Chapter 4

"Stop it! Peter! Stop it! You're going to kill him!" Elara scrambled up from the ground and grabbed Peter's arm, begging him to stop.

Peter heard Elara's voice and came back to his senses.

He stopped and looked at the restaurant owner with cold eyes. "Apologize to her right now," he said, his voice sharp as ice. "Then give her every single cent she's owed."

The owner was scared out of her wits. She kept apologizing, then pulled a stack of cash from the register and handed it to Elara.

Peter took Elara's hand and walked out of the restaurant. The crowd outside scattered the moment they saw him.

Elara yanked her hand away. She looked at Peter with tears in her eyes, her voice breaking. "Are you crazy?! You just beat someone up! You just got out of prison — you want to go right back in?!"

She cried and pounded her fists against his chest, letting out all the hurt and anger she'd been holding in.

Peter stood there and let her hit him. He kept saying sorry, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry, Elara... It's all my fault... I should have come sooner..."

He pulled out all the cash he had and stuffed it into her pocket. "From now on," he said firmly, "I will never let you or our daughter go through anything like this again."

His eyes landed on her face. He saw a deep scar running from the corner of her left eye all the way down to her chin — a scar that had taken away what had once been a stunning face.

Elara felt his gaze and flinched.

She shoved him away, her eyes filled with both pain and shame. "I'm ugly now, aren't I?! You regret coming back, don't you?!"

Peter felt a sharp ache in his chest.

He knew how much she had suffered all these years.

"No," he said, pulling her close. "You will always be the most beautiful person in the world to me. And that scar — I'm going to get it fixed. I promise."

Just then, her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen and her whole body tensed. A flash of panic crossed her eyes.

She answered, her voice suddenly careful and rushed. "Yes, yes, I'm on my way! I'm coming right now!"

She hung up and turned to Peter. "I have to go pick up Linda from school."

Peter's heart jumped. She had finally said it — Linda was his daughter.

The Los Angeles Premier Kindergarten was one of the best in the city. Tuition was sky-high, and only families with serious money and connections sent their kids there.

Elara brought Peter to the school gate, where they spotted a well-dressed woman — Elizabeth Jones, one of the teachers.

Elara hurried over with a smile, her voice soft and careful. "Good afternoon, Ms. Jones. I'm Linda's mother. I'm here to pay the tuition and pick her up."

She pulled out the cash she'd just gotten from the restaurant owner — about ten thousand dollars — and held it out. "Ms. Jones, I have ten thousand here. I'll pay the rest as soon as I can. Would that be alright?"

Elizabeth glanced at the crumpled bills and her expression turned cold.

She slapped the money out of Elara's hand. The bills scattered across the ground.

"If you can't afford it, don't bother sending her here," Elizabeth said, her voice dripping with contempt. "Look at yourself. Every family at this school has money and status. What makes you think someone like you belongs here?"

She pointed at Elara in front of everyone. "Take your daughter and go. Don't come back tomorrow. We don't take in poor kids here."

Elara went pale. She crouched down in a panic, trying to gather the bills the wind was blowing away.

Elizabeth watched her scrambling on the ground with a look of cruel satisfaction.

She stepped forward and pressed her foot down on the last hundred-dollar bill, then spat on it.

"Lick it clean and maybe I'll let your daughter stay," Elizabeth said with a sneer. "Poor people have no business being here. You have no self-awareness whatsoever. Honestly, people like you would be doing the world a favor by just disappearing."

Kids streaming out of the school stopped and stared. Some of them started laughing at the scene — at Elara on her knees, at Elizabeth's words.

"That scar on her face is so creepy!"

"Just like her daughter — born to scrub toilets!"

The parents waiting nearby kept their distance, stepping away from Elara like she was something to be avoided.

The words "scrub toilets" hit Elara like a punch to the gut.

She grabbed a nearby child by the arm, her voice shaking. "What did you just say? Scrub toilets?!"

The child yelped in surprise. His father rushed over, shoved Elara's arm away, and slapped her hard across the face.

The crack of it echoed outside the school gate.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Don't you touch my son!" he shouted. "Your daughter's been scrubbing toilets instead of going to class! You've got some nerve causing a scene here!"

Elara pressed her hand to her stinging cheek, her eyes burning with fury.

She spun toward Elizabeth. "Ms. Jones — is that true?! Has Linda really been scrubbing toilets at this school?!"

Elizabeth laughed coldly. "She can't pay tuition. What right does she have to sit in class? Letting her clean the bathrooms was me being generous. People like you are a waste of space."

Elara broke.

She pushed through the crowd and ran, stumbling, toward the school bathrooms.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe her own daughter had been treated this way.

Six-year-old Linda was struggling to push a mop that was taller than she was.

Her small frame was swallowed by an oversized school uniform. Every push made her thin shoulders shake. Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her little face — a face that was young and soft but set with quiet stubbornness — dripping onto the dirty tiles below.

She panted with the effort, her small hands red and raw, but she didn't stop.

"If I get it clean enough," she whispered to herself, "they'll let me stay and keep going to school."