Some childhood scars never heal. They remain etched into the soul, shaping the person you grow into. The absence of family love leaves gaps that no one can fill. They accompany you through every success, every failure, whispering in the background of your life.
Sophia understood this truth. She had lived it, even if she did not fully recognize it until now. The audience under the stage understood too. As they watched, their faces mirrored agreement, their silence thick with empathy.
---
A new image appeared on the enormous screen.
Victor had been discharged from the hospital. His body was weak, pale as paper, yet he insisted on leaving despite the doctor's warnings. There was no money left. Every penny had been consumed by Lily's debts, every scrap used to repay the loan. Midnight hung heavy as the family walked under dim streetlights.
Victor carried little Sophia in his arms. Behind him walked Lily. Together, they made their way home in the darkness.
The scene was strangely beautiful. Despite the harsh circumstances, despite the illness eating away at Victor's body, the three of them walking together looked like a portrait of a family in harmony. A passing cameraman, struck by the sight, stopped in his tracks. He snapped a photo, smiling quietly, and later shared it.
Years later, Sophia would find that same photo hidden away.
The image on the screen jolted her memory. She remembered being five years old, rummaging through the drawer of a wooden cabinet, when she discovered the picture. It left such a mark on her young heart that she never forgot it.
At the time, her father had just returned from work. Seeing the photo in her hands, he had told her: "Your mother paid for someone to take that picture. I wouldn't waste money on nonsense like that."
Only now, watching the truth unfold, did Sophia realize that was a lie. Her father hadn't told her the real story.
When Sophia finished recounting this detail to the audience, whispers rippled through the gymnasium.
"What's going on here?" one person gasped. "Her father lied to her when she was a child!"
"But why?" another asked. "Why would Victor hide his wife's true nature and never tell Sophia what kind of woman her mother really was?"
A host spoke up, trying to calm the room. "Everyone, please stay quiet. Don't forget—later on, this father became completely incompetent. After Lily's death, he degraded into nothing."
Others nodded, their judgments heavy.
Even Sophia found herself nodding. She remembered vividly how her father had changed over the years. Her voice trembled as she confessed to the audience:
"Because of my father's illness, he began to lose his temper. He relied on my mother—thin, delicate, beautiful—to work and run around. Everything fell on her shoulders until she collapsed from exhaustion. She died young. What was left behind was an increasingly bitter, stubborn man."
Her words carried disappointment, and the audience looked on with pity.
The story so far painted a man who had once been noble, only to become unworthy later.
On the live stream, comments flooded in:
"Hey, the man had a hard life, sure. But he shouldn't have treated his daughter like that later."
"Exactly. Letting his wife do all the work—what kind of man is that?"
"Even if you're sick, you can't just collapse into despair and drag your child down with you!"
---
The picture continued.
The projection was painfully detailed, as though time itself had been stolen and displayed for all to see.
The slums came alive before their eyes. Families staggered through the night: an old grandmother still running a food stall, a woman sobbing behind a cracked doorway, half-grown boys with sticks smashing car windows, drunkards sprawled on the pavement. Every corner reeked of desperation.
Viewers couldn't believe this was where Sophia had lived. To have emerged from such a place and risen to fame seemed almost impossible.
Survival itself was a miracle here. Food, drink, and basic security were daily struggles. Pursuing ideals like music and art? That was nearly laughable.
---
The memory shifted to their tiny rental flat—sixty square meters of crumbling walls, peeling paint, and cockroaches crawling across the floorboards. The décor was a fossil from the previous century.
Their first family meal in the slum was unforgettable. Victor steamed crabs for Sophia, refusing to eat a single bite himself. He made sure that both Lily and their daughter ate their fill. Then, when the dishes were cleared, he quietly swallowed his medication for his brain disease and went back to the company the next morning.
For months, he continued like this, clinging to work despite his declining health. Eventually, his company offered him 500,000 yuan in compensation and processed his resignation. He was too sick to continue.
---
That night, after Sophia had fallen asleep, Lily sat across from him in their cramped apartment. She had been silent for a long time. Finally, she spoke the words that would split the family apart:
"Let's get a divorce."
Her voice was cold but determined.
"Let Sophia come with me," she added. "I don't want her growing up here, surrounded by filth and despair. Look around—broken streets, people urinating in the stairwells, constant water shortages, no air conditioning, no babysitter. Just drunkards and neighbors fighting every night. She doesn't deserve this."
Tears stained Lily's face, but her expression was resolute.
Across from her, Victor sat on a worn wooden stool, pale from illness, wrapped in white pajamas. For nearly a minute, he remained silent.
Then he spoke with a firmness that shocked even Lily.
"You can take the compensation money. But the child stays with me. From this moment on, you are no longer qualified to see her."
For an instant, the old fire returned to his eyes—the same fire that had once drawn Lily to him when he was strong, capable, and ambitious.
But Lily no longer saw that man. She saw only poverty and suffering. She nodded. The next day, she went with him to the Civil Affairs Bureau, signed the papers, and walked away with the money.
She left behind two things:
1. A debt that still hung over their heads.
2. A little girl who was Victor's entire world—Sophia.
Sophia was only three years old.
---
That night, when she cried out for her mother, Victor cradled her in his arms. His own tears streamed silently as he whispered into her hair:
"Your mother went to heaven. She loved you very much. She left you many letters. She was the best mother. It was me, your father, who wasn't good enough. I was lazy, I let her do all the work, and it made her so tired that she became sick and left us."
He handed her a small envelope, pretending it was from her mother. His trembling fingers stroked her back as he forced a smile.
"This is the letter she left for you when you were three. I'll sing it to you."
And then, through cracked lips, Victor sang a lullaby:
Dark sky, bright stars above,
Insects fly, insects fly…
Who are you missing?
The stars in the sky are crying,
Withered roses on the ground,
Cold wind, cold wind…
As long as you are with me.
The melody was soft, almost broken, yet filled with warmth.
And in that moment—he created for his daughter the illusion of a perfect mother.