Chapter 3

I shivered through a quick shower and hurried back under the thick but ineffective blanket.

Because we were poor, we rented a house in a remote suburb, and to save money, we hadn't paid for heating.

I used to wonder why my dad would always fall seriously ill every winter, and my mom would use the excuse of taking care of him to go with him.

Now I understood they were just afraid of the cold and had hidden away in a luxurious house, living like royalty.

When I was little and got sick, they would brave wind and rain to carry me to the hospital.

Mom would try her best to keep the umbrella over me, not caring if she got wet herself.

And dad, even when he tripped over a tree branch and fell into a puddle, would still protect me wholeheartedly.

They only cared if I was hurt, not themselves at all.

But how could these parents who loved me so much now bear to deceive me with fake illnesses, pretending to be poor and making me give up my studies to support them?

I covered my eyes and suddenly laughed out loud.

I was so presumptuous. The house they were in now was in the most upscale community in the city center. I couldn't even afford the property management fees, let alone claim to support them.

I was nothing more than their plaything.

Their real son must be that Jack they doted on.

Light gradually filtered through the rag-covered window.

The alarm went off. It was 5 AM, time to start delivering food.

Although the bed was cold, I indulged in a rare lie-in.

This was the first time I had rested in the four years since I started delivering food at 18.

The 8 AM alarm went off. Usually, this was when I would check on my dad's condition.

Looking at the alarm note: "I'd trade my life for dad's health," I suddenly found it laughable.

It wasn't until the sun was high that I finally felt some warmth.

At 10 AM, my parents called.

"Son, why didn't you call today? Did something happen? Are you sick? You didn't fall, did you?"

Their anxious voices echoed in my ears, but I couldn't feel any warmth.

I didn't know their acting skills were so good, performing their "concern" for their son so convincingly that I had always believed they truly loved me.

"Lucy, Lucy, why aren't you saying anything?"

Faced with their constant calls, I sighed deeply, "I'm tired."

My parents were stunned, anxiously asking, "What's wrong? Is work too hard?"

But all they got in response was my heavy breathing.

Since I started delivering food when I came of age, I had never once complained of being tired in front of them.

After a moment, their voices sounded again.

"Son, it's dad's fault for being useless. You've worked so hard. It's too cold, don't go out delivering today. If you get hurt, we'll be heartbroken."

Mom immediately chimed in, "That's right, today's Christmas Day. Let's have a good family reunion. Didn't you always want to eat at that fancy steakhouse? My friend gave me some coupons, let's go there today to celebrate your birthday!"

"We've brought a cake for you too."

Their joyful tone couldn't touch me.

But I still obediently agreed, "Mm."

I wanted to see how long they could keep up this act, how real they could make it seem.

I put on my best clothes and arrived at the agreed mall.

This was my first time stepping into such a high-end place.

Just as I was about to cross the road, a sports car suddenly stopped in front of me. I immediately recognized the person in the driver's seat.

Jack lowered his sunglasses and smirked at me, "Well, if it isn't yesterday's dog?"

He patted his car, "My mom's coming-of-age gift for me. Not bad, right?"

He then flashed his wrist, the diamonds on his watch dazzling in the sunlight. "Huh? How come your mom didn't give you a watch? Oh, I forgot, your parents don't love you. This watch is worth seven figures. You couldn't afford it even if you delivered food for a lifetime."

"Oh right, my parents specially stayed up with me until midnight yesterday. Mom even cooked a big feast for me herself. I remember we have the same birthday. I wonder what your parents prepared for you?"

With that, he deliberately sped off in front of me, leaving me covered in dust.

Watching his arrogant and unrestrained behavior, my heart sank even further.

When I turned eighteen, my parents personally handed me the delivery kit, saying, "Our son is grown up now, he can earn money for the family."

Arriving at the steakhouse, my parents looked at me with tears in their eyes, hoping to see joy on my face.

After all, this was the first time in my 22 years that I was eating at the fancy steakhouse I had always dreamed of.

"Happy birthday, son. Make a wish and blow out the candles."

On the table was half of the cake that Jack had left over yesterday.