The eighth year since I was diagnosed with autism, Mom was packed into a red suitcase.
She didn’t come out for a long, long time.
I didn’t cry or make a fuss, because Mom had given me a mission.
She’d carved words onto my back, telling me to find an old man named Mr. Harrison, saying he was my maternal grandpa.
I asked blankly:
“What if I can’t find him?”
At just that one sentence, Mom’s eyes reddened. She fell silent for a moment, mumbling unconsciously.
“You’re right, what if I can’t find him…?”
After she spoke, even her shoulders began to tremble.
Doctor Auntie said that Mom was sad, so I hugged her tightly.
It worked.
The next second, she smiled through her tears, cupping my face with both hands and saying:
“If you can’t find Grandpa Harrison, then find Brandon. They’re both good people and they’ll like you.”
But later, when I found them both,
I realized Mom hadn’t just lied to them, she’d lied to me too.
Two hours after Mom left,
I finally went outside.
Mom had specifically told me to wait.
But I didn’t listen to her and go straight to the police station. Instead, I went to the nearby dumpster.
Several times, I’d seen bad people drag her there.
My footsteps were very light.
But no one was at the dumpster, only a pungent smell, and a single, bright red suitcase.
I circled the suitcase a few times.
Mom said not to touch unfamiliar things casually.
I started to leave, but stopped when I lifted my foot.
An hour later, I stood at the police station entrance, dragging the suitcase.
The bright red color on me was too dazzling.
The police officer stroked my head.
“Little one, where are your parents? Your mom and dad?”
My face was devoid of expression. My blood-stained finger pointed at the suitcase, my voice stiff.
“Mom’s in there!”
At a glance, the officer scoffed. He ruffled my hair, a disapproving look on his face.
“Kids shouldn’t lie. This suitcase is barely 20 inches. How could a person fit in it?”
I didn’t argue. I went along with what he said.
“Sir, my dad’s name is Brandon.”
To complete Mom’s mission, a small lie was fine.
The officer’s eyes changed when he looked at me. He immediately turned and made a phone call.
A moment later, I saw Brandon, the man Mom had mentioned.
Tall, thin, and imposing.
And somehow vaguely familiar.
Because on countless nights, Mom would hold his photo and secretly cry.
And I pretended not to see.
When he saw me, his eyes flickered, then instantly filled with a hint of disgust, much like the expressions of the neighbors who called me crazy.
“Mr. Peterson, he says he’s Clara Harrison’s son. Apparently, he’s not quite right in the head…”
The man pointed to his own head and shook it.
Brandon frowned, stepped back a few paces, and then squatted down to my eye level.
“Where’s your mom?”
I pointed to the suitcase.
“She’s in there!”
His already indifferent face instantly darkened, his brows furrowing even deeper.
“Your mom is a thief who stole and sold artifacts. You’re truly her son, also full of lies!”
I gripped my fingers, wanting desperately to argue with him.
But Mom’s mission wasn’t finished yet. I had to endure.
I lowered my head and apologized softly, mimicking how children in TV shows act when they’ve done something wrong.
“Sorry, sir. But Mom has something to give you.”
Seeing me apologize, his stern face softened slightly.
“What?”
I glanced at the people around us and shook my head.
“Mom said only you can see it!”
Hearing this, someone scoffed mockingly:
“Mr. Peterson, don’t listen to him! His mother not only ran away from your wedding but also stole a batch of your family’s ancient artifacts. What kind of decent offspring could such a bitch produce!”
“A so-called artifact restorer, always tinkering in the black market, associating with those illicit dealers. She’s rotten to the core!”
“She’s too ashamed to face you herself, so she sends her son to harass you! Truly a slutty, trashy schemer!”
Their spit splattered all over my head and face.
I stared at the ground, almost digging my fingernails into my palms until they bled.
Thinking of Mom, no matter how awful it felt, I had to endure.
Brandon didn’t join in the insults. After a moment of thought, he pointed towards the door.
“I can take you, but not that suitcase.”
I looked up abruptly.
“Staring at me won’t help. Your mom is rotten and worthless, and her things are the same! I find them disgusting!”
Brandon’s face was devoid of expression.
I wanted to say.
Mom isn’t dirty.
She’s right there in that suitcase, but none of them believed me.
I didn’t hesitate.
I knelt down abruptly, bowing my head to him.
*Thump-thump*, the sounds echoed like thunder in the police station lobby.
Brandon froze for a second, then his expression turned utterly mortified.
He pointed at me, squeezing a few words through gritted teeth.
“So young, and already resorting to blackmail?”
I stayed silent, just repeatedly hitting my head against the floor.
Blood flowed down my forehead and into my eyes, blurring Brandon’s face.
But I would never leave Mom behind.
People pointed fingers at us, about to crowd closer.
“Enough!”
“You can take him, but no one will help you!”
Brandon gave me a deep look, then strode towards the door.
I scrambled up, not bothering to wipe the blood from my forehead, and stumbled after him, dragging the suitcase.
Seeing Brandon get into the car, I couldn’t help but speed up.
*Bang!*
My foot caught, and I, along with the suitcase, tumbled down the steps.
For a long while, I lay on the ground, unable to get up.
But seeing the suitcase rolled far away, I bit my tongue, and slowly crawled towards it.
My knees scraped against the pebbles, making a sharp, grating sound.
Blood dripped all the way.
But I didn’t feel any pain. I just clutched the suitcase tightly, softly murmuring:
“Don’t cry, Mom. Baby doesn’t hurt…”
In a daze, Brandon’s impatient voice suddenly boomed above my head.
“Are you coming or not?”
I wiped my eyes, my throat tight, and replied, “Coming!”
Brandon stared at my face for a few seconds, hesitating, then finally picked up the suitcase.
Looking at his tall back,
I felt a tiny bit happy.
I jogged after him, mumbling,
“Easy, sir, Mom will hurt…”
Brandon ignored me.
He just forcefully flung open the trunk, tossed the suitcase inside, and said stiffly:
“Since you care so much about the suitcase, you can sit back here and keep it company.”
With that, he loosened his tie and got into the car.
The car door slammed shut with a *clang*.
That little bit of happiness.
It quietly slipped away again.
I pressed my lips together, laboriously climbing into the trunk.
As soon as I sat down, I hissed aloud.
The heat was almost scalding my skin.
“Now what?”
The car window rolled down, revealing Brandon’s irritated face.
I quickly shook my head.
Curling up, I pulled the trunk door shut, letting the suitcase lean against me.
I’m a tough boy.
Not afraid of heat, not afraid of pain. I need to protect Mom.
The car moved in stops and starts.
The temperature in the trunk rose again with the engine.
When the heat became unbearable, I would pinch my palms hard.
Then I’d press my face against the suitcase and whisper,
“Mom, just a little longer. It’ll be over soon.”
I don’t know how long passed.
Brandon took me out of the car and into a house. A strange woman came out.
She pointed at me, her tone overly warm.
“So this is Clara Harrison’s… son?”
Although she hid it well,
The disgust in her eyes was still caught by me.
The doctor said that people like me with Asperger’s, though lacking emotions, can always accurately see through others’ masks.
“Say Auntie!”
“She’s your mom’s best friend, Stella.”
Brandon didn’t respond, he just looked at me and spoke.
But Mom never mentioned having a best friend.
And she didn’t seem like a good person.
I wanted to change the subject, so I looked up.
“Sir, I have something for you, but only you can see it.”
Brandon didn’t move.
Stella seized the opportunity to speak.
“Brandon, this child is just like his mother, so secretive… always treating others like thieves when she herself was one!”
I don’t know what Brandon thought of, but his face instantly turned cold as ice.
He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a single sentence.
“I’m not interested in anything belonging to your mom. Take it or leave it!”
Before I could react, he went straight to the study.
Only Stella and I were left in the living room.
Now, she didn’t bother pretending. She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, a cold sneer escaping her nose.
“I heard you’re very smart, but your mind isn’t quite right. Who do you think Brandon will believe, me, his wife, or you?”
With that, she grabbed a red wine bottle from the shelf, smashed it with a *bang*, and lunged at me with the jagged pieces.
*Thud!*
Hot blood gushed out, but it wasn’t mine.
When Brandon rushed in,
He saw Stella with glass shards embedded in her chest, bleeding profusely.
She had collapsed to the ground.
At that moment, I understood her intention.
The next second, a slap, carried by the wind, landed on my face.
Along with it, Brandon’s furious scolding.
“The police were right, you really are sick! Attacking someone the moment you walk in!”
Even then, Stella didn’t forget to act.
She clutched his sleeve, falsely pleading.
“Don’t blame him, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have offered to bathe him…”
Hearing that, Brandon’s eyes blazed with fury.
While bandaging her, he pointed to the door.
“Get out! You lunatic deserve to rot to death with your mother!”
I clenched my fists, looking up to meet his gaze.
“Sir, why don’t you ask how she really got hurt?”
He looked as if he’d heard something hilarious, twisting his head sharply.
“Do you really think she’d stab herself just to frame you?”
I stared at Stella’s gradually paling face.
I completely understood.
This Brandon was like all the others; he didn’t believe me.
Then, I’d just have to find my grandpa.
Mom was right.
Most people in this world, no matter the truth, only believe what they see with their own eyes.
That’s why they called Mom a thief, a liar, even cursed her as a slut.
But Mom wasn’t.
Yet I lowered my eyes again, conceding and apologizing one more time.
“I’m sorry, sir. Please hit me again if you want, just don’t be angry with me.”
I offered my bruised, blood-stained face to him.
He froze for a moment, then shoved me hard, turning his head away.
But his voice softened slightly.
“You really are your mother’s son, you’ve completely learned her trick of sticking a knife in someone’s back then offering a sweet treat…”
I didn’t understand what he meant.
I just knew that showing weakness appropriately could achieve my goals faster.
Ignoring the pain throughout my body, I struggled to get up, tugged at his sleeve, and asked very carefully:
“Does my Grandpa Harrison live here?”
Almost simultaneously, the door opened.
A white-haired old man stood at the entrance, his features somewhat resembling Mom’s.
A surge of joy welled up in my heart.
I couldn’t help but step forward, but then I heard him speak coldly.
“I am not your grandpa! Don’t try to claim kinship!”
“Did that bitch die, and she sent you back to deliver the news?”
Doctor Auntie told me.
The hardest bond to sever in this world is the blood tie between parents and children.
It was true for Mom and me, and for Mom and Grandpa too.
But Grandpa didn’t want to acknowledge me.
Suddenly, I felt a little wronged.
Not for myself, but for Mom.
Remembering Mom’s instructions, I straightened my back and called out again.
“Grandpa, my name is Leo…”
“Shut up!”
Along with the words, his cane came crashing down.
*Thump!*
It felt like my forehead had been split open. I finally couldn’t bear it, and knelt down in pain.
Brandon reached out his hand, but quickly pulled it back.
Stella huddled in his arms, struggling to suppress a laugh.
“Where did this bastard come from, how dare he call me grandpa! Tell Clara Harrison, I cut off all ties with her! We are no longer father and daughter!”
“Don’t let any random stray come and defile my Harrison family!”
Grandpa clenched his fist and coughed violently a few times.
After coughing, he didn’t forget to spit at me.
I stared blankly at his face, filled with hatred, then at Brandon, who had been watching coldly.
It was a sudden realization.
Mom had lied to me.
Neither Brandon nor Grandpa Harrison liked me.
I lowered my head, digging my fingernails into my already raw palms.
The blood from my forehead, mixed with tears, dripped one by one onto my lap.
Seeing me cry, Grandpa grew even angrier.
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