
Everything felt normal—until I saw her assignment.
"Draw a happy family."
My smile slowly faded.
"Are you okay, Marlee?" she asked, noticing my silence.
"Y-yeah... of course," I replied, trying to sound normal.
She showed me her drawing.
It was just the two of us.
She looked at it for a moment, then frowned slightly. "This isn't a happy family."
I looked at her, then at the drawing again.
"But we don't have a big, happy family," I said gently. "The only thing that keeps us alive and smiling is that we have each other."
Her eyes started to tear up, but she held it in.
"Yeah... you're right," she said softly. "I'm more than happy just to have you, big sis."
She smiled—and that was enough to break me inside.
I hugged her tightly.
For a moment, nothing else mattered.
Later that day, I told her I needed to leave to get my paycheck. I promised I'd come back right away.
But what I didn't expect was a problem waiting for me.
When I received my paycheck, I immediately noticed something was wrong. The amount was less than what I expected.
Confused, I went straight to my manager and asked about it. He directed me to the payroll department.
There, I was told something I couldn't believe.
"You made an order last Friday," the staff said. "A bottle of wine worth one hundred dollars."
I blinked. "What?"
"You were the one who signed it," she added.
I tried to remember.
Last Friday... I wasn't feeling well. I remember feeling dizzy... and I had a drink.
But I don't remember ordering anything expensive.
Still in disbelief, I asked to check the CCTV footage.
And there it was.
Me.
I was the one who ordered it.
I stared at the screen, stunned.
"I got robbed... by myself," I whispered.
One hundred dollars.
That wasn't just money—that was food, bills, savings... everything.
I felt frustrated, but at the same time, I couldn't even blame anyone else.
Despite everything, I still chose to be grateful.
Even when things go wrong, I remind myself—at least we're still alive, still breathing, still fighting.
I paid the rent that day and took my sister shopping afterward.
I bought all her school needs—bags, notebooks, supplies—everything she needed. I even bought a few things for myself, though I kept it simple.
I've always been the type who prefers comfort over style—baggy pants, oversized shirts. My hair is naturally curly; sometimes my sister braids it, sometimes I just let it fall freely.
If I have enough time, I bring her to watch street dancers.
And that's exactly where we went that day.
We stood at the corner of the street, watching a group of dancers perform.
Their movements were sharp, confident, alive.
I felt something stir inside me.
Excitement.
Pain.
Longing.
I used to be like them.
When I was ten, I danced everywhere—on streets, in battles, in front of strangers. I challenged anyone. I made friends through dancing. I lived through it.
Now, at twenty-four, I tell myself that phase is over.
My purpose now is survival.
My purpose is my sister.
Still... watching them made my heart ache.
And at the same time, I felt proud.
Because once upon a time—I was one of them.
And I wasn't just a dancer.
I was a winner.
"Your eyes are glowing," Audrey suddenly said.
I blinked. "W-what?"
"Your eyes," she repeated. "They're shining... like a star. I know you still want to dance."
I looked away.
"You're just pushing yourself away from it," she continued. "You don't have to pretend you don't like it anymore. You're supporting me... so I'll support you too."
Her words hit deeper than she probably realized.
I hesitated.
Because she was right.
But that wasn't the whole truth.
My passion didn't just fade—it was buried.
"My era is over," I said quietly. "I'm not that Marlee anymore."
"Y-yeah... I'm just excited watching them," I added, forcing a laugh.
"Can you dance right now?" she asked, hopeful.
Before she could say anything else, I held her hand and started walking.
"You know," I said gently, "I understand that you want me to dance again. But it's not the right time. Maybe... there won't be a right time anymore."
She stayed silent.
"The only thing that matters now is us—our future," I continued. "I can dance anytime... but our lives? That comes first."
She nodded slowly. "Okay, Marlee."
She understood.
And that made it harder.
On our way home, I couldn't help but glance back at the dancers—the crew I once battled.
I let out a quiet sigh.
When we arrived at our apartment, something felt off.
The door was unlocked.
A strange feeling crept into my chest.
Slowly, I pushed the door open.
And there he was.
My father.
Cooking.
As if nothing ever happened.
Audrey's eyes widened in shock.
But me?
I was furious.
"Who told you to come in without our permission?" I snapped. "Are you trying to act like a good father now?"
He turned, startled.
"M-Marlee... I'm sorry. The door was unlocked and—"
"How did you even find this place?" I cut him off. "Who told you?"
He hesitated. "I... found it through research. Your social media... it led me here."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He took a breath.
"I own this building."
Silence.
"The apartments... they're mine," he continued. "The landlady is my friend. I asked her to collect the rent."
My mind went blank.
"I didn't know you were living here," he added softly. "But... I'm glad I found you."
I clenched my fists.
"I'm not," I said coldly. "If this is your building, then we'll leave."
He smiled faintly, but there was pain in his eyes.
"I'll leave," he said instead. "But you should stay. This isn't the right time for us to talk... but I'll wait."
Before leaving, he added quietly:
"I cooked your favorite dishes. Buttered shrimp for you... and cordon bleu for Audrey."
He looked at us one last time.
"Enjoy your dinner... my daughters."
He took off his apron and walked toward the door.
As he passed by, he gently tapped my shoulder and kissed Audrey's forehead.
I didn't react.
I couldn't.
I hated him.
But at the same time... something inside me moved.
We sat at the table in silence.
Audrey happily ate, trying to lighten the mood.
I helped her prepare the dishes.
Then, we ate.
I took a bite of the buttered shrimp.
And suddenly—
Memories flooded back.
Laughter.
Family dinners.
Mom still alive.
Dad cooking.
Us... complete.
Tears filled my eyes.
"I-I just have a runny nose," I said quickly.
But it wasn't true.
It was never about the food.
It was about everything we lost.
We finished our meal quietly.
But deep inside, I knew one thing.
Forgiving someone who broke you...
Is not easy.
And right now—
It's not something I'm ready to do.
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