Ever since she first set foot over the Prescott Family threshold, those two siblings had never once shown her a kind face.
She was Lynn Shea's daughter brought along in a second marriage, her identity awkward, without a biological father to back her up.
In this family that valued pedigree so much, she was destined to never fit in.
Especially Zeke—ever since she'd first met him at age six, he'd gone out of his way to make things difficult for her.
When they were little, Zeke always loved to play pranks on her, calling her "bastard" behind her back.
One time at a family banquet, he deliberately pushed her into the pool, making her a laughingstock in her dress in front of everyone.
She never dared tell Lynn.
She knew her mom was already having a hard time in the Prescott Family.
Mrs. Prescott looked down on her low birth, brushing her off coldly with mocking, cutting words.
Some things, if spoken, not only wouldn't bring justice—
They'd only make things even harder for her mother.
Once, just after she'd entered junior high, it suddenly started pouring after school one day.
She didn't have an umbrella, so she could only hug her backpack and wait for the rain to stop on the steps.
Zeke and his friends deliberately passed by, shoving her and yelling, "Get lost, little stray!"
She lost her footing and tumbled down the steps.
Rain mixed with mud, soaking her completely, her knees scraped raw.
She curled up in a corner, the rain pelting her face, and she couldn't tell if it was water or tears running down her cheeks.
Just as she was about to break down, a tall figure appeared out of nowhere.
It was Curtis from high school.
He gave those boys a fierce scolding, then carried her straight to the school nurse's office.
The rain fell in a fine, close curtain. Lying on his warm back, he held an umbrella, walking as he softly asked, "Zeke bullies you a lot, doesn't he?"
She was afraid the truth would come out, putting Lynn in an impossible position, so the words caught in her throat and she swallowed them back down.
She was afraid that if everything got out, her mother would be caught right in the middle.
Curtis seemed to see through her thoughts.
He didn't stop walking, but he sighed quietly: "If he ever bullies you again, don't just take it—come to me. I'll stand up for you."
From that day forward, she knew there was at least one person in this cold house willing to hold out an umbrella for her.
"I'm in Class One, Second Year. You'll know where to find me."
Five years. A whole five years.
"Vivian! Vivian!"
Lynn's voice suddenly rang in her ears.
Vivian finally snapped out of it. "Huh?"
"I'll go upstairs first. Mrs. Campbell will help tidy your room, you can come up in a bit."
Lynn said as she hitched her bag up a little higher on her arm.
"Okay."
Vivian answered softly.
Lynn stood up and stepped into the elevator nearby.
Vivian looked around and realized that in the wide living room, only she and Curtis were left.
The crystal chandelier cast a gentle light, illuminating all the luxury in the house.
"Now that you're back… are you leaving again?"
Curtis finally broke the silence.
"I haven't decided yet."
Vivian gazed at the darkening sky outside, all kinds of images flashing through her mind.
The snow on New York's streets, the lonely lamp in a shared apartment, the solitary figure at the airport boarding gate…
And at the same time, Torval's cherry blossoms in spring, the breakfast stand at the old alleyway, the boy who once held her hand and walked her to school—all quietly surfaced in her heart.
Torval still held too many things she couldn't let go of.
But it also gave her just as many reasons to run away.
She once thought leaving would mean freedom, but only standing here now does she realize—
Her roots had long since grown deep in this place.
No matter how much she'd been hurt or ignored, the bond had never really been cut.
Curtis scrolled through his phone with his head bowed.
"Maybe just don't go. A girl out there alone… it's hard not to worry."
Vivian bit her lip, her chest aching, something blocking every word she wanted to say.
She didn't want him to see how vulnerable she was.
Five years—she hadn't even come home for the Spring Festival.
Every year at New Year's, she'd send Mrs. Prescott a polite text, a few customary wishes.
Then curl up all alone in a tiny, foreign apartment, listening to the pop of firecrackers outside the window while eating cold, instant meals.
It wasn't that she didn't want to come home—she was just afraid to.
Afraid to face those cold faces, those cutting words; afraid to once again be the extra, unnecessary presence in this house.
The Prescott Family was strict about rules and lines between legitimate and not.
And from the day her mother married into the family, she was destined to be "the outsider."
No matter how hard she studied, how much she kept out of trouble, she could never change the way they looked at her.
In the Prescott Family, she'd always been an outsider.
Except for Curtis, who'd talk to her sometimes when they were kids, and show her occasional concern—
The others either ignored her or acted like she didn't exist at all.
She remembered once when she'd had a fever of 39 degrees, lying half-conscious in bed, wanting someone to help, but only seeing servants hesitating at the door, too afraid to report anything inside.
Lynn, meanwhile, was busy prepping Francis's kids for their tutoring sessions, barely sparing her a glance.
Finally, it was Curtis who found her, and without a word, carried her straight to the hospital.
The rain that night was vicious, his back was cold, but she had never felt so safe in her life.
To please Mrs. Prescott, Lynn treated Francis's kids so much better than she treated her.
She remembered Lynn would personally drive them to piano lessons on weekends, order elaborate birthday cakes, go with them to various family gatherings.
And for her?
All she got each new semester was a perfunctory, "Study hard"—even her pocket money had to be sneaked to her by Curtis.
She'd asked herself a thousand times: Why stay?
But every time she really wanted to leave for good, she'd see the image of that boy leading her across the garden, holding her hand.
Seeing her keep silent, Curtis suddenly stood up.
"You've been on a plane all day. You must be tired—go get some rest."
He glanced at her, then turned and walked toward the stairs.
"Okay."
Vivian nodded.
She deliberately waited a bit, not heading for the stairs until Curtis had completely left the living room, moving up slowly, step by step.
She didn't want him thinking she still leaned on him the way she had when she was little.
The room was exactly the same—utterly unchanged.
The cream curtains still hung in their place, the little lamp on the desk waited where she'd left it, and on her bedstand sat the same novel she'd abandoned five years ago and never finished reading.
So—someone really had been waiting for her to come back all this time.
That manga was one she'd idly opened before going abroad. She hadn't finished it, but was forced to set it aside.
Now, returning again, it still lay there quietly in its place.
Lynn was sitting on the sofa waiting for her.
She wore a beige knit cardigan, her hands folded gracefully on her lap.
The living room light was warm and soft.
She didn't have the TV on, nor any music—she just sat there quietly.
There was still a cup of tea on the coffee table, stone cold, a few tea leaves sunk to the bottom.
"Mom…"
Vivian called out softly.
"How have you been, these years away?"
The day had been so busy she hadn't had a moment to really ask.
Lynn got up, making an effort to keep her tone gentle.
"Pretty well. I passed the bar and got into a good law firm abroad—the income's not bad, too."