Her lips moved, but she didn’t realize my left ear was already deaf.
I opened the door to my tiny rented apartment, where a yellow dog wagged his tail and bounded toward me.
“Lucky, I saw Dad today.”
I crouched down, ruffling his fur, and pulled a piece of ham from my pocket to feed him.
He wouldn’t eat. Instead, he leaned against me, licking my face anxiously.
“I’m not hurt. I was just so happy I tripped. Don’t worry.” Leaning against him, I counted softly on my fingers. “This month, I’ve seen Dad three times—twice on TV, and once today.”
I picked up the family photo from the table.
A tall father, a gentle mother, and me, perched on his shoulders.
We were smiling, so happy.
Holding the photo to my chest, I whispered, “Lucky, Dad must love me, right? He gave me you, and you’re the best. He’s just too busy.”
“I wonder if he drank the soup. I simmered it for so long.”
Lucky curled at my feet, whining softly in response.
I stood and hurried to the stove. “Forget it. He always forgets when he’s busy. I’ll just make another pot.”
The flame flared up, and a drop of blood fell into the pot.
Lucky barked frantically, running to the table and dragging over my bag of medicine, circling me nonstop.
I patted his head, blowing my nose with a tissue, forcing a smile. “Alright, alright. I’ll take it now.”
On the table lay a hospital report, pinned beneath a wish list.
Swallowing a handful of bitter pills, I looked down at the list.
1.Eat a meal with Dad.
2.Take a photo with Dad.
3.Celebrate a birthday with Dad.
The phone rang. Ms. Wilson’s joyful voice came through:
“Emily, congratulations! You got into the Ivy League. Your acceptance letter has arrived at the school. You can pick it up tomorrow.”
My eyes sparkled with excitement. Hugging Lucky, I kissed him again and again.
“Lucky, I got into the Ivy League! Dad promised me—if I got in, he’d have a meal with me.”
Trembling, I texted Dad.
Within half a minute, he replied.
It was the name of a restaurant.
Overjoyed, I quickly cleaned the blood from my face and rushed out.
But the one waiting for me wasn’t Dad.
It was Sophia, with a gang of thugs behind her.
“I told you—use my dad’s name and Emily comes running, like a stupid dog every time.”
I should have known. Such a quick reply couldn’t have been from Dad.
But what if—just maybe—it really was him?
I couldn’t miss even the tiniest chance.