Since I can remember, my dad and mom have always been fighting. That year, I was only 9 years old. We lived in a house assigned by the academy, with damp walls, and the winter wind could seep through the gaps in the windows. In the end, Dad was adamant about getting a divorce and said in front of everyone, "The child is yours; I don’t want him/her."

At that moment, I realized for the first time that a father could so coldly abandon his own child.

I can't forget that winter night. The sound of arguing was like a saw, slowly cutting through my eardrum, until there was a "bang" as Dad hit Mom. Mom's crying was trembling, and I was so scared that I crawled into my room and hid under the desk. My hands were shaking, and I couldn't press the phone buttons correctly, but I still managed to dial 110. The police on the other end asked, "What is your dad doing?" I could hardly cry out, only choking out, "He is hitting my mom... please come and save her."

But the police came, and it didn't change anything. Dad insisted on getting a divorce. My aunt said Mom should move to Grandma's house first, but I could only stay with Dad because I had to study at the academy's affiliated primary school. During that time, he would often lose his temper at me and even threatened that if Mom didn't sign, none of us would have a good time.

My mother can only visit me occasionally. The family is so poor that we can hardly afford to buy clothes, and I can only wear the old clothes donated by others. There is a classmate at school whose family is well-off, and her mother often gives me clothes she no longer wears. There is a fuchsia cotton jacket that is thick, but the style is very old-fashioned, with long sleeves that cover my hands, making me look clumsy when I walk. The winter in the south is damp and bone-chilling, and that year I endured it while wearing that jacket.

Once, the academy organized an outdoor movie, and I wanted to go. That day after class, I stood in the hallway of my dad's office wearing that heavy cotton coat, waiting for a long time. My fingers were frozen red, and the white breath I exhaled spread in the air. I finally gathered my courage and softly asked, "Dad, can I go?"

He glanced at me and said coldly, "No, because you're dressed too poorly." His voice was soft, yet it poured over me like ice water from head to toe. Later I found out that his car had long been filled with friends. It's just that there had never been a place saved for me in that car.

I studied hard, just wanting to escape that suffocating home. Finally, I was admitted to a university in Beijing, and then went to Hong Kong. I thought that as long as I worked hard enough, I could escape those cold days. But it turns out that some wounds will follow you no matter how far you go.

Life in Hong Kong has not been easy. For five years, I gritted my teeth and survived, finally earning a million a year at 24. But that wasn't happiness; it was survival, a desire to never return to that cold, dark room. Later, I entered the crypto space, working day and night, desperately seizing every opportunity, just to ensure I would never feel helpless again.

Until recently, I met someone. I thought this was the warmth that fate compensated me with. But later I found out that he lied to me about being divorced; in reality, he still had a wife and two children. The moment I learned the truth, I felt as if I had returned to that night when I was nine years old, the night my father unhesitatingly abandoned me. The same coldness, the same helplessness.

I once reached out to help him during his most difficult times because I remembered my own past struggles. I thought that sincerity could be exchanged for sincerity, but I was just a tool being used. That feeling of being deceived and betrayed made me revert back to that child in a fuchsia cotton jacket who was rejected.
Excessive, forgotten, not needed.

It turns out that some people simply do not understand how to cherish. But I did not expose him again, nor did I let others know. I just learned to protect myself more carefully. However, I also have to admit that my experience of being abandoned as a child has made me someone who tries hard to please others. Even just a little warmth, I will give my all to grasp it, because I am afraid that once I let go, I will be abandoned again.

When I was a child, my father could unhesitatingly abandon me, and my mother could only helplessly leave me. So when I grew up, I always humbly tried my best to keep others.

It is precisely because I have been caught in the rain that I always can't help but hold an umbrella for others. However, sometimes, while I am holding it, I realize that I have already been soaked.

The wind is still the same wind, cold to the bone. I have changed countless cotton jackets, but that rose-red cotton jacket is like a brand, always sticking to my heart, carrying a chill.

I thought I had walked out of that damp room, but it turns out that no matter how far I go, I have merely changed places, continuing to be the one waiting for the bus in the corridor.

Maybe, in this life, I will have to learn to walk back by myself, wrap my coat tightly, swallow my tears, and then slowly warm myself dry in a corner where others can't see.