The Caged Bird

The night Jeff Smith returned from his business trip, I found a flight attendant's business card stained with lipstick and a wedding invitation in his suit pocket.

I tossed them onto the table, but the red mark was glaring.

The name on the invitation was all too familiar to me.

Samuel Smith—Jeff's so-called "uncle", the illegitimate son of the Smith family, who was never welcomed.

He was also my first love.

Once, he had humbly pleaded with me, "Jane, help me just this once, marry Jeff."

1

I felt trapped, like a bird in a cage.

The person I loved most had handed me over to his nephew, all for a long-planned revenge.

The year I met Samuel, I had just sent my biological father to prison.

He was an alcoholic, and when drunk, he would stagger home. Every time, I would hide my sister in the wardrobe, signaling her to stay silent and hidden.

Then, like thunder, his fists would rain down on me. I would curl up on the floor like a shrimp, protecting my head.

"You wretch, why didn't you run off with your worthless mother? You're nothing but a burden. Tomorrow, go earn me some drinking money."

Memories of those years flashed through my mind, and the thought of a bleak future made me give up resisting and struggling.

Suddenly, my sister's cries caught my father's attention. He squinted and slowed his steps, searching for the source of the cries, getting closer to the wardrobe.

Panic set in, and despite the pain, I crawled up. Just as he was about to open the wardrobe door, I picked up his bottle from the floor and smashed it hard against the back of his head.

Blood trickled down from his head.

He turned around, looking at me in shock, then collapsed in front of me with a thud.

I was terrified, only realizing the warmth in my palm when my sister emerged from the wardrobe, holding my hand. "Jane, is Dad dead?"

"If Dad is dead, he won't hit us anymore."

I hugged my sister, repeating, "No one will hurt us anymore. I'll always protect you."

I hastily fabricated everything to make it look like the scene of an act of self-defense, and I even didn't hesitate to stab my own thigh just to send that devil of a father to prison.

The police arrived quickly, and I lay weakly in the direction of the door.

As I was taken to the ambulance, I vaguely heard the crowd condemning my father. Yes, he was never a good person.

In the end, he was sentenced to six years in prison, and my sister and I finally escaped his clutches.

2

To take good care of Ariella Walsh, I sent her to live with my aunt, while I went out to earn money.

Samuel was six years older than me, and I encountered him at a competition.

The challenge was to eat Indian ghost peppers, one of the spiciest peppers in the world, with a prize of fifty thousand for the winner.

I forced myself to eat until the end, nearly passing out from the heat.

Midway through, someone put a bottle of mineral water in front of me, but I didn't know who it was.

Without thinking, I unscrewed the cap and took a big gulp, then continued devouring the peppers.

Unsurprisingly, I won.

"Jane, you're really lucky. If Samuel hadn't given you his water, you probably wouldn't have made it."

Samuel—a name that sounded so lonely.

I caught up with him, patting his shoulder, and handed him half of the prize money as he turned around.

"Thank you for helping me."

He smiled faintly in the sunlight.

"No need, that bottle of water isn't worth twenty-five thousand."

With that, he left me with just his back.

Those who participated in such extreme spicy food competitions were all in need of money. I knew he was as poor as I was.

After our brief encounter, I returned home.

I sent part of the fifty thousand prize money to my aunt for my sister's living expenses.

"Aunt, I've transferred this month's money to you. Use it for Ariella's tutoring fees."

The phone call shifted from my aunt's indifferent tone to my sister's tender voice.

"Jane, I miss you. When will you come to Aunt's house to see me? I'll take you to the back mountain to eat cherries."

"Soon."

Once I had earned enough money, maybe we wouldn't have to be apart anymore.

……

I returned to my job at a high-end restaurant.

The restaurant paid 20 dollars an hour, and this part-time income was crucial for me.

The only problem was the manager, who was a lecherous boss.

"Jane, you haven't been yourself lately. Come to my office later."

I went to his office as instructed.

Pushing the door open, I found the manager sitting with his legs crossed, smoking and leering at me.

He pressed the cigarette butt out in the ashtray, tugged at his tie with his hand and advanced towards me step by step.

"Jane, there are two types of people who get promoted and get raises quickly in this restaurant. One is a genius who can double the revenue with their ability, and the other is someone willing to do whatever it takes. You know what I mean, right?"

"Manager, I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."

I was short on money, but no matter how desperate, I wouldn't sell my body for it!

Holding back tears, I shook my head, which only provoked the manager further.

He slapped me hard and began tearing at my clothes.

"Ring, ring, ring."

The fire alarm went off.

The next second, the door was kicked open, and in the chaos, a hand grabbed mine and pulled me out.

It was him—Samuel.

"What are you doing here?"

I nervously adjusted my clothes, afraid he would find out about the disgraceful incident.

"I came to deliver an invoice to your manager and saw he was busy."

"So, what did you hear?"

I stared at him, and he calmly replied, "I didn't hear anything, just accidentally hit the alarm."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's go, I'll take you to get something to eat."

I followed closely behind him, stepping on his shadow, feeling a long-lost sense of comfort.

3

"If you're short on money, why don't I introduce you to a job?"

I put down my fork, wiped my mouth, and calmly met his gaze.

"Okay, but the restaurant pays 20 dollars an hour. Can it not be lower than that? I really need the money."

"No problem."

He saw through my embarrassment.

And so, I became a tutor for a girl named Jolie Davies.

To my surprise, Samuel also taught there, making me his "colleague".

Jolie played the piano beautifully, which I discovered one afternoon.

Samuel was her teacher and would occasionally practice on the first floor.

His fingers danced on the black and white keys, distinct and mesmerizing.

After a piece ended, I couldn't help but applaud, already captivated.

"You're amazing! You can even play the piano."

"I was taken in by foster parents when I was young. My mom was a piano teacher, and I learned a bit from her."

"Where are they now?"

"They're both gone."

I noticed a hint of sadness in his expression, so I dared not ask further.