Uncle Funded My Education Journey

Aylin Scott was ushered into an impressive villa by Milena Gibson. Although Aylin knew that Milena's family was affluent, she hadn't anticipated such an extraordinary level of wealth. In Aylin's mind, she felt like a fish out of water, wide-eyed and amazed at every sight. Mrs. Claire, the housekeeper, appeared to be in her forties, with a warm smile and an approachable demeanor. Seeing Milena bring a friend home, she promptly set out some fruit before heading out to run errands.

"What do your parents do? How are they so wealthy?" Aylin asked as she settled onto the plush sofa, which was so soft it almost threw her off balance.

Milena chuckled at Aylin's surprise, "My dad? He might not have the degrees your dad has, but he's got a knack for business. Years ago, he ventured into the hotel industry right here in town, and now, the Marriott Hotel? My dad was the founder!" Milena's pride was palpable as she spoke of her father, and Aylin couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.

"Wow, the Marriott is your family's? That explains a lot!" Aylin exclaimed. Such a well-known hotel was familiar even to someone from a small town like her. "And your mom?"

"My mom? Well, she never really pursued an education. After high school, her focus was on keeping me in line, working out, and getting beauty treatments. She's probably less concerned with work than I am!"

Aylin chuckled softly. She suspected Milena was being modest on purpose. Her mother must be a cultured woman, Aylin inferred, noting a magnificent piano in the living room. Such a piece seemed more aligned with her mother's tastes than Milena's laid-back style. "That's a beautiful piano, is it your mom's?" Aylin asked, her appreciation for the instrument apparent.

"What! No, that was a gift from my dad's German friend, for me! My dad hired a bunch of piano teachers for me, but I scared them all off. Not that I didn't like them, I just didn't care for music. All those note symbols looked like hieroglyphics to me. It's more like a piece of furniture here!"

"I see. Actually, music is like a universal language, full of emotion. How about I play something for you?" Aylin looked at Milena eagerly.

"You can play the piano? Absolutely, I'd love to hear if you're better than my teachers!"

Without another word, Aylin sat down, her fingers gliding over the keys as if in contemplation, playing single, random notes. Then a melody started forming in her mind, and she followed it instinctively, note by note, slipping into an ethereal state. Her other hand joined in, and a stream of shimmering, harmonious notes flowed effortlessly from her fingers. She played seamlessly, the music whispering like the wind, rustling like leaves, flowing like a stream, and singing softly like falling rain. The emotions in the music were poignant and haunting, tugging at the heartstrings, immersing her in a quiet place like a pebble sinking slowly into the sea.

The tune was deeply melancholic, and Milena felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

"What's wrong?" Aylin noticed Milena's teary eyes and stopped playing.

"I don't know why, but your music makes me feel so emotional!"

Aylin smiled warmly, teasing, "Sorry, it's my favorite piece. My aunt taught it to me in just three lessons. It's a bit on the sad side, huh?"

Milena observed the girl, who always seemed lost in thought; she'd long suspected Aylin had a story. To describe a teenager as 'having a story' might sound odd, yet one look revealed Aylin's solitary demeanor, setting her apart.

"Aylin, do you consider me a friend?"

"Of course," Aylin replied.

"Then tell me about yourself. You hardly ever talk about your family."

Aylin had anticipated this. Being friends meant opening up, but it required courage and emotional readiness. She wondered how others might perceive her once she laid bare her hidden self. She sat quietly, her fingers lightly grazing the piano keys, head bowed.

"What's bothering you, Aylin? Is there nothing to say about your family?"

Aylin offered a faint smile, "It's just that my life is very different from yours."

Milena paused, noting Aylin's distant expression. "Aylin, we've known each other for quite a while now. I always felt like you were carrying some sort of secret, always lost in thought. Sometimes, I think you were born with this odd sense of loneliness, but it doesn't seem possible for someone to be born sad. Is something troubling you? Remember, we're best friends!"

The simple words "best friends" touched Aylin deeply. She tried to respond casually, "Milena, I don't have a home."

"No home?!" Milena was taken aback by Aylin's sudden revelation.

Aylin laughed bitterly, "Almost. My parents are divorced. I had wonderful memories, but they're distant now, out of reach. They loved each other—yes, I think they did—but my dad got too into gambling, playing bigger and bigger games until my mom left and abandoned us."

"That's tough..." Milena mused, unsure how to comfort her friend, whose sorrow seemed so distant from her own. "Is your dad okay now?"

"I... can't really say. He's been away for years. I hardly ever see him. I mostly live with my grandma, but she... she doesn't like me much, probably because she resents my mom. She sees me as just like her, bound to leave one day, so sometimes, she treats me poorly."

"Treats you badly?!" The word struck Milena with horror. She couldn't fathom what Aylin's grandmother had done to her friend, sending chills down her spine. "You must really hate her, right?"

Aylin smiled gently, "I used to hate her, especially when other kids were eating popsicles under ceiling fans, and she made me gather wheat in the blazing sun. I used to wish she'd just disappear. But as I grew older, I found I couldn't hate her anymore."

"Why not?"

"You're living the life of a princess," Aylin smiled wistfully, "you wouldn't understand. My grandpa died young, leaving my grandma widowed in her late twenties, raising my dad and aunt single-handedly. You can't imagine what it was like for a woman with two kids trying to make ends meet in the countryside. She begged, collected trash, faced unimaginable hardships, yet she managed to send my aunt to college. How could I hate such a woman?" Aylin's voice was unusually hoarse, and she sobbed quietly before continuing, "After some reflection, I realized my grandma's harshness stems from her resentment toward my mom's abandonment of her family. She never went to school and became a widow in her twenties, never contemplating remarriage. To her, divorce feels like sheer rebellion. Her life was fraught with misfortune, yet she lived with a clear conscience. Isn't that tragic?"

Milena looked at her friend, almost with admiration. How could a sixteen-year-old speak so calmly about such complex emotions?

"Your mother..."

Aylin quickly shook her head, "I don't know. After the divorce, I never saw her again. So, I prefer not to talk about her."

Milena fell silent, understanding that Aylin's mother was a forbidden topic, one that remained so because of its importance to her.

Motherly Love

Motherly love is like spring rain—it can saturate our hearts with a single careless downpour after a long drought. It's an unwavering breeze, always warming our chilly emotions. No matter where we go, we can never leave the expansive embrace of our mother's love.

Motherly love is selfless, sacred, and grand. It is meticulous and profound...

The next morning, Aylin felt someone gently pulling a piece of paper from beneath her arm as she woke with a jolt, surprised to see Isabella flipping through her manuscript.

"Wow, the genius is hard at work! Staying up late to write an essay? If you don’t win an award, I don’t know who will!" Isabella's dramatic expression was as exaggerated as a wife catching her husband in a lie. Since childhood, Isabella had always been the star of the class, and now in university, she found herself playing second fiddle to Aylin. It made her uncomfortable. Aylin's superior performance was one thing, but Isabella resented her lack of effort compared to her results. Admitting someone was better was hard enough, but admitting they were smarter was even harder.

Aylin blinked at Isabella, still processing what had happened and feeling the dull ache in her arm from being pinned down.

Isabella skimmed Aylin's manuscript, her envy barely concealed. Yet she couldn’t believe Aylin had written such sincere, moving words on her own. She must have copied them from somewhere! She knew this suspicion was unfair, but she clung to it because she couldn’t bear losing.

"Aylin, it's beautifully written. I didn’t even notice when you got up," said Zoey, Aylin’s bunkmate, peering over Isabella's shoulder at the manuscript. Zoey, a mysterious figure who rarely spoke or attended classes, was nocturnal by nature. She praised Aylin’s writing unusually.

"Just scribbling," Aylin smiled faintly.

Isabella placed Aylin's manuscript on the desk and handed her a copy of "Goodbye, Vivienne." "Here, Professor Hanks asked you to read it if you had time. I picked it up for you."

Aylin was touched, giving Isabella a grateful look. Then Isabella leaned in and whispered, "Inside, there's a piece I wrote. Could you take a look?"

Aylin understood Isabella didn’t want her to mention it aloud. Isabella's hypocrisy was irritating, but on the flip side, Aylin realized they were similar—both projecting strength while being fragile, pretending indifference while caring deeply. Understanding this, Aylin resolved to support her.

That day during her elective class, Aylin painstakingly revised Isabella’s piece. The so-called "prose poem" was not only structurally scattered but lacked substance. It seemed like a collection of ornate phrases. Aylin meticulously reconstructed it, rearranging the structure, a task so arduous it would have been easier to rewrite it entirely.

Aylin decided to call Kayleigh Myers. For the first time, she took the initiative to contact her mother—not out of disinterest, but out of fear of disturbing her. It was also prompted by the previous night's dream. They say mothers and daughters share a deep bond; maybe something was truly wrong on her mother’s end.

As she listened to the ringing, Aylin felt nervous, her palms damp with sweat.

"Hello," came her mother's slightly groggy voice on the line.

"Mom, it's Aylin..." She hesitated, unsure of how to continue. A simple hello felt hollow, expressing that she missed her seemed too sentimental.

"Aylin, is something wrong?" Now it was Kayleigh’s turn to sound anxious. This long-lost daughter had never taken the initiative to contact her. Although she claimed to have forgiven her, Kayleigh knew the grudge lingered in her daughter's heart, a reminder of her irresponsibility as a mother. Her sudden call must mean trouble.

"No, Mom, I'm fine. How are you?" Aylin didn’t want to mention last night’s dream, realizing it hadn’t been a bad omen, just a dream about her mom.

"I'm... I'm alright, just the usual," Kayleigh said with relief.

"Good, I'm glad. Are you busy? If so, I can hang up."

"Oh, okay. I’ll call you when I have time. Bye!"

After hanging up, Aylin felt a bit downhearted, feeling insignificant to her mother. Then again, maybe that wasn’t so important. She was growing up, creating her own life. She comforted herself with this thought.

In the consultation room of the maternal and child health hospital in Houston, Dr. Quinn placed the test results on the desk, her brow furrowed in silence as she considered how to break the news to Kayleigh.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Quinn. My daughter—I thought it was important," Kayleigh said, noticing the doctor's solemn expression, offering an apologetic smile.

Dr. Quinn shook her head, indicating it wasn’t an issue, but she still hadn’t spoken.

"What's wrong, doctor? Is something wrong with the baby?" Kayleigh felt a sudden pang of anxiety.

"You have a daughter?" Dr. Quinn sidestepped her direct question. As a physician, she hoped her patients would realize what they had when they faced loss, to minimize the pain.

"Yes, I have two daughters. Honestly, I didn’t expect to get pregnant at my age. My husband and I were quite surprised!" More than surprised—they were thrilled. She had always wanted a child with Jonah, not because Aylin wasn’t close or Roz wasn’t good. She simply wanted to solidify her family with something deeply connected, like a child. Women can be sentimental like that.

"Ms. Myers, I still advise against having this baby..."

"No, Dr. Quinn, I know. At my age, I'm a high-risk pregnancy. I'll be careful!"

"Please, Ms. Myers, let me finish," Dr. Quinn interrupted firmly, tapping the test result on the desk. "Our tests indicate you have breast cancer. It's early-stage, with no adverse symptoms now. We can perform surgery, and you'll recover. However, the medication during surgery will affect your pregnancy. We recommend terminating the pregnancy..."

Kayleigh's eyes instantly brimmed with tears. How cruelly fate had played her! She recalled Jonah's gentle kiss on her cheek today, daydreaming about whether they'd have a son or daughter, filling him with pride.

Jonah was a successful businessman, but that was trivial to Kayleigh. Even if he were as penniless as her ex-husband, Aiden, as long as they were together, they could make a life. Yet Jonah had lost much—his prior wife had been caught in the grip of addiction, tarn