Chapter 1A Father’s Love, Worth Only Paper

My father once said that when a person dies, they leave their most prized possession to the one they love the most.

When he passed away, my younger sister inherited three houses and two million dollars in cash.

My mother, her eyes red from crying, shoved a thick photo album into my arms. Her voice choked with sobs. "Your father loved you the most, Shavon."

I opened the album. On the back of every single photograph was my father's handwritten signature.

The photos were all of me, crouching by the front door of my grandmother's house. They documented, from countless angles, the six years I spent as a "left-behind child," waiting for my parents to come back for me.

I looked up, only to see my mother and sister turning their faces away, deliberately avoiding my gaze.

So, in my father's heart, this album filled with years of agonizing waiting was what he considered his "most prized possession."

...

The room was so quiet I could hear my own breathing.

The album stopped at the days right before they finally brought me home. A tiny version of me, wearing patched-up clothes, stumbling eagerly into my parents' arms.

They sandwiched me between them, hugging me incredibly tight.

"Are you going to go far away again?" I had looked at them timidly, tilting my small head up, trying desperately not to let my tears fall.

They both kissed my cheeks, squishing my face. My dad's voice was firm and resolute. "Never. Our family will never be apart again."

That was the most sincere lie he ever told me.

And it was the only time his words would come back to slap him in the face so viciously.

Because the very next year after bringing me home, they had my little sister, Mia. They said it was so I would have a companion.

So that when they grew old, I would have someone to "discuss things with."

Thinking back on it now, what exactly was there to discuss?

Discussing who would pull his oxygen tube? No, I didn't think so.

Because the daughter he claimed was "least favored"—my sister—didn't visit him a single time while he was paralyzed from his stroke. She didn't even show up to see him take his last breath.

It seemed the only person I had to "discuss" things with was myself.

The album turned to the second page. A small figure standing under a decaying red wooden door.

My "companion" didn't keep me company. Using my schooling as an excuse, my parents took Mia and moved away for work...

"Shavon."

"Hey, Sis."

Their voices broke my train of thought, pulling me back from six years of childhood isolation.

My sister and mother awkwardly looked away. It was my mother who finally braced herself to look at me. "Are you okay?"

I pressed my lips together and offered a light, dismissive smile.

What could possibly be wrong?

I was my father's "most beloved" daughter. That was all.

My mother's eyes were filled with complex emotions. Her hand hovered in the air, wanting to comfort me, but it never landed.

Her mouth opened, but she couldn't force out a single word.

Mia forced a smile, looking incredibly unnatural. "Sis, don't take it to heart."

"Dad really did love you more. He gave you his most precious possession."

I turned to look at her. She was rubbing her nose, her eyes darting everywhere but at me.

"Is that so? How about I give you this 'love,' and we trade?"

She glared at me. Before she could snap back, my mother reached around from behind and covered her mouth.

"Your sister is young. Don't stoop to her level."

Right. A six-year age gap.

I was forty. She was thirty-six.

We were both mothers now, yet in my mother's eyes, she was still just a child.

I waved the photo album and smiled, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just messing with her. Dad loved me the most; how could I ever bear to trade?"

Ignoring my mother's distrustful gaze, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a second, and pasted on a fake smile. "I'm really fine."

"The burial is done, the estate is divided. Since there's nothing else, I'll be going."

My mother watched me leave with a tight smile, offering a hollow platitude. "Stay a little longer."

"You'll miss home when you leave."

Yet her feet remained firmly glued to the floor.

I waved them off. "No need."

"Home," according to my father's will, had already been transferred to Mia.

Every trace of my existence had long been scrubbed from that small two-bedroom apartment. The other two properties were permanently rented out. I had nowhere to sit, let alone sleep.

I took one last look at Mia, hiding safely behind my mother, staring at me with pure resentment. I looked at the house I had lived in for less than five years.

There was nothing of me here. Only a younger sister draped in designer brands, protected by our mother.

I closed the door. The heavy stares disappeared.

The air out in the hallway tasted slightly sweet.

A sudden, inexplicable lightness washed over my entire body.

Even the photo album in my hands looked a bit more tolerable.

I just didn't understand why my chest felt so hollow, why my throat was tightening.

Even my tears betrayed me, blurring the makeup I had spent an hour applying.

Maybe it was because I finally accepted reality.

In his heart, Mia was worth three houses and two million dollars. And I was worth a photo album.

Dad's "most precious love"... it turned out I was the only one stupid enough to take it seriously.