Yearning For A Home

Samantha's mother and I still had to live. We had rent to pay and medicine to buy.

The only way was to work day and night, then sleep through classes to make up for it.

Thomas frowned again.

"That's her mother. Why are you the one taking care of her, buying medicine, and earning money to support her?

"She goes to Abrerica and just enjoys herself? No job, no income, and she doesn't give you a cent?"

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I answered softly, "Yeah."

When she first went abroad, she called me every day, sighing about how expensive everything was, how she couldn't find a job, how she never had enough to eat.

Zane complained too, saying life there was nothing like home—that even our days in the orphanage had been better than studying abroad.

I felt sorry for them. I squeezed money out of my own teeth and transferred it to them, supporting their living expenses.

Later, the calls grew fewer and fewer. After half a year, they only took the money and no longer replied.

At that point, Thomas's phone rang. He hurried off to clock out.

I took one last look at Lisa's file, then stood up and went home.

In the shower, I pulled off my scarf and exposed the vicious, ugly scar on my neck.

Samantha had caused it.

Ten years ago, in the spring, I couldn't reach her—and Zane had vanished too. Gritting my teeth, I used the last of my money to buy a cheap plane ticket and went to look for her.

What I saw was Samantha in Zane's arms, kissing him deeply beneath a tree.

When they parted, he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. They looked at each other and smiled, their eyes filled with starlight.

The spring breeze passed by. The streetlamp glowed dimly. Maple leaves rustled softly.

They looked like a painting, like a poem written entirely of tenderness.

I went mad. I rushed over and tore them apart, then smashed the cup I was holding into Zane's face.

When I raised my hand to slap him again, the cup flew back at me—thrown by Samantha.

It struck my cheek.

Scalding hot water burst out and ran down my neck.

I had forgotten—the lid of that cup had been broken since the day they met. It never closed properly. All these years, I hadn't had the money to buy a new one.

The skin where the water flowed burned with agony. Samantha seemed not to notice at all. She pulled Zane behind her and looked at me coldly.

"Adam, if you want to hate someone, hate me. Zane didn't wrong you."

I hated her. Of course I hated her.

Ignoring the pain of the burn, I demanded to know why they had betrayed me.

Zane was crying too—at first only choking softly. But when the onlookers formed a circle around us, he suddenly exploded.

"Adam, you have no idea how hard things are for us overseas! We have only each other to rely on. Being together is only natural!"

I refused to accept that.

"Do you think my life back home is easy? You have each other to depend on—what do I have? I have only myself!"

Samantha stopped me when I lunged forward, pulling him into her protective space.

She lowered her eyes, her gaze cold and distant.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault. But Zane didn't lie to you. In this past year, we went through a lot together. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry."

My heart turned cold. I stared at her and asked, "So because you went through a lot this past year, the seven years we went through together don't count anymore?

"Do you know that before I came to look for you, your mother was still at home talking about you, afraid something might happen to you?

"And in the end, for half a year you didn't even call to ask how she was. You took the money I sent you—then turned around and started dating my best friend!"