Chapter 2 — Mother and Twin Daughters

Following that day, little Star truly came to the market stall with me. Wearing an old jacket and clutching a small wiping cloth, she wrinkled her nose as she cleaned the tables. When customers praised her for being pretty, she would immediately puff out her chest and declare with pride that she was working to pay her mother back. Then, she would quickly add in a softer whisper that it was because she had lied. A kind elderly neighbor smiled and told her that anyone who recognized their mistakes was still a good child. Star was startled, and for the rest of that day, she wiped the tables with exceptional diligence. I foolishly believed that life was finally turning a corner. Yet, late that afternoon just as we were packing up, my former mother-in-law arrived with two relatives, marching aggressively right up to the stall. Dropping heavily to the ground, she began slapping her thighs and wailing aloud for everyone to witness how her cruel, divorced daughter-in-law abused her children, forcing a mere seven-year-old to slave away in public solely to extort money from her own flesh and blood.

A crowd of onlookers quickly gathered around us. Star shrank back in fright, hiding behind my back, while Peace clutched tightly to the hem of my shirt. Catch sight of Star, the grandmother immediately thrust out her pleading hands, calling for the girl to return to a home where her father had already bought her a new dress, while claiming the mute younger sister could simply be left behind since nobody wanted her anyway. Star’s hand twitched slightly. I looked down and saw both lingering fear and genuine hesitation shimmering in her young eyes. The mysterious floating commentaries in my vision flared up with anxious remarks. She was always the easiest one to manipulate with empty promises, they claimed, arguing that she was never truly attached to her mother, only to material possessions. I did not intervene; instead, I simply posed one direct question: whether she wanted to leave with her grandmother right now, or stay until she had earned enough to settle her debt at the stall.

Star glanced at the pink plastic bag in her grandmother’s grasp, then shifted her gaze toward Peace, who stood silently nearby with a pale complexion. Biting her lower lip, the little girl suddenly tightened her grip on her little wiping cloth and whispered that she still had not finished paying. Her grandmother’s expression froze instantly, and even the cascading text before my eyes fell silent for several seconds.

Soon enough, the counterattack from my ex-husband began in earnest. Initially, he simply refused to pay any child support. Whenever I called to demand what was rightfully ours, he would coldly repeat that since I thought I was so capable, I could raise them entirely by myself, before abruptly blocking my phone number. When I took the matter to court to enforce the support payments, his demeanor shifted overnight, and he counter-sued for full custody of the children. The justifications listed in his petition were impeccably phrased, claiming my income was unstable, my living environment substandard, and that I exploited the children for labor at my stall, thus depriving them of a wholesome upbringing. Most ridiculously, he claimed to be a heartbroken father yearning for his daughters and ready to shoulder his parental duties. Reading those papers made my hands tremble with white-hot rage. He did not care about the children; he merely wanted to defeat me. One week before the court hearing, he began frequently lurking outside the school gates. He showered Star with Barbie dolls, brand-new school backpacks, and glittering leather shoes. He offered Peace a gift only once—three battered, second-hand essay compilation books he had picked up at a roadside stall for ten yuan. Peace accepted them with a quiet expression of gratitude, but he never even heard her, too busy coaxing Star with promises of a grand mansion and warnings that if I ever remarried, nobody would know what fate awaited her.

Clutching her doll, Star’s small face grew tense as she asked what would happen to her younger sister. Showing clear impatience, her father replied that the younger one could go wherever she pleased, or stay if she wished, since her difficult temperament meant nobody else would care for her anyway. Standing hidden behind the old sycamore tree outside the school gates, I heard every single word, and so did Peace. Lowering her head without uttering a sound, the younger girl simply hugged those worn essay books a fraction tighter to her chest. That evening, Star was unnaturally obedient upon returning home. She meticulously washed her own socks and quietly tucked her new doll deep beneath the blankets. I chose not to expose her. Children do not simply turn wayward overnight; far too often, adults pave the path beneath their feet and then entice them forward with sweets.

On the morning of the trial, I wore my only decent black coat. Both Star and Peace were required to attend to provide their personal preferences. My ex-husband sat across the aisle, accompanied by a heavily pregnant woman bearing his child, while my former mother-in-law glared at me with pure animosity the moment she laid eyes on me. The mediator first addressed the father, asking for the reason behind his prolonged refusal to pay child support. With a heavy sigh, he claimed it was never about withholding funds, but rather my refusal to let him see his children, a circumstance that tore his paternal heart apart. I nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity. Then came the moment for the children to voice their wishes. Peace spoke up in a soft, steady voice, declaring she would stay with her mother. The mediator nodded approvingly before turning toward Star. As the young girl stood there with tear-swollen eyes, a heavy sense of foreboding gripped my chest. True to my fears, she glanced briefly in my direction before instantly dropping her gaze and whispering that she wished to follow her father.

My heart plummeted into an abyss. The corners of my ex-husband’s mouth curled upward in triumph, while his mother immediately reached for a handkerchief to dab at dry eyes, loudly proclaiming to everyone in the room that the child’s heart knew the truth, and naturally she wanted to escape the suffering her mother constantly inflicted upon her. When the mediator gently asked Star for her reasons, the little girl broke down, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably as she wept.