I Thought Love Had to Be Earned Through Chores, They Hugged Me Chapter 01

I Thought Love Had to Be Earned Through Chores, They Hugged Me Chapter 01

Ever since I was little, I believed that living without working was immoral—you had to earn every breath you took.

I was three when I was taken. The trafficker dumped me on the ground and walked off to take a call. I looked around, saw the yard hadn’t been swept, grabbed a twig, and started sweeping. When he came back and saw the spotless yard, he stared at me for a long time. Then, without a word, he handed me a real broom.

After that, I was sold six more times. Every family was reluctant to let me go—not because they cared about me, but because I was just that useful.

By five, I could single-handedly handle every chore on a pig farm. At seven, a diner owner in the next town over bought me for two hundred dollars. I worked the kitchen from dawn till midnight. She told anyone who’d listen, “This kid’s better than an industrial dishwasher—and she doesn’t even use electricity.”

By ten, I’d earned three certificates: chef, housekeeping, and electrician. Nobody forced me to study for them. I just figured that if I ever got discarded, at least I’d still have some value left to be used.

Then my biological parents found me.

I was crouched over a clogged drain, covered in mud, when I looked up and saw a woman dripping with jewelry running toward me, crying. I flinched back on instinct. “No, no—ma’am, I’m filthy. If I ruin your dress, I could never afford to pay for it.”

She cried even harder. I panicked and pulled out a handwritten price list from my pocket, shoving it toward her. “Please don’t cry. What service do you need? Cooking, laundry, drain cleaning, appliance repair—it’s all free. I really mean it, no charge.”

***

She stared at the list and cried harder still. Then she pulled me into her arms, completely ignoring the mud I was smearing all over what was clearly a very expensive dress.

“Marnie, I’m your mother.”

My brain went blank. Mother? I patted my pockets frantically—all I had was twenty-three dollars and fifty cents. “Ma’am, I’ve never done the ‘claim a mom’ service before. Is twenty-three fifty enough? I can pay in installments if it’s not.”

The sharply dressed man beside her went red-eyed. The young man standing behind him frowned and pulled her away. “Mom, the DNA results aren’t back yet. We don’t even know if she’s really Marnie Grant.”

His name was Cole Grant. My biological brother. At the time, he wasn’t exactly eager to claim me. I got the message immediately and nodded. “Right, right. Inspect the goods first. Don’t force a purchase you’ll regret—bad hires lead to labor disputes.”

Cole’s face went green.

Three hours later, the DNA results came back. I really was the daughter the Grant family had lost thirteen years ago. Catherine Grant sobbed over the report until she nearly passed out. Edward Grant slipped into the hallway to wipe his eyes. I crouched outside the hospital entrance and picked every cigarette butt out of the cracks in the steps.

On the ride back to the Grant estate, Catherine held my hand the whole way. When she felt the thick calluses on my palm, tears started falling again. I hate it when clients cry—it always means my service isn’t good enough. “Want me to give you a massage? I’m certified level-eight in neck and shoulder work. I have the paperwork.”

“Marnie, you don’t have to work.”

My smile froze. No work? Then what had they brought me back for? Were they going to harvest my organs? I instinctively touched my lower back, wondering if one kidney would be enough.

The Grant estate was dozens of times bigger than any restaurant I’d ever worked in. The second I walked through the door, a girl in a white dress ran over and threw herself into Catherine’s arms, sobbing. “Mom, now that my sister’s back… should I leave?”

Her name was Annabel Grant—the daughter the Grant family had adopted after I disappeared. Catherine hugged her protectively. “Nonsense. You’re both my daughters.”

Annabel sniffled and turned to smile at me. “Marnie, let me show you to your room.”

On the way through the living room, I spotted shoe prints on the floor. Professional instinct took over. I grabbed the mop from the housekeeper’s hands and worked my way up to the third floor.

Annabel opened the door—inside was a princess bed, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom bigger than any place I’d ever lived. I stood frozen at the threshold, not daring to step inside. “This must need cleaning at least three times a day.”

She blinked. “Marnie, this is your room.”

Oh. So this was my assigned area. I rolled up my sleeves, stripped the sheets, wiped the windows, scrubbed the tub, and, while I was at it, fixed the smart toilet that had been clogged for six months.

I didn’t show up for dinner. The family searched for half an hour before Butler Henderson found me in the first-floor storage room. I’d organized the mops, vacuum, and cleaning supplies by function, then curled up on a folded cardboard box in the corner, clutching a bottle of toilet cleaner. My phone alarm was set for 4 a.m. The memo read: [Wake up. Scrub exterior walls. Pass probation as soon as possible.]

Catherine stared at that screen, tears dropping onto it. Cole was silent for a long moment, then said flatly, “Stop crying. She’s doing this on purpose.”

The noise woke me. I shot upright. “What’s wrong? Where’s the mess?”

He stared at me. I stared back. To show enthusiasm, I added carefully: “Cole, hitting’s fine too. I can take a punch. Won’t slow me down tomorrow.”

The storage room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.