They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 03

They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 03

It was a long, brutal trip.

The bus wound through mountain roads for four hours before I transferred to an old farm pickup.

By the time we reached a place called Pine Hollow, it was the middle of the night.

There was a crumbling brick house, drafty windows, and moldy hay piled across the yard.

The moment we stepped inside, the discomfort and fawning disappeared from Hank and Linda’s faces.

Linda snatched my backpack and dumped everything onto the dirt floor.

A few faded shirts, an old phone with a shattered screen, and a few hundred dollars in cash.

“That’s it?”

Linda kicked the clothes with disgust.

“The people from the city said you’d lived in luxury for more than a decade. How come you don’t even have any jewelry worth selling?”

Hank cursed, walked over, and squeezed my shoulder so hard it felt as if my bones would crack.

“You useless burden. I had to pay to come get you.”

“Starting tomorrow, you clean the pigpen and cook. Don’t expect me to feed you for free.”

My fever still hadn’t broken.

The endless travel had pounded my bones apart piece by piece.

I tried to pull free, but he shoved me to the ground.

My knee struck a sharp stone and split open. Blood ran down my calf.

The clotting disorder caused by leukemia made the wound look horrifying.

Linda glanced at it, spat, and laughed.

“What are you pretending to be delicate for? You spent a few days playing fake heiress in the city and now you think you’re made of glass?”

“Go chop the wood out back!”

They locked me in a shed stacked with farm tools.

There was no bed, only damp straw.

Cold air cut through the cracks in the walls like blades against my skin.

I curled into a corner and pressed my freezing fingers against my bleeding knee.

The blood kept coming, soaking the straw.

I thought of Mia’s life in the Whitmore house.

When we were six, I only looked too long at the stuffed bear in her hands. Mom dragged me into a corner and made me stand there all night.

Later, Mia’s piano lessons cost nearly three hundred dollars each.

To earn breakfast the next day, I woke at five every morning and washed an entire sinkful of dishes.

I thought that if I were obedient and humble enough, they would eventually see me.

But all they ever saw was my supposed greed.

The next morning, a bucket of cold water woke me.

Linda stood over me with a plastic pail, her eyes vicious.

“The sun’s up and you’re still sleeping? Are you trying to die?”

I struggled to sit up. The world swayed violently in front of me.

The fever had cracked my lips until they bled, and my forehead was slick with sweat.

They forced me into the yard to wash clothes.

The well water was ice-cold. My hands went numb, and pain drilled into every joint.

Three straight days of hard labor and malnutrition made my condition worsen rapidly.

On the fourth afternoon, I collapsed without warning while feeding the pigs.

Blood poured from my nose like a faucet with a broken handle and splattered the filthy dirt.

Hank walked over and kicked my waist.

“Stop pretending! Get up and work!”

I looked at him. Only a weak sound came from my throat.

“I’m sick… take me to a hospital…”

Linda bent down to look and curled her lip.

“Why would we take you to a hospital? You think that doesn’t cost money?”

“The people who sent you here said you needed to be taught a lesson. They wanted you to suffer. Stop pretending to be sick!”

They dragged me back to the shed and locked the door from the outside.

In the darkness, I felt around in my pocket for the old phone with the broken screen.

Its weak light fell across my blood-covered hand.

I opened my contacts and called Mom.

It was the last time I asked that family for help.

Not because I wanted to live. I only wanted to hear how cruel they could be.

The phone rang for a long time before she answered.

“Hello?”

Her voice carried a trace of impatience.

In the background, Mia’s piano floated through the room.

“Mom…”

I called weakly, tears slipping down my face.

“It hurts… I’m bleeding so much…”

“They hit me. They won’t feed me. Mom, please, come get me…”

“Enough, Claire!” Mom cut me off sharply.

“How long are you going to keep pretending?”

“I told you, I sent you there to toughen you up, not to pull this pathetic stunt!”

“Your sister is in a critical period of practice. Stop calling and distracting her.”

“When you stop with the attitude and manipulation, I’ll consider coming for you.”

The line went dead.

She hung up on me without a second thought.

I held the phone and listened to the silence. A self-mocking smile slowly touched my lips.

Toughen you up.

With those four respectable-sounding words, they had dressed up my death sentence as tough love.

I closed my eyes and tossed the phone into the corner.

“Fine.”

“I won’t pretend anymore.”