"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.