Chapter 4
I stayed out west for three years.
Three exhausting, sleepless years spent working with my research team.
By the time we made significant progress on the project, it was finally time for me to head back to give a report.
On the flight home, the project team returned my phone.
The moment I powered it on, I was greeted with a flood of notifications–thousands of unread messages and missed calls.
I ignored most of them, ready to stash my phone away, when one message caught my eye.
It was from Mom.
“Emma, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.
Can you come home so I can apologize to you properly?”
“We had our reasons, Emma. Please, just hear me out. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Where are you? Are you even still alive?”
“Emma, do you really not want me anymore?”
I laughed under my breath, shaking my head at the irony.
Once upon a time, I would’ve given anything for even a sliver of their attention.
Back in high school, I’d learned to take care of myself.
Our “tight finances” meant I had to figure out how to juggle school and part–time jobs to make ends meet.
I skipped meals, avoided the cafeteria’s pricier dishes, and worried constantly about my next month’s rent.
I used to believe my parents were overworked–always exhausted, always pushing themselves too hard. But looking back, it all felt like a sham.
How could someone so “exhausted” always look so polished, so glowing with health?
How did I miss the bruises from IV needles on their hands, or the suspiciously expensive vitamins that showed up at home?
Whenever I asked, they said their boss had given them extra perks out of pity.
I was too naïve to question it back then.
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apter 4
Not anymore.
With a quick tap, 1 blocked their number and deleted every contact they had for me.
When the plane landed, I was swarmed by reporters.
Our research team had made headlines, and coming home meant being thrust into the public eye.
The cameras flashed as we stepped out of the terminal, but I wasn’t thinking about the interviews or the spotlight.
I was thinking about Mom.
She’d see the coverage.
Of course, she’d see it. And I knew exactly what she’d do.
After the press conference, I was about to head to the hotel when I spotted her.
Mom.
She’d somehow broken through the layers of security and was standing just a few feet away.
But she wasn’t looking at me.
No, her attention was fixed on Professor Collins.
“Professor, I understand your team needs funding,” she said, her voice confident and businesslike.
“I’m the Vice President of Harper Enterprises.”
“If you’re willing, I’d love the chance to discuss sponsorship opportunities with… your top student here.”
She gestured toward me, like I was some stranger she’d never met.
I couldn’t help it–I laughed.
Loud enough for her to hear.
“Professor Collins,” I said, stepping forward, “she’s my mother.”
“The one who raised me like we were dirt poor, and now she’s here offering millions in funding. Doesn’t that sound a little… suspicious to you?”
The professor’s expression darkened.
“I recruit students from low–income families who are hard–working and resourceful,” he said coolly.
“If you’re really from Harper Enterprises, Ms. Harper, how exactly did Emma qualify for need–based scholarships. every single year?”
Mom froze.
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Ms. Harper, he continued, his voice turning sharper, “please stop trying to leverage personal connections.”
We have no interest in entertaining these tactics.”
With a wave of his hand, security stepped in, escorting her away as she called out desperately, “Emma! Emma, wait! I just want to
I turned my back on her and walked away.
Her plea didn’t stop there.
The reporters caught everything–her shouting, her tears, her desperate attempts to get to me. It didn’t take long for the story to spread.
Soon, she turned to social media, posting tearful apologies and begging for a chance to explain.
The public demanded answers.
They wanted to know what had happened between us.
But when the pressure mounted, she refused to give details, dodging every question.
I didn’t want to see her play the victim anymore, so I decided to take control.
I reached out and agreed to meet her.
The moment she heard the news, she jumped at the chance.
She picked the location–our old house, the one we hadn’t lived in for years.
Walking back into that house felt surreal.
The place was pristine, like it had been frozen in time.
But I didn’t let the memories get to me. Not this time.
When Mom saw me, she rushed forward, her arms outstretched, but I stepped back before she could touch me.
Her face fell, but she quickly composed herself, flashing the same polished smile she always used when she was
trying to get her way.
“Emma,” she began, her voice soft and sweet.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
I crossed my arms, keeping my tone neutral.
You wanted to talk. So talk.”
She hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door.
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Sure enough, Dad walked in a second later, followed by Jason.
The three of them stood there, the picture of a perfect family.
And me? I felt like the outsider.
Emma, Mom said again, taking a deep breath.
“We never meant to hurt you. Everything we did… we thought it was for the best. We thought-”
“Save it,” I interrupted.
“I’m not interested in excuses. Just say what you really want.”
She faltered, clearly thrown off by my bluntness.
“I… I just want us to be a family again.”
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jason.
Funny. I thought you already had one.”
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