My phone buzzed with new messages. This time, it wasn’t him. It was my racing team.

[Lyra Quinn, where have you been?]

[Why haven’t we been able to reach you?]

[Are you alright? Please reply!]

I stared at the messages through blurred vision, my tears threatening to spill over again. Their concern, their worry—it was like a ray of sunlight in the middle of winter.But the one person I had needed it from the most had been too stingy to give me even a shred of warmth. I let out a bitter laugh.

Once, we had been happy. He would hold me close and call me baby over and over again. He would cook for me, even if it was just a simple plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. When I got hurt during training, he would cradle me in his arms, kissing my wounds as if he could take the pain away.

“Baby, don’t push yourself so hard. I can’t bear to see you hurt.” His eyes back then had been full of love. Or so I thought.

Now, I realized that love had never been for me. He had been looking through me. Seeing her. Loving her. And I had been too young, too naive to understand. Later, things changed. He got busier. He started his own business. He left early in the morning and came home late at night. Our conversations grew shorter, our time together dwindled. He stopped calling me baby. He started calling me by my full name—Lyra Quinn. So, I adapted. I worked harder. I trained more. I competed, won races, earned money.

I wanted to make his life easier. I wanted to support him so he wouldn’t have to bear everything alone.

But the harder I worked, the more impatient he became. He didn’t like me racing. Said it was too dangerous. Said he didn’t want me to get hurt. Said he would take care of me, that I didn’t need to push myself so hard. But he forgot something important. Racing wasn’t just a job to me. It was my dream. The dream I had cherished since I was a child. I loved him, but I also loved racing.

The final argument between us came without warning. He came home late, exhausted. He tossed a bank card onto the table in front of me.

“Lyra, I’m broke. We have no money. Stop racing. I can’t afford to support you anymore.”

I froze. Stared at him. And for the first time, something inside me went cold. He had forgotten that I made money from racing. That I had never once asked him for anything. He had never been the one supporting me. I had been the one supporting him.

Even more painful than his lies was the truth he refused to see— I never wanted his money. I only ever wanted his support. I hadn’t told him that I secretly entered that private racing competition. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove that I was strong enough, that I could take care of myself and him.

That prize money—it wasn’t for me. It was for him, to help him rebuild his business, to give him another chance. And then I crashed off a cliff. The team didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t even care if I lived or died. All he cared about was getting rid of the burden I had become—the dead weight that stood in the way of his happiness.

The funniest thing? He cried about being broke.And yet, that diamond ring, those flowers, the extravagant snowy mountain proposal—every single thing he gave her cost money. His so-called bankruptcy was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse to discard me.

I could no longer hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. They spilled down my face as I dragged my broken body to the one place I had once called home—Dad’s house. I needed comfort. A sliver of warmth. Anything. But the door wasn’t opened by Dad. It was his ex-wife—my sister’s mother.

The moment she saw me, disgust filled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Dad appeared behind her, his brows furrowing as he looked me up and down.

"Lyra, why do you look like this? What happened?"

I opened my mouth, but I had no words.

"Why did you come back so suddenly? Haven’t you always preferred roaming free? What are you doing here now?"

Dad’s voice was cold. Distant.

"It’s not because you found out your sister is back and want to fight over the family inheritance, is it?"

His ex-wife’s voice was laced with mockery. My heart turned to ice.So that’s how they saw me. Not as family. Not as Dad’s daughter. Just an outsider. A threat. They forgot that I was also his flesh and blood. They forgot that after my mother died, I had been left alone, aching for even a shred of love.

I took a deep breath, forcing my emotions down, pushing away the lump in my throat.

"I just came to check on you. That’s all."

I turned around and walked away. I didn’t want to stay a second longer. I was afraid I would break. Afraid that I would cry and beg them—beg them to love me, even just a little. Just as I reached the door, I froze. Luke and my sister. They were standing there, hand in hand. He was dressed in a tailored suit. She wore a flowing white dress. They looked perfect together. Happy. Like they belonged.

My mind went blank. My feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. Luke’s gaze flickered away from mine, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"Lyra…" His voice was dry, hesitant.

Before he could say anything more, my sister let go of his hand and rushed toward me.

She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight.

"Lyra, it’s been so long. Are you alright?"

Her voice was gentle. Full of concern. My body trembled. The tears I had been holding back slipped silently down my cheeks.

"Luke! Nancy Quinn! You’re back!". Dad’s voice rang out, filled with warmth and excitement—the kind of warmth he had never given me.

"Come in, come in! I made all your favorite dishes!". His ex-wife—my sister’s mother—clutched Luke’s arm with one hand, while the other held onto my sister.

The four of them. Smiling. Laughing. Like a real family. And me? I stood at the threshold. An abandoned orphan. It was then that I realized the cruelest truth of all. Dad had known all along. He had known about Luke and my sister. And he had never once thought to tell me.

Everyone knew. Everyone except me. I was the only fool left in the dark, the only one who didn't see the joke—the cruel, twisted joke that was my life. I turned to leave, swallowing down the humiliation clawing at my throat.

"Lyra, you came all this way. Stay for dinner, at least."

My sister's voice was as gentle as ever, as if she hadn't just shattered my world.

"Yes, Lyra," Dad chimed in, though his tone felt more like an empty gesture than genuine care. "You’re already here. You might as well eat before you go."

Eat? I wasn’t sure I could even breathe properly, let alone swallow food. But I stayed. Because I wasn’t done. Not yet. I needed to hear it from Luke’s own lips. The dining table was set with an array of dishes, a feast laid out like a celebration. Braised pork. Steamed fish. Sweet and sour spare ribs. Every dish—my sister’s favorite. Not a single thing I liked.

Luke sat beside her, his every movement filled with tenderness as he piled food onto her plate.

"Smiley, eat more. You’re too thin," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection.

She smiled sweetly, picking up a piece of braised pork and placing it in his bowl.

"You eat too, Luke. You’ve been working so hard."

They acted as if I weren’t even there. As if I were nothing more than a shadow in the background. Then my sister pulled out her phone, scrolling through her photo album before turning the screen toward me.

"Lyra, look! This was taken at the snowy mountains. Isn’t it beautiful?"

In the photo, Luke had his arm around her, his smile beaming as they stood against a backdrop of snow-capped peaks. So breathtaking. So blinding. I felt something twist violently inside me. My stomach lurched. I bolted from the table, barely making it to the bathroom before collapsing to my knees. I retched, but there was nothing left inside me to throw up—only empty, gut-wrenching heaves that wracked my body.

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bitter bile in my throat. A shadow loomed at the doorway. Luke. His expression was unreadable as he stared at me, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

"What’s wrong?" His voice was softer than before. Almost... cautious. "Are you pregnant?"

Pregnant? The word sent a shudder through me. I hadn’t had my period in a long time.

My heart sank, cold dread creeping into my veins. Could I really be…? I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to feel