8
The next morning, John and I finalized the
<
divorce. By afternoon, they were gone.
They moved into his parents‘ old apartment: a
tiny, run–down place on the top floor of a
building in a rough neighborhood. Claire
hated it, but the promise of a “happy life”
with her father kept her there.
Me? I was starting over.
I rented out the old house, and with the
divorce settlement, bought a fixer–upper villa
in a developing area. It was remote, with poor
transportation and no good schools. No one
wanted to buy there. I got a great deal on the
2,000 square foot villa, putting down a small
down payment.
<
But I knew that in a few months, a large
shopping mall and a subway station would be
built nearby, along with a branch of a
prestigious elementary school. Property
values would skyrocket.
With that settled, I treated myself to gym and
spa memberships. Combined, they cost less
than a month of Claire’s piano lessons. I’d
deprived myself for so long, never buying
anything over $30 for myself.
This time, I’d reclaim my life.
My company, recognizing my value now that I
could focus entirely on work, reinstated me to
my previous position. Within two months, my
L
salary jumped from $4,000 to $20,000 a
month. With regular exercise and spa
treatments, I looked and felt ten years
younger.
One day, scrolling through social media, I saw
my former mother–in–law’s post. She was
announcing John’s remarriage to his mistress. The bride’s slightly rounded belly was visible
in the wedding photo. She gushed about her future grandson.
S
The timeline was almost identical to my past
life.
I commented, “Congratulations.”
<
As if she’d been waiting, she replied instantly.
“See how easily some women produce sons?
Unlike you, stuck with a useless daughter!
That money pit keeps calling me, demanding
money for barbeque, hot pot, and sushi. Take
her back, I’m not supporting her!”
I smiled and blocked her.
325
That evening, I indulged in a guilt–free hot
pot dinner, something I’d never allowed
myself before.
On the way home, I passed Claire’s old music school. Thinking there might be outstanding fees or items left in her locker, I decided to
stop by.
A teenage girl, about Claire’s age, greeted
- me. She looked familiar.
Before I could place her, she recognized me.
“Mrs. Miller! You don’t remember me? It’s
Amy!”
It clicked. Amy Young. Last year, during the entrance exam for the piano program, she’d
sat next to Claire.
The program was highly selective, geared towards the national competition. Only
students with exceptional talent and strong foundations were accepted. Amy had placed first, Claire second.
<
But Amy hadn’t attended the program. I’d
asked about it and learned her family couldn’t
afford the tuition.
The teacher had confided in me, lamenting
Amy’s situation.
“She has a younger brother. Her parents favor
him, won’t spend a dime on her lessons or a
piano. She snuck out to take the entrance
exam.”
“She practices on the school piano whenever
she can. She’s so talented, it’s such a
shame.”
“Music requires talent and hard work, but
<
family support is crucial.”
“I’ve seen so many talented kids give up
because their families can’t afford lessons.
Such a waste.
وو
“I just hope they find success in other areas.
وو
Hearing her story, my eyes had welled up.
Being forced to abandon music… I knew that
pain all too well.
“Why are you working here?” I asked Amy.
She gave a strained smile. “My parents are in debt. They pulled me out of school. I needed a job. The teacher is kind enough to let me
L
audit classes and practice on the piano when
no one’s around. It’s… okay.”
Some people, despite hardships, claw their
way towards their dreams. Others, given every
advantage, toss those opportunities aside.
