Never Love: What They Gave Me

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives.

However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.”

The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night.

The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor.

The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention.

Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.”

However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.”

So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

I woke to the sound of quiet, steady sobbing in my ear.

A small, helpless girl sat beside me, tugging at my sleeve, swatting away the flies that would not leave me alone.

Her eyes were red and swollen, wide with fear, as she clung to me like I was the only thing keeping her safe.

“Please wake up. I am scared.”

That was when it finally hit me—I was dead.

Three days ago, I stumbled straight into a kidnapping. The man had Chloe in his grip. After a desperate fight, I managed to wrench her free and hide her in my apartment.

However, I did not expect him to follow us all the way there. I hid her for her safety and faced him alone.

I let out a sigh, wanting to float over to Chloe and pat her shoulder to comfort her, but my hand passed right through her body.

Just then, the muffled roar of voices spilled in from outside.

“This is the home of the brave hero who risked her life to help the police crack that nationwide anti-fraud case.”

“Wow, so this is Ruby’s house?”

“I heard her dad’s a top criminal investigator, and her mom’s the head of the ER. No wonder they raised a kid like that.”

“Come on, open up. Let us see the hero!”

The livestream’s viewer count was skyrocketing. Reporters chuckled as they pressed the doorbell repeatedly.

There was no answer. Then Mrs. Lawson from next door shuffled over. Her face lit up when she heard the news.

“Ruby is a good kid. Her parents are probably still busy. I have their phone number right here.”

The moment she read out that string of digits—numbers so familiar they were etched into my memory, my heart gave a faint, helpless tremor.

The truth was, when I agreed to be the key informant for the operation, I never expected to make it back alive.

My parents had always said I was worth more dead than alive.

That was why I thought that perhaps they would feel a flicker of pride if I died during that mission.

After all, I had always been a lost cause in their eyes.

A hopeless stain they could never wash clean.

Finally, the reporters got through. After a long stretch of busy tones, I heard their voices for the first time in years.

However, when the journalists told them what had happened, all that came through the line was a short, mocking laugh.