They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 04

They Told Me I Was Adopted, I Was The Real One All Along Chapter 04

In the dark shed, the only sound was the wind moaning through the cracks.

My temperature had climbed to a terrifying number, and my consciousness began to slip.

All the hurt I’d forced down for more than a decade became painfully clear as I hovered on the edge of death.

I remembered being ten, when I’d ranked first in my class.

I ran home with my certificate because I wanted to show Dad.

He didn’t even look at it. He swept it straight into the trash.

“What good is it for an outsider to do well? Are you going to inherit the Whitmore company?”

“Go help Mia memorize her sheet music.”

I remembered being fifteen, when appendicitis made me roll across my bed in agony.

Mom complained that my cries were waking Mia and locked me in the basement.

The housekeeper found me unconscious the next day and took me to the hospital.

Back then, I thought they favored her because I wasn’t their biological child.

Only before my death did I learn that blood meant nothing in the face of prejudice.

The blood from my nose had dried across my face.

My breathing grew weaker. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass.

My chest rasped like a torn bellows.

The shed door suddenly flew open.

Hank came in carrying a thick wooden club, with Linda behind him.

They had come to teach me a lesson and make me cook dinner.

But when Linda saw the pool of blood beneath me and the blue-black color of my skin, she finally realized something was wrong.

“H-Hank… why is she barely breathing?”

Her voice trembled.

Hank froze, then prodded my arm with the club.

“Hey! Don’t play dead!”

I didn’t move.

My eyes were half open, my pupils already unfocused, staring coldly at them.

Hank finally panicked.

He dropped the club and checked for my breath, then snatched his hand back as if shocked.

“Damn it! The people from the city never said she had a terminal illness!”

“What if she dies here? How are we going to explain that to the cops?”

Linda collapsed onto the floor.

“What do we do? We have to get her to a hospital!”

“The hell we do!” Hank roared. “Hospitals cost money. What if they accuse us of beating her?”

“Say she died from her illness! Lock the door. Nobody says a word!”

They fled. The padlock clicked heavily into place.

Despair swallowed me like the darkness around me.

I stopped fighting and calmly waited for the final verdict.

Then the phone in the corner suddenly lit up.

The screen flashed: Dad.

Using the last of my strength, I crawled toward it and answered.

“Claire Whitmore, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now?”

Dad’s voice was cold and commanding.

“Your mother said you called this afternoon pretending to be sick. Do you think this is funny?”

“Life out there is rough, but those are your biological parents. What right do you have to complain?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

My throat was full of the sweet, metallic foam of blood.

“Mia’s solo recital is tomorrow. I was going to bring you back so you could see the difference between you two.”

“With that attitude, you can keep reflecting in the country.”

“Without my permission, your biological parents wouldn’t dare send you back.”

I listened to his superior tone. Tears finally slipped from the corners of my eyes and mixed with the blood on my face.

This was my father.

Even now, he had no idea that the biological parents he used to punish me were next door discussing what to do with my body.

“Dad…”

I forced out the word in a breath.

“I’m… going… to die.”

Dad seemed to hesitate, then exploded in anger.

“How dare you say something so vile!”

“You’re completely beyond saving!”

The call ended in angry beeps.

It was the last sound I heard in this world.

My hand fell. The phone hit the floor, and its screen went black.

At the same time, my body suddenly felt weightless.

It was as if I’d broken free from a heavy chain. The pain vanished. So did the cold.

I opened my eyes and found myself floating in the middle of the shed.

On the floor lay a gaunt body covered in blood.

It was mine.

I was dead.

At that moment, miles away at the Whitmore estate, Mom was laying out Mia’s recital clothes when the local police department called.

“Hello. Am I speaking with a member of the Whitmore family?”

“This is the Pine Hollow Police Department. Your daughter, Claire Whitmore, has been confirmed dead.”

In the dark shed, the only sound was the wind moaning through the cracks.

My temperature had climbed to a terrifying number, and my consciousness began to slip.

All the hurt I’d forced down for more than a decade became painfully clear as I hovered on the edge of death.

I remembered being ten, when I’d ranked first in my class.

I ran home with my certificate because I wanted to show Dad.

He didn’t even look at it. He swept it straight into the trash.

“What good is it for an outsider to do well? Are you going to inherit the Whitmore company?”

“Go help Mia memorize her sheet music.”

I remembered being fifteen, when appendicitis made me roll across my bed in agony.

Mom complained that my cries were waking Mia and locked me in the basement.

The housekeeper found me unconscious the next day and took me to the hospital.

Back then, I thought they favored her because I wasn’t their biological child.

Only before my death did I learn that blood meant nothing in the face of prejudice.

The blood from my nose had dried across my face.

My breathing grew weaker. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass.

My chest rasped like a torn bellows.

The shed door suddenly flew open.

Hank came in carrying a thick wooden club, with Linda behind him.

They had come to teach me a lesson and make me cook dinner.

But when Linda saw the pool of blood beneath me and the blue-black color of my skin, she finally realized something was wrong.

“H-Hank… why is she barely breathing?”

Her voice trembled.

Hank froze, then prodded my arm with the club.

“Hey! Don’t play dead!”

I didn’t move.

My eyes were half open, my pupils already unfocused, staring coldly at them.

Hank finally panicked.

He dropped the club and checked for my breath, then snatched his hand back as if shocked.

“Damn it! The people from the city never said she had a terminal illness!”

“What if she dies here? How are we going to explain that to the cops?”

Linda collapsed onto the floor.

“What do we do? We have to get her to a hospital!”

“The hell we do!” Hank roared. “Hospitals cost money. What if they accuse us of beating her?”

“Say she died from her illness! Lock the door. Nobody says a word!”

They fled. The padlock clicked heavily into place.

Despair swallowed me like the darkness around me.

I stopped fighting and calmly waited for the final verdict.

Then the phone in the corner suddenly lit up.

The screen flashed: Dad.

Using the last of my strength, I crawled toward it and answered.

“Claire Whitmore, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now?”

Dad’s voice was cold and commanding.

“Your mother said you called this afternoon pretending to be sick. Do you think this is funny?”

“Life out there is rough, but those are your biological parents. What right do you have to complain?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

My throat was full of the sweet, metallic foam of blood.

“Mia’s solo recital is tomorrow. I was going to bring you back so you could see the difference between you two.”

“With that attitude, you can keep reflecting in the country.”

“Without my permission, your biological parents wouldn’t dare send you back.”

I listened to his superior tone. Tears finally slipped from the corners of my eyes and mixed with the blood on my face.

This was my father.

Even now, he had no idea that the biological parents he used to punish me were next door discussing what to do with my body.

“Dad…”

I forced out the word in a breath.

“I’m… going… to die.”

Dad seemed to hesitate, then exploded in anger.

“How dare you say something so vile!”

“You’re completely beyond saving!”

The call ended in angry beeps.

It was the last sound I heard in this world.

My hand fell. The phone hit the floor, and its screen went black.

At the same time, my body suddenly felt weightless.

It was as if I’d broken free from a heavy chain. The pain vanished. So did the cold.

I opened my eyes and found myself floating in the middle of the shed.

On the floor lay a gaunt body covered in blood.

It was mine.

I was dead.

At that moment, miles away at the Whitmore estate, Mom was laying out Mia’s recital clothes when the local police department called.

“Hello. Am I speaking with a member of the Whitmore family?”

“This is the Pine Hollow Police Department. Your daughter, Claire Whitmore, has been confirmed dead.”