Chapter 3A Father’s Love, Worth Only Paper

Love doesn't care about timing or logic. As long as it's her, she wins.

It took me half my life to finally understand that sentence.

David continued turning the pages until he reached the very end.

It wasn't a family portrait. It wasn't a photo of me and my dad.

It was a photo of David and me.

My dad took it himself during a family trip, right before I married David and moved to a different city.

Scrawled at the bottom in crooked handwriting were the words: My daughter has truly grown up. Is it time I let go and let her be a free bird?

As I rubbed my thumb over the ink, I quickly felt a raised texture on the back of the photo.

Written on the back were two words: I'm sorry.

When my eyes locked onto those letters, it felt like a thousand needles plunged straight into my heart. It hurt so much I stopped breathing; it hurt so much I couldn't even cry.

Back then, he had sneered, "A married daughter is like spilled water."

"If you marry someone far away, you think it'll be easy to come home?"

"You think the world is so simple. You'll definitely never come back. Maybe not for a year, maybe not for ten..."

Young and full of pride, I refused to accept it. I believed that as long as I had money, distance meant absolutely nothing.

And I was right. I was incredibly driven.

I grabbed every single opportunity to climb the ladder. I worked a corporate job during the day and wrote web novels at night.

My career skyrocketed, and my first novel became a massive hit.

Aside from the first two years of our marriage when money was incredibly tight, I flew home twice a year, every year, staying for two months at a time.

Just like summer and winter breaks in school. Arrive on time, leave on time.

Until one trip, I found the locks on the front door had been changed.

"Don't come home so often," my dad's booming voice came through the phone receiver, stabbing my heart.

My voice trembled. "Why?"

"Stop asking why. The house belongs to your sister now. If you need something, wait until I come visit you."

It turned out Mia had her eye on a guy from another city. My parents were worried about her, so they rode the train with her to meet his family.

As for the house? Because the guy was broke and couldn't afford a down payment, my dad proudly declared, "You married someone else and moved away. If I don't give it to your sister, who do I give it to?"

"If I give it to her, she'll stay close and take care of me. The house is her leverage."

"Once she has the house, she'll settle down here with us."

So, the real reason they had forced me to buy a house in my husband's city years ago was so they could give their own house to Mia.

I had glared at them, pointing a shaking finger. "If you wanted to give her the house, fine. But why did you force me to buy one near you guys in the first place?"

My dad grew impatient and practically shoved me out the door. "Stop asking so many damn questions!"

"Your wings are fully grown now! If you don't want to be here, then get the hell out!"

"It's my damn house! I'll give it to whoever I want!"

Right. Three houses. They lived in one, gave one to Mia, and rented the third one out.

And under his strict demands, I had to buy a house in my new city using the money that was supposed to be my dowry.

They provided absolutely zero financial support for my wedding. They just said they wouldn't ask for a bride price from David, and that the house we bought would serve as "their" leverage for me.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of laughter inside.

Returning to the apartment I bought myself, I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Come visit often. A promise nobody else in that house gave a damn about, but I was the only idiot who took it seriously.

My phone ringing shattered my memories.

It was Mia.

"Sis, I'll give you one of the houses. Can we talk?"