We Best Love - No.1 For You | ENG TRANS

PROLOGUE

"What is she better than me at?"

"She's no better than you."

"Then why are you staying with her?"

"Because in her eyes I feel like a man she admires and needs."

A sharp sound came from inside that house as a little boy returned from school carrying a fifth grade Mandarin textbook under his arm. Once he arrived at the front door, he reached out to ring the bell; but after hearing the voices coming from inside, he silently withdrew his hand and then brought it together with the other to cover his ears.

He hoped that gesture would prevent him from listening to that argument.
Suddenly the door was thrown open, but the two people left the house and the boy didn't understand what had happened. He only knew that his father spent less and less time at home and his mother, once always cheerful and with her smile, several times she had hidden away to cry without being seen.

Now only alienation and indifference reigned in that house.

"Now you're looking at me like that too?!" At that question, he instinctively backed away from the man and backed away with fear in his eyes.

The man who had made a fool of himself had forgotten about his ten-year-old boy and how he might react and think disparaging things about him. For a moment he had stopped to look at that child but then, without any hesitation, he had left that place which no longer had any value for him and which he would never feel nostalgia for in his heart.

For the first time he had seen, standing outside the door she hadn't dared to enter, his mother, who had always been a strong woman, sitting on the living room couch trying to hide her tear-stained face. He didn't know how to comfort his mother, so he closed the door softly, turned around, and walked back to the school he knew best.

Along the quiet corridor of the school were empty classrooms where stacks of chairs and desks had been stacked waiting to be replaced. On the steps at the end of that great corridor, the boy who sat burying his head between his knees was weeping secretly. He didn't even have a handkerchief with him.

Suddenly, a strange voice came from someone in front of him. A boy, half Taiwanese and half Japanese, dressed in shorts and a black shirt was approaching him and climbing the steps, he spoke curiously to the boy who strangely had stayed at school after class.

"Are you OK?" It was a simple question, asked by a 10-year-old boy. "Why are you crying?"

The boy pulled a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and sat down next to him, ironed the fabric well and handed it to his peer.

"Here. What happened? Are you hurt?"

"None of your business."

"Stop crying, you've mixed snot with tears. It's ugly."

After he lifted his head and looked at the other person, the boy buried his face in his arm again, letting his tears soak the sleeves of his blue shirt.

"My father doesn't want me and my mother anymore." He limited himself to saying as he stubbornly continued to wipe away his tears with his sodden sleeve.

"But you still have your mom, unlike me."

The crying boy looked down, saw that the other was holding his hand; maybe he knew his life would never be the same again.

A classmate from a single-parent family once told him that divorce meant that mom and dad would separate. Could the children choose to stay with their father or mother? He was small and didn't know love yet, but he knew the meaning of the word divorce.