Dad raised his hand and slapped himself across the face. "I was such a fool back then!"

"Cecilia, just give us a little more time. Let us prove our love for you, okay?"

The red marks from his fingers stood out clearly on his cheek.

That guilt didn't look fake.

I bit my lip. My heart softened. Maybe they really did have their reasons?

"Mom. Dad."

"Family shouldn't keep secrets from each other. So I don't want you hiding anything from me."

Ignoring their startled expressions, I walked into the apartment.

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve.

It was also the last chance I would give them.

I wanted to know everything.

The next morning.

I woke to find my parents bustling around the kitchen, making dumplings—chive and egg filling, my childhood favorite.

"Cecilia."

Mom took my hand. "You were right last night. Family shouldn't keep secrets. We shouldn't have hidden this from you."

"We promised to spend the New Year with you, but we can't keep that promise."

"We found work out of town. One month. It'll be enough to cover your tuition."

I looked at her.

The light in my eyes dimmed.

I never expected this.

I'd waited up all night, only to be fed another lie.

I started crying from sheer frustration.

But my parents thought I was moved.

"Don't cry, sweetheart."

Dad reached over and patted my head, then pulled an old phone and a red envelope from his pocket, pressing them into my hands.

"The phone was donated by a charity. The password is your birthday."

"The red envelope—I saved up from working overtime. All night."

He made a point of emphasizing all night.

As if afraid I wouldn't appreciate the sacrifice.

"Cecilia, just bear with things for a little while."

Mom kept crying, putting on a show of how hard it was to leave.

I said nothing.

They didn't even stay to eat the dumplings with me. A phone call came, and they rushed out the door.

Leaving me alone in the cold, empty rental.

I sat down and noticed the red envelope felt wrong. I tore it open.

It wasn't money.

It was a photo of Dad, Mom, and Cynthia.

Behind them: a villa, the ocean, three radiant smiles.

I knew who had put it there.

Cynthia.

My parents only needed to squeeze the envelope once to notice something was off. They hadn't bothered.

I turned to the phone, wondering what else awaited me. I entered my birthday to unlock it.

Inside were photos and videos of Cynthia. Hundreds of them.

Documenting every year since the day my parents adopted her.