The anger would surge through me in waves. I’d punch my pillow, pace my tiny room, imagining confronting Stephanie.
Why me? Why destroy an innocent person? What had I ever done to her?
But anger fades when there’s nobody to direct it at.
Eventually, it just turned into this hollow ache in my chest.
In October, I ran into someone from my old life. I was at a grocery store buying ramen and eggs when I heard a familiar voice.
“Marcus?”
It was Mrs. Patterson, my old English teacher. She’d always been kind, encouraged my writing.
“Oh my God, Marcus, where have you been? You just vanish.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment. Seeing someone from before made everything feel raw again.
“I had to leave,” I finally said.
Her expression shifted. I saw the exact moment she remembered the rumors. That careful, pitying look.
“I heard about what happened with your family. That must have been so difficult.”
Difficult? Like it was a divorce or something.
“Yeah. Well, it is what it is.”
“Are you back in school? You were such a bright student. You could still get your diploma. There are programs.”
“I’m not interested.”
She flinched at my tone.
“Marcus, I just want to help.”
“I don’t need anything from anyone. Have a good day, Mrs. Patterson.”
I left my groceries in the cart and walked out. Sat in my car, shaking.
Even the people who had been kind to me believed the story. Even the ones who should have known me better.
That’s when something inside me hardened completely.
If everyone was going to see me as a monster, I might as well disappear entirely.
Months passed.
I kept thinking they’d realize the truth. Kept thinking Stephanie would come clean. Kept waiting for an apology.
It never came.
I heard through the grapevine that Stephanie had the baby in November. A boy. She named him Connor.
I waited for the call about the paternity test.
It never came.
You know, rebuilding from scratch, from absolute zero, teaches you things about yourself you never knew. It’s a brutal education.
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Years later, Jessica told me what happened.
My father had scheduled a paternity test, but Stephanie had a meltdown the day before, crying and begging them not to make her go through with it.
She said it would be too traumatic, too stressful, while caring for a newborn.
“My mother, ever protective of her golden child, convinced my father to drop it.”
“We know the truth,” she told him. “We don’t need a test to prove what we already know.”
That decision haunted them later.
But at the time, they chose to believe their daughter over the possibility that they had made a catastrophic mistake.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
One day in December, I walked into a recruiting office and enlisted in the army.
I needed to disappear, needed to become someone else.
The recruiter didn’t care about my story. He just saw a desperate kid with no direction, which was perfect for them.
I left Phoenix in January, right after turning 18.
Basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia.
It was brutal, but I welcomed the pain. Physical exhaustion meant I didn’t have time to think about what I’d lost.
I cut off all contact. New phone number, deleted social media.
As far as Phoenix was concerned, Marcus Chin no longer existed.