Chapter 53 - Only when watched

Chapter 53: Chapter 53 - Only when watched

Ying Rui saw it through the feed and his whole body went rigid.

The slap connected with a sharp crack—right across the boy’s cheek.

Mao Mao’s head snapped to the side. His small body jolted, and for a second he just sat there, blinking, stunned, one hand slowly rising toward his face like he wasn’t sure the sting was real.

And then his eyes welled.

Mo Yuxin wasn’t done.

"You," she spat, and the word was aimed straight at the boy on the bed. "Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?"

Mao Mao’s lips parted. His voice came out small. "Mama—"

"Don’t Mama me!"

She stepped closer, and now she was towering over the bed, over both of them, her chest heaving, her face flushed with something raw and ugly and long-buried.

"Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? Do you know how many times I called your name? And where were you? Where were you, Mao Mao?"

Mao Mao shrank back against the pillow. His hand found Jua’s sleeve and clutched it tight.

"I—I was—"

"You were here." Mo Yuxin jabbed a finger toward the room. "In his room. Sleeping next to him. Like I don’t exist. Like I’m not your mother. Like I’m nobody."

Mao Mao’s eyes were wet now, but he didn’t cry. He just stared up at her, small and frozen, one cheek pink from the slap.

And then, quietly, he said it.

"I don’t want you as my mother."

The words landed like a stone in still water.

Mo Yuxin froze.

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

"What?"

Mao Mao’s voice was barely above a whisper. "You always yell at me. You always—"

"I yell at you because I care!" Mo Yuxin’s voice cracked. "I yell at you because you don’t listen! Because you run off, because you hide, because you—"

She stopped.

Her eyes flicked toward Jua.

And something in her face curdled.

"Because he—"

She pointed at Jua now. A sharp, accusing finger, aimed straight at his chest.

"Because he came."

Jua blinked.

Mao Mao’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

Mo Yuxin’s voice rose again, climbing, cracking, spilling over.

"Everything was fine before him! Everything! You were fine! You listened! You stayed in your room! You came when I called! And then he showed up, and suddenly you’re sleeping in his room, and suddenly you’re following him around, and suddenly—suddenly I’m the villain!"

Jua’s mouth opened. "Madam—"

"Mao Mao, I’m talking to you."

Jua closed it.

Mo Yuxin kept her eyes on Mao Mao, and they were wild now.

"You think he cares about you? You think he’s your brother? He’s not! He’s nothing! He’s just some charity case Rui dragged home! He’s not blood! He’s not family! He’s not—"

She was shouting now, properly shouting, her voice bouncing off the walls.

"You’re an ungrateful little bastard!" she screamed at Mao Mao. "You don’t deserve to live here! You don’t deserve any of this! Do you hear me? You don’t deserve—"

And then she lunged.

Not a slap this time.

She shoved him.

Both hands to the boy’s shoulders, hard, and Mao Mao—already sitting on the edge of the bed, already leaning forward, already off balance—went flying backward.

His eyes went wide.

His mouth opened in a silent oh.

And he fell.

But Jua was already moving.

The older boy’s arm shot out, fast, faster than anyone could track—catching Mao Mao around the waist, hauling him back, pulling him against his chest just as the boy’s legs went out from under him.

Mao Mao landed against Jua with a soft oof.

Jua’s other hand braced against the bed, holding them both up.

For a second, no one moved.

Mao Mao was pressed against Jua’s chest, breathing hard, eyes huge, one small hand fisted in the older boy’s shirt. Jua’s arm was still wrapped around him, firm and steady, holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mo Yuxin stared.

Her chest heaved.

And then she laughed.

A short, sharp, bitter sound.

"Look at that," she said, and her voice was ugly now, low and mocking. "Look at you. Clinging to him like a little dog. Like he’s your real brother. Like he’s the one who’s been taking care of you all these years while I—"

She cut herself off.

Her hands were shaking.

"You," she said, and it was aimed at Mao Mao, her eyes burning into him. "You think you’re so innocent. So quiet. So above everything. But you’re not. You’re just a child. A child who doesn’t understand anything."

Mao Mao said nothing.

That silence—that refusal to answer—only made her angrier.

"You’re a liability," she hissed. "A burden. A complication. Everything was fine before you started clinging to him. Everything. And then suddenly you’re sleeping in his room, and suddenly Rui is home, and suddenly—suddenly everything is wrong."

Jua’s jaw tightened.

"That’s not—"

"It is."

"It isn’t."

"Don’t hide behind him, Mao Mao!"

Mao Mao had shrunk back against Jua’s chest now, his face pressed into the older boy’s shoulder, watching his mother with wide, wet eyes.

Mo Yuxin’s voice dropped.

"You think he cares about you?" She was looking at Mao Mao, but her eyes were somewhere far away. "You think Rui brought him here because he wanted to? Because he cares?"

Mao Mao’s expression flickered.

"He brought him here because he had to. Because of some obligation. Because of guilt." She spat the word. "Because he needed someone to look after you while he was away, and Jua was convenient. That’s all he is. Convenient."

Mao Mao’s lips pressed together.

And then Mo Yuxin laughed again. Cold and humorless.

"He’s not family. He never was. He’s just... here. And honestly?" She tilted her head, and her smile was cruel. "The longer you cling to him, the more trouble you cause."

Jua’s hand was still wrapped around Mao Mao, still holding him steady against his chest.

Mo Yuxin’s eyes dropped to it.

And then her face twisted.

"Oh, stop it."

Mao Mao blinked.

"That—that thing you do. That look. That frightened little face." She gestured vaguely at him. "You’re not innocent, you know. You don’t get to sit there and look at me like I’m the unreasonable one."

"He’s not—" Jua began.

"Mao Mao, stop looking at him!"

Jua closed his mouth.

Mo Yuxin exhaled, hard.

And then her voice dropped to something quiet. Something worse.

"You know what your problem is?"

Mao Mao stayed silent.

Mo Yuxin leaned in.

"You think you have a right to do whatever you want here."

Mao Mao’s brows furrowed.

"But you don’t. You’re a child. You don’t make the rules. You don’t even know how much trouble you cause." She jabbed a finger toward him. "And deep down, you know it. You’ve always known it. That’s why you’re so quiet. That’s why you never say anything. That’s why you just sit in your room and exist."

Mao Mao’s throat moved.

Mo Yuxin straightened.

"You’re a burden in this house. And eventually, Rui will realize it. Eventually, he’ll get tired of you. And when that happens—"

She smiled.

"—you’ll be alone. And none of us will come running."

Ying Rui’s hands were white on the steering wheel.

He was driving fast now. Faster than he should. The city blurred past him, streetlights and buildings smearing into streaks of color, and he didn’t care, didn’t slow down, didn’t even glance at the road signs.

He needed to get home.

The camera feed kept running.

Mo Yuxin was pacing again, shorter steps now, sharper, working herself up into something. And then she stopped.

Turned.

And her eyes landed on Mao Mao.

The boy was still pressed against Jua’s chest, still clutching his shirt, still watching her with those wide, wet, frightened eyes.

Something in Mo Yuxin’s face snapped.

"You."

Mao Mao flinched.

"You think he’s your brother? You think he’s better than me?"

Mao Mao’s voice was barely audible. "Mama—"

"Answer me!"

"He—he’s nice to me."

"Nice?" Mo Yuxin’s laugh was shrill. "Nice? I Nice? I’ve been nice to you your whole life! I gave birth to you! I raised you! I stayed in this house for you! And you—" Her voice cracked and climbed at once, splitting into something raw and shrill. "—you throw it all away for some stranger who’s been here five minutes!"

Mao Mao’s chin trembled.

His mouth opened, closed, opened again—and then, in a voice so small it barely carried across the room, he said it.

"You’re not nice to me."

Mo Yuxin went still.

"You’re always angry," Mao Mao whispered, and now the words came faster, tumbling out of him like water through a broken dam, like something he’d been holding in for years and finally couldn’t keep anymore. "You’re always angry and you always yell and when Baba’s home you smile and when he leaves you get angry again and you tell me to go to my room and you don’t play with me and you don’t hug me and you—"

He stopped.

His chest was heaving.

His eyes were bright and wet and fixed on her, terrified and defiant all at once.

"—you only hug me when Baba is watching."