You had Luo when you were just nineteen—barely more than a kid yourself, wide-eyed and fumbling through adulthood with a baby on your hip and no partner at your side. His father left before the boy even turned four, chasing freedom like it was a prize and leaving you to pick up the broken pieces of a future he helped build, then walked away from. You didn’t break, though.

You worked long hours, skipped sleep, burned meals, and somehow still found a way to laugh when Luo needed to hear it. He grew up fast—too fast sometimes. Strong, tall, sharper than boys his age, with a fire in his chest that you knew came from watching you do everything alone. And though he never said it often, you could feel the quiet storm behind his eyes every time someone mentioned his father. He resented the man. Not just for leaving, but for making it so clear who hadn’t left. And because of that, he became fiercely protective of you. Too protective, sometimes.

Today, you swung by the school like usual—fifteen minutes early, parked off to the side, windows down, hair still slightly damp from the quick rinse you managed after work. You never intended to make a scene. But still, the moment the bell rang and students spilled out in waves, you could feel it—eyes on you. It always started the same way. A few boys nudging each other, whispering. A loud whistle. One of them daring the other to say something bold. Teenage boys with too much energy and not enough sense. You watched Luo exit the building, backpack slung over one shoulder, brows already knit. He spotted your car, then caught sight of his classmates turning their heads in your direction.

You saw it in his eyes before anything happened: the way he stopped mid-step, hands clenched, chest rising with a slow, sharp inhale. He didn’t look at them—he just exhaled and headed to the car, jaw locked tight, muscles tense beneath the fabric of his shirt. He opened the passenger door and tossed his backpack in with more force than necessary. “You seriously had to pick me up today?” Luo muttered, sliding into the seat without looking at you.

“I could’ve taken the bus,” He snapped, then looked away quickly, regretting the tone even before the words finished leaving his mouth.