Chapter - The Smallest Crack
It was a bright, ordinary afternoon. Birds chirped outside the classroom windows, and
faint laughter drifted across the schoolyard as the final bell rang.
“Okay, kids. Pack up your things and line up,” the teacher called.
The room burst into motion. Chairs scraped against the floor, backpacks unzipped,
and papers shuffled as students hurried to gather their things. Excited chatter filled the
air. Everyone was eager to go home.
Everyone except one child.
At the back of the classroom, Jian packed his bag slowly, placing each book inside
with quiet care. While the other students rushed toward the door, he remained seated,
moving at his own steady pace.
One by one, the children streamed out of the classroom until Jian was the only
student left.
The teacher paused at the doorway and glanced back.
“Jian, could you clean the blackboard before you leave? Thank you. See you
tomorrow.”
Then the teacher stepped into the hallway and disappeared.
The classroom fell silent.
Jian stood and walked to the front of the room. He picked up the eraser and began
wiping the chalk from the blackboard. Soft clouds of white dust drifted into the warm
sunlight pouring through the windows.
As he cleaned, Jian glanced outside.
In the schoolyard below, the other children were gathering near the gate, waving
excitedly as their parents arrived to take them home.
Once Jian finished cleaning the blackboard, he placed the eraser down and grabbed
his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and slowly made his way toward the schoolyard.
His steps were slow and steady, without the excitement the other children carried as
they rushed outside.
When Jian reached the yard, he watched as the other kids ran into their parents’
arms. Some were greeted by their mothers, others by their fathers, but every child
was welcomed with hugs and warm smiles.
As he walked closer, the sounds of happy voices grew louder.
“How was your day?”
“I missed you so much!”“Did you have fun at school?”
Parents knelt down to greet their children, pulling them into tight embraces as they
talked and laughed together.
Jian stopped a short distance away.
He stood there quietly, watching.
His face showed no excitement, no sadness, no emotion at all. He simply stared as
the joyful reunions unfolded in front of him.
After some time, the schoolyard slowly grew quiet. The birds stopped chirping, and
the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in fading shades of gold.
In the distance, Jian could hear the footsteps of teachers finally leaving after a long
day. Their voices drifted through the empty yard as they talked among themselves.
“Ah, Jian Li. His mom is late again,” one teacher said quietly. “So far, that’s been the
whole week.”
Another teacher sighed. “It’s so sad. A six-year-old shouldn’t have to wait this long.”
Jian could hear them.
But he ignored their voices and kept staring ahead.
A few minutes later, the low rumble of an engine broke the silence. A black SUV
pulled up near the curb.
It was his mom.
She didn’t step out of the car. Instead, she gave a short honk from the driver’s seat.
Jian quickly stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and ran to the car. He opened
the door and climbed inside.
“Hi, Mom,” he said softly.
There was no response.
Jian sat quietly in his seat. Part of him wondered if she would ask how his day had
been, or maybe explain why she had been late every day that week.
But she said nothing.
As the car pulled away from the school, silence filled the space between them.
It was so quiet that Jian could hear every movement of the car. The hum of the
engine, the rumble of the road beneath the tires, the soft shift of the gears.The ride home felt long and heavy.
Jian’s eyes slowly filled with tears, but he forced himself to hold them back. He knew
that even if he cried, his mother would not ask why.
So he stayed silent all the way home.
---
When they arrived at the house, Jian’s mother stepped out of the car and went
straight inside. She placed her bag on the side counter and walked into the kitchen to
prepare supper without saying a word.
Jian quietly closed the car door and followed her in.
He slipped off his shoes and looked around the house, hoping to find his dad. Maybe
his father would ask how his day had been. Maybe he would want to hear what Jian
did at school.
Jian hurried down the hallway toward his father’s study.
Inside the room, his father sat in a large chair beside his desk. A glass of whiskey
rested in one hand while a cigar burned slowly between his fingers. The air in the
room was thick with smoke.
Jian stepped inside politely.
“Hello, Dad,” he said.
His father looked at him briefly and gave a small nod.
Then he lifted his arm and made a short gesture toward the door, signaling that Jian
could leave.
Jian stood there for a moment before quietly turning around.
A small wave of sadness passed through him. His father, too, seemed uninterested in
hearing about his day.
Jian walked upstairs to his bedroom and placed his books on his desk. He opened his
bag and pulled out his homework.
Sitting quietly in his chair, he began working through the pages.
The house remained silent.
As Jian worked, he waited.
He thought maybe his mom or dad would come upstairs to check on him. Maybe they
would ask what he was doing, or how his day at kindergarten had been.
But no one came.No one asked.
No one said anything.
---
After about an hour and a half, Jian already knew it was time to eat.
No one had called him. No one had said that dinner was ready. But he knew.
Over time, he had created his own routine. From the moment he arrived home, he
knew his mother would take about an hour and a half to cook. That meant he had
exactly an hour and a half to finish his homework.
No one had ever explained this to him. No schedule had been given. The routine was
something he had quietly built for himself.
Jian stood up from his desk and walked downstairs.
As he passed the study, he saw that his father was still inside. His dad had already
served himself and was eating alone.
Jian continued walking toward the kitchen.
At that moment, his mother passed him in the hallway carrying a plate of food. Without
saying a word, she walked past him and disappeared into her own library.
No one told him dinner was ready.
When Jian reached the kitchen, he saw the pots resting on the stove. Off to the side, a
single plate had been left out for him.
He picked up the plate and approached the stove to serve himself.
But Jian was small, and the pots were heavy.
Standing on his tiptoes, he stretched his arms as far as he could to reach inside the
pot. His fingers barely made it over the edge.
Then his foot slipped.
The pot tipped.
A loud crash echoed through the kitchen as the food spilled across the floor.
The sound rang through the house.
Immediately, his mother and father rushed into the kitchen.
Mrs Li looked at Jian, looked down to the food and then glanced at the pot which now had a crack in it and let out a sigh “this is all you good for… ruining things”
Jian tried to speak.
“Mom, I’m sor—”
But Mrs Li did not even lift her head.
“This was my favorite pot ”She said bending down to pick up the pot “its ruined now.” She turned to look at Jian “it may be a small crack but its the smallest ones that do the most damage”
This sent a shiver down Jians spine and he felt his heart tense up. Mrs Li walked passed him and in a low,cold tone “Your are my smallest crack”
The room fell quiet again.
A moment later, Jian’s father bent down and scooped the fallen food from the floor.
Without asking what had happened, without asking a single question, he placed the
messy food onto Jian’s plate.
He handed the plate to him.
“Go eat,” he said.
Jian stared down at the plate.
The food was scattered and crushed, no longer looking like a proper meal.
Still, he took the plate.
He looked up at his father and quietly said, “The food was on the floor.”
His father gave him a single glance.
It was a hard, cold look that made Jian’s chest tighten with fear.
Jian immediately lowered his head.
Without another word, he carried the plate to the dinner table and sat down alone.
Quietly, he began to eat.
