They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 02

They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 02

“Who are you calling?”

A black Maybach rolled to a stop at the curb. The window lowered, and Dad’s cold face appeared in the shadowed interior.

He glanced at me and frowned harder.

“Get in.”

I ended the call with the organ-donor center, opened the door, and got inside.

The air-conditioning was blasting. I shivered.

Dad didn’t start the car. Instead, he threw a brown envelope from the glove compartment onto my lap.

“See for yourself. What is this?”

The envelope wasn’t sealed.

Several lab reports and a DNA-database search form slid out.

After my diagnosis, I’d submitted a DNA sample to a genealogy database, hoping to identify biological relatives who might be willing to get tested as donors.

At the very least, I wanted to ask them to save my life.

Now the form was in Dad’s hands.

“Claire Whitmore, I’m disappointed in you.”

He leaned back, his voice full of contempt rather than anger.

“The Whitmore family has fed and clothed you for nineteen years. Is this how you repay us?”

“You went behind our backs to search for your biological parents? What, did you decide we treated you badly and rush to find another family?”

I stared at the form. My throat felt stuffed with blood-soaked cotton.

I had searched for my biological parents because I wanted to live.

To him, I was just an ungrateful wretch who could never be satisfied.

“I didn’t.”

I calmly put the papers back in the envelope.

“I just wanted to know where I came from.”

Dad gave a cold laugh and turned the wheel.

“If that’s what you want to know, I’ll make it easy for you.”

“We’re going home.”

The car sped back and stopped in front of the Whitmore estate.

Mom and Mia sat on the living-room sofa. Across from them were a middle-aged man and woman in worn clothes, both visibly uncomfortable.

The man’s skin was dark from years outdoors, his fingers rough.

The woman’s messy hair framed eyes that darted around the room, taking in the expensive furniture.

Dad walked in and pointed at them.

“Claire, come here.”

I walked over and stopped beside the coffee table.

“Didn’t you want to find your biological parents?”

Dad spoke as calmly as if he were discussing a worthless business deal.

“I had someone look into it. These two are your biological parents.”

“Hank Carter and Linda Carter.”

Linda jumped up, grabbed my hand, and forced out a few tears.

“Oh, honey. My baby. I finally found you!”

“We were so poor back then, we couldn’t afford to raise you. We had to leave you by the roadside. You don’t blame me, do you?”

The cheap cigarettes and sour sweat clinging to her clothes hit me in the face.

I pulled my hand away.

I looked at Dad and Mom.

Their act was painfully bad.

If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have believed them and accepted this as my miserable origin.

But I’d heard my parents with my own ears last night.

I was the real Whitmore heiress.

These two were nothing but hired actors dragged in from some forgotten backwater.

Mom lifted a tissue and delicately dabbed the corner of her eye.

“Claire, don’t blame us for being harsh.”

“You were so determined to find your biological parents. We couldn’t stand in the way of your duty to them.”

“Pack your things and go live with them in the country for a while.”

Mia slipped her arm through Mom’s and said gently, “Don’t be scared, Claire. The country will be hard, but they are still your family.”

“Once you experience real life and toughen up, you’ll understand how good Mom and Dad have been to you.”

I stood there, looking at the absurd family in front of me.

To toughen me up. To make me appreciate them.

They had personally handed their terminally ill biological daughter to two strangers.

Suddenly, I was too tired to defend myself.

I wouldn’t live much longer anyway.

If I died in the Whitmore house, I’d only stain their expensive carpet.

Dying in the country would be fine.

“Okay.”

I nodded, barely making a sound.

“I’ll pack.”

Mom froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to obey so easily.

The scolding she’d prepared got stuck in her throat.

I turned and went upstairs to the housekeeper’s room, where I stuffed my few old clothes into a backpack.

When I came back down, Hank was already impatient.

He yanked the backpack from me.

“Let’s go. Don’t act like some spoiled heiress.”

I followed them to the door.

Dad stayed on the sofa without looking back.

Mom called after me.

“Claire.”

“When you get there, behave and listen. Don’t be as dissatisfied as you were here.”

“When you come to your senses, call us. We’ll come get you.”

I stopped and looked back at her.

For a moment, my eyes moved past her to the enormous family portrait on the wall.

Dad, Mom, and Mia were smiling sweetly.

I wasn’t in it.

“Got it.”

I opened the door.

“I won’t call you.”

“Who are you calling?”

A black Maybach rolled to a stop at the curb. The window lowered, and Dad’s cold face appeared in the shadowed interior.

He glanced at me and frowned harder.

“Get in.”

I ended the call with the organ-donor center, opened the door, and got inside.

The air-conditioning was blasting. I shivered.

Dad didn’t start the car. Instead, he threw a brown envelope from the glove compartment onto my lap.

“See for yourself. What is this?”

The envelope wasn’t sealed.

Several lab reports and a DNA-database search form slid out.

After my diagnosis, I’d submitted a DNA sample to a genealogy database, hoping to identify biological relatives who might be willing to get tested as donors.

At the very least, I wanted to ask them to save my life.

Now the form was in Dad’s hands.

“Claire Whitmore, I’m disappointed in you.”

He leaned back, his voice full of contempt rather than anger.

“The Whitmore family has fed and clothed you for nineteen years. Is this how you repay us?”

“You went behind our backs to search for your biological parents? What, did you decide we treated you badly and rush to find another family?”

I stared at the form. My throat felt stuffed with blood-soaked cotton.

I had searched for my biological parents because I wanted to live.

To him, I was just an ungrateful wretch who could never be satisfied.

“I didn’t.”

I calmly put the papers back in the envelope.

“I just wanted to know where I came from.”

Dad gave a cold laugh and turned the wheel.

“If that’s what you want to know, I’ll make it easy for you.”

“We’re going home.”

The car sped back and stopped in front of the Whitmore estate.

Mom and Mia sat on the living-room sofa. Across from them were a middle-aged man and woman in worn clothes, both visibly uncomfortable.

The man’s skin was dark from years outdoors, his fingers rough.

The woman’s messy hair framed eyes that darted around the room, taking in the expensive furniture.

Dad walked in and pointed at them.

“Claire, come here.”

I walked over and stopped beside the coffee table.

“Didn’t you want to find your biological parents?”

Dad spoke as calmly as if he were discussing a worthless business deal.

“I had someone look into it. These two are your biological parents.”

“Hank Carter and Linda Carter.”

Linda jumped up, grabbed my hand, and forced out a few tears.

“Oh, honey. My baby. I finally found you!”

“We were so poor back then, we couldn’t afford to raise you. We had to leave you by the roadside. You don’t blame me, do you?”

The cheap cigarettes and sour sweat clinging to her clothes hit me in the face.

I pulled my hand away.

I looked at Dad and Mom.

Their act was painfully bad.

If I hadn’t known the truth, I might have believed them and accepted this as my miserable origin.

But I’d heard my parents with my own ears last night.

I was the real Whitmore heiress.

These two were nothing but hired actors dragged in from some forgotten backwater.

Mom lifted a tissue and delicately dabbed the corner of her eye.

“Claire, don’t blame us for being harsh.”

“You were so determined to find your biological parents. We couldn’t stand in the way of your duty to them.”

“Pack your things and go live with them in the country for a while.”

Mia slipped her arm through Mom’s and said gently, “Don’t be scared, Claire. The country will be hard, but they are still your family.”

“Once you experience real life and toughen up, you’ll understand how good Mom and Dad have been to you.”

I stood there, looking at the absurd family in front of me.

To toughen me up. To make me appreciate them.

They had personally handed their terminally ill biological daughter to two strangers.

Suddenly, I was too tired to defend myself.

I wouldn’t live much longer anyway.

If I died in the Whitmore house, I’d only stain their expensive carpet.

Dying in the country would be fine.

“Okay.”

I nodded, barely making a sound.

“I’ll pack.”

Mom froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to obey so easily.

The scolding she’d prepared got stuck in her throat.

I turned and went upstairs to the housekeeper’s room, where I stuffed my few old clothes into a backpack.

When I came back down, Hank was already impatient.

He yanked the backpack from me.

“Let’s go. Don’t act like some spoiled heiress.”

I followed them to the door.

Dad stayed on the sofa without looking back.

Mom called after me.

“Claire.”

“When you get there, behave and listen. Don’t be as dissatisfied as you were here.”

“When you come to your senses, call us. We’ll come get you.”

I stopped and looked back at her.

For a moment, my eyes moved past her to the enormous family portrait on the wall.

Dad, Mom, and Mia were smiling sweetly.

I wasn’t in it.

“Got it.”

I opened the door.

“I won’t call you.”