My eyes sparkled with excitement. Hugging Lucky, I kissed him again and again.

“Lucky, I got into the Ivy League! Dad promised me—if I got in, he’d have a meal with me.”

Trembling, I texted Dad.

Within half a minute, he replied.

It was the name of a restaurant.

Overjoyed, I quickly cleaned the blood from my face and rushed out.

But the one waiting for me wasn’t Dad.

It was Sophia, with a gang of thugs behind her.

“I told you—use my dad’s name and Emily comes running, like a stupid dog every time.”

I should have known. Such a quick reply couldn’t have been from Dad.

But what if—just maybe—it really was him?

I couldn’t miss even the tiniest chance.

I shut my eyes, pointing at the nearby surveillance camera. “Aren’t you afraid of the law?”

Sophia laughed like she’d heard a joke. “You really think I’d be here without Dad knowing? Emily, you’re just like your name—extra, useless trash. Your mom seduced a man and died in a Car Accident. Dad can’t even look at you without disgust. No one will ever love you.”

Tears burned my eyes. I yanked her hair, screaming, “My mom wasn’t like that! Don’t you dare insult her!”

“What are you waiting for? Pull her off me!”

The thugs swarmed me, fists and kicks raining down. My face and nose bled, but I refused to let go.

My mother had saved a man from a mismatched marriage and wasted her life for him, yet never regretted it.

The liar wasn’t my mom.

It wasn’t me.

It was Sophia and her mother.

They killed my mom and smeared her name!

Someone swung a baseball bat, striking my head.

A roar filled my skull, my knees buckled, and I collapsed.

Sophia grabbed my hair, slapping me twice across the face.

Her ugly, twisted face—Dad had probably never seen it like this.

But I had, countless times.

She raised her foot to kick me again, when suddenly, a terrified scream rang out.

Then chaos erupted.

“Where did this crazy dog come from? Kill it!”

A familiar warmth pressed against my face. Through blood-soaked eyes, I saw Lucky, standing in front of me with fierce determination.

Baring his teeth, he lunged at Sophia.

Sophia froze. She remembered—Lucky was the puppy Dad had once given her, the one she’d scorned and thrown away to me.

I didn’t know how such a timid dog had crossed half the city to find me. I wanted to shout for him to run.

But brakes screeched at the alley’s entrance, followed by heavy footsteps.

When Sophia saw Richard, she burst into tears, “Dad, help me! She’s letting her dog kill me!”

Two trained bodyguards rushed forward with clubs.

I struggled to rise but was pinned to the ground, forced to watch as Lucky was beaten down again and again.

His blood stained the ground, yet he still tried to crawl toward me, eyes wet and pleading.

Sophia hid in Richard’s arms, crying out in fear. “Dad, he’s still trying to bite me. I’m scared.”

Richard patted her back soothingly, then personally snatched a club from a bodyguard’s hand.

“Dad, no! Please don’t—”

In the eight years he had abandoned me, I hadn’t cried when I was starving and digging through trash, or freezing on a park bench, or bullied by Sophia’s lies.

But now, I couldn’t stop.

I sobbed until my voice broke.

I begged him—madly begged him—even if he never loved me for the rest of his life, it would be enough.

But he only gave me one glance. Those eyes, always cold when they looked at me, spelled out each word with cruel precision:

“Anyone who hurts my daughter deserves to die.”

The moment Lucky collapsed, my cries stopped too.

I didn’t know when they left. Somehow, I dragged myself up from the ground and staggered forward to cradle Lucky in my arms.

He lay limp against me. I whispered his name, and he barely opened his eyes. A single tear fell into my palm as he nuzzled me gently, then never moved again.

…

Numb, I carried Lucky for what felt like forever.

Until I collapsed, unable to tell whether the blood covering me was his or mine.

When I woke again, it was to Ms. Wilson’s frantic voice.

“Emily, thank God you’re awake! You’re so sick, why didn’t you stay in the hospital for treatment?”

I lowered my eyes, expression empty. “I had no money.”

Ms. Wilson was stunned, her face flickering with complex emotions. She had never met Richard, and always thought I was an orphan.

“I’ll help pack some clothes for you,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Please… could you also bring the family photo from my place?”

Not long after she left, my consciousness began to drift.

In my dream, Dad wrapped his arms around Mom’s shoulders, kissed my cheek, and laughed, saying he would make me the happiest little princess in the world.

But Lucky was dead.

My Lucky was dead.

Dad, you lied to me.

I don’t know how long I slept.

Every time I woke, I could hear Ms. Wilson’s worried voice, sometimes breaking into sobs.

“What? Richard Carter is Emily’s father?”

“Emily is this sick, and he hasn’t shown up once—what kind of father is that?”

“Why can’t we reach him? Emily… she doesn’t have long left…”

“Emily, Emily…”

Ms. Wilson was wonderful, as kind as Mom had been.

She sat with me through chemo, read me bedtime stories.

Too often, I fell asleep halfway, too exhausted to listen till the end.

On my birthday, fireworks thundered outside the window.

Ms. Wilson tried to block my view, but I smiled and teased her, saying I wanted a bite of cake.

Wiping her eyes, she promised to go buy one, telling me to wait for her and not fall asleep.

I pushed off the covers, step by painful step toward the window. The night wind was cold, stirring my hospital gown. Curling up on the sill, I gazed at the sky as dazzling fireworks bloomed into shining words.

“Happy birthday to my precious daughter, Sophia Carter.”

My eyes blurred with tears.

Sophia—that had once been my name.

After Mom died, I became Emily.

Emily, the extra one.

I let out a frosty breath, fumbling in my pocket for my phone. Chemotherapy had ruined my vision; it took a long time to find Dad’s number.

Word by word, I typed carefully:

“Dad, I’m sick. I’m dying soon. Could you come see me one last time?”

The phone buzzed.

Only a voice message.

“Let me know after you’re dead.”

I tilted my head back, but tears still slipped into my mouth, bitter as poison.

How tragic—on my last birthday in this world, regret was all I had.

With a sigh, I pulled eight photos from under my pillow.

Each one I had drawn myself.

Each one showed the same scene:

A tall father, a gentle mother, and me.

This year’s drawing was only Mom, me, and Lucky.

I clutched it tightly to my chest.