Dad Only Loves His New Son

Zoey's POV

I refolded the piece of paper in my hand and made my way to the administration office.

The teacher took it from me and flipped straight to the report card tucked in the back. After a brief pause, she looked up.

"Zoey, have you really thought this through? With your grades, it would be such a waste to drop out now. You've always been one of the top students in the regular classes, and your score on the last mock exam was high enough to give you a real shot at a prestigious college."

Clutching the straps of my backpack, I gently shook my head.

There were other teachers in the office. One of them had just returned and casually mentioned, "Mr. Smith came to the school for the parent-teacher conference today.

"After it wrapped up, he donated another scholarship fund to the school, specifically to reward the top ten students in the grade and the academic competition winners. The principal was just singing his praises."

The other teacher chimed in with a smile, "He really does go above and beyond for that child. I heard he has even planned out the child's path for studying abroad in the future. That boy doesn't disappoint either; he consistently ranks first in the grade. The school obviously welcomes parents like him."

I stood in front of the desk in silence. Several students who had come to submit documents at the door couldn't help but steal glances in my direction.

One of them took a look at the withdrawal application in my hand and my faded, worn-out school uniform and softly remarked, "They're both children, yet their lives couldn't be more different. Mr. Smith has such a stellar reputation; he donates to the school and attends the parent-teacher conferences in person… Surely he wouldn't mistreat his own biological daughter behind closed doors."

I lifted my head and glanced at that person. "Whether he mistreats her or not isn't proven by what he says. It's proven by what he has done over the last five years."

That person froze. The entire office fell dead silent.

The teacher looked at me as if she wanted to ask me something, but she ultimately kept it to herself and placed my withdrawal application at the corner of her desk.

I turned on my heel and left the office.

The school corridor stretched out ahead of me. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, creating a checkered pattern of light and dark across the linoleum floor.

When I walked past the Wall of Fame, I caught the photograph prominently displayed in the center. My father, Ian Smith, stood to one side while his stepson, Eugene Moore, stood in the middle, holding a trophy. Both of them were beaming.

It was a beautiful photograph—dignified and radiant. The two of them looked like a real father and son. Who would ever associate them with me?

…

After school, I went to my part-time job at the convenience store as usual. Once the evening rush died down, I stood behind the cash register, working straight through until 10:00 pm.

The store manager poured me a cup of hot water and placed it beside me. "Is the school pressing you for tuition again?"

I hummed quietly.

He sighed. "Back when your mom was still around, her biggest fear was holding you back from your studies. Every time payday rolled around, the first thing she'd ask wasn't whether she had enough for herself, but when your tuition was due. She always told me that everything else could wait, but your education must never be put on hold."

The barcode scanner in my hand froze midair. My gaze landed on the shelves, and I remained rooted to the spot for what felt like forever.

After my mother, Sophia Wright, passed away, the first thing I lost wasn't financial support; it was the feeling that someone actually cared about my education.

Back then, no matter how late I came home, she would always ask if I had finished my homework and how I had done on my exams. Even when she was at her sickest, with IV needles stuck into the back of her hand, she was still murmuring about my monthly tests and the college entrance exam.

Now, no one asked anymore. I didn't even have anyone left to remind me to get my exam admission ticket.

After finishing my shift, I bought a small bouquet of white flowers from the florist around the corner, picked up a markdown cake from a bakery that was about to close, and caught the last bus to the cemetery. The wind was gentle that night, and the mountain path was pin-drop silent.

I placed the flowers and the cake in front of the grave, knelt down, and looked at Mom's photo. "The school was nagging me about tuition today. So, I turned in my withdrawal application."

I hesitated for a moment and eventually told her what had happened earlier that day.

"I ran into Ian at school today. He had just finished attending Eugene's parent-teacher meeting, and he was beaming with pride. The first thing he asked when he saw me was if this was how I usually dressed for school.

"Then, he handed me his business card and said that as long as you're willing to swallow your pride and admit you were wrong, he would immediately send me to the international class."

As the words left my mouth, a chuckle escaped me. The mirth was so faint that even I could barely feel it.

"He still doesn't know that you're already dead." I unboxed the cake, sliced a small piece with the plastic fork, and placed it on the offering plate. "I wanted to hang in there a bit longer, Mom. But I really can't hold on anymore. Please don't be mad at me."

I stared at the headstone, a lump forming in my throat. "I know nothing scared you more than the thought of me dropping out of school… but I've already tried my best."

The wind swept down from the mountain, rustling the blades of grass in front of the grave. I sat before it for a long time, until my phone suddenly lit up.

It was a message from my homeroom teacher, Clara Hill. "Please come to school tomorrow to clear out your personal belongings."