Chapter 9: My Daughter Is My Last Line

Now I only had to take care of Doa Doa and myself.

It was a great relief.

Chu Yao’s motorcycle was sold, and the money was deposited into an education account in Doa Doa’s name.

He came to cause trouble once.

At the entrance to our apartment complex, the moment he opened his mouth to curse, several neighbors surrounded him.

“You still dare show your face here?”

“You hit a child, and you still have the nerve to make trouble?”

He left with a dark face.

After that, he never came back.

The story about Qin Yiran spread everywhere, too.

She was never able to marry into the Chu family.

Du Mei went from eagerly waiting for a grandson every day to becoming a laughingstock.

Some people even asked her to her face:

“Where’s your grandson? What’s his last name, anyway?”

She was so furious she didn’t dare leave the house.

Chu Chi came looking for me a few times.

Each time, he looked more worn out than before.

The last time, he stood downstairs holding the cake Doa Doa liked.

Doa Doa saw him but didn’t go down.

She watched from the window for a while, then turned to me and asked, “Mommy, can I choose not to forgive Daddy?”

I said, “Yes.”

She nodded and drew the curtains.

That night, she slept soundly.

Three months later, I was promoted.

Sister Zou invited me to dinner and said that over the past six months, I’d seemed like a different person.

I smiled.

I hadn’t become someone else.

I’d finally thrown off the things that had been weighing me down.

The injury on Doa Doa’s face had healed long ago.

One day, during art class, she drew a house.

There were only two people inside:

Doa Doa and me.

Her teacher asked, “Where’s your father?”

Doa Doa thought for a moment, then said, “Daddy lives in an old story.”

When I picked her up after class, the teacher told me what she’d said.

I crouched down and asked Doa Doa, “Then where does Mommy live?”

Doa Doa threw herself into my arms.

“Mommy lives in the present.”

I held her, my eyes stinging a little.

The sunset fell over us as we walked home.

Doa Doa held my hand and skipped along.

As we passed the entrance to our apartment complex, Du Mei happened to be standing there.

When she saw us, she moved her lips, wanting to call Doa Doa.

Doa Doa paused for a moment.

Then she looked up at me.

I didn’t decide for her.

She glanced at Du Mei and politely said, “Goodbye, Grandma. I’m going home.”

Just a goodbye.

She didn’t run over.

She didn’t look back.

Du Mei stayed where she was, her eyes turning red.

I held Doa Doa’s hand and kept walking.

Behind us, Du Mei choked out, “An Thu, I really know I was wrong!”

I didn’t stop.

Some wrongs can’t be made right just because someone finally admits them.

Doa Doa looked up and asked, “Mommy, will Grandma say it was all just a game again?”

I squeezed her hand.

“No.”

She asked again, “What if someone still says that?”

I looked down at her.

“Then we’ll tell them.”

“That kind of game isn’t fun at all.”

Doa Doa smiled.

Her little hand was warm in mine.

I remembered the day I’d stood outside the Chu family’s home and slapped Du Mei.

A lot of people had called me cruel.

But if a mother has to endure it when her own child is beaten, that is what would truly be cruel.

Cruel to her child.

Cruel to herself.

From that day on, I was no longer the person who kept swallowing her anger for the sake of keeping the peace.

My whole world was Doa Doa.

If anyone hurt her,

I would make sure they understood what pain felt like.

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