Chapter 2

Dad's voice was cold as he asked, "Who are you calling?" Then a black Maybach rolled up to the curb, its window sliding down to reveal his face, shadowed and unreadable.

He glanced at me, his frown deepening. "Get in the car."

I hung up on the Organ Donation Center, opened the car door, and got in.

The air conditioning was cranked up, and I couldn't help but shiver.

Dad didn't start the car. Instead, he threw a brown paper bag from the glove compartment, hitting my lap. "Take a look for yourself. What do you think this is?"

The bag wasn't sealed. A few test results and a DNA database family search form spilled out.

After I got my diagnosis, to get a slim chance to survive, I went behind their backs to the DNA registry and left a blood sample.

Since they kept saying I wasn't their real daughter, I figured I'd try my luck and see if I could track down my real parents. At the very least, I hoped they'd save me.

But now, that form was in Dad's hands.

Dad leaned back in his seat, his voice icy and dripping with contempt. "Claire, I'm so disappointed in you.

"The Foster family took care of you for nineteen years, gave you food and clothes, and this is how you pay us back?

"You went behind our backs to the DNA database to look for your real family? What? You think we treated you so badly that you're already hunting for a new home?"

I stared at the form, my throat burning and tight, like it was stuffed with blood-soaked cotton.

I was looking for my real parents because I wanted to live.

But to him, I was nothing but an ungrateful one.

I put the form back in the bag, keeping my composure. "I didn't. I only wanted to know where I really came from."

Dad let out a cold laugh, then turned the steering wheel. "Since you're so eager to know, I'll give you what you want. Let's go home."

The car sped all the way to the Foster residence and pulled up at the gate.

In the living room, Mom and Emily were sitting on the couch, and across from them sat a middle-aged couple dressed in shabby clothes, looking nervous and out of place.

The man had tanned skin and rough, calloused fingers.

The woman's hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes kept darting around, checking out all the furniture in the room.

Dad pushed open the door and pointed toward the couple sitting across from Mom and Emily. "Claire, come here."

I walked over and stood at the edge of the coffee table.

Dad looked at me, sounding as indifferent as if he was discussing a business deal no one cared about. "Weren't you looking for your real parents?

"I had someone investigate for you. These two are your birth parents, Frank Miller and Susan Miller."

Susan jumped up, grabbed my hand, and managed to squeeze out a few tears. "Oh, sweetheart, I finally found you.

"We were dirt poor back then; we really couldn't afford to raise you, so we had to leave you by the roadside. Please don't blame me, okay?"

The stench of cheap tobacco and sour sweat from her clothes hit me like a punch to the nose.

I withdrew my hand coldly and looked at my parents.

Their acting was borderline ridiculous.

If I hadn't learned the truth, I might've actually bought it and thought this was my messed-up background. But I heard everything myself last night.

I was the real heiress of the Foster family.

These two were a couple of nobodies they'd dragged in from some backwater.

Mom picked up a tissue and dabbed at the corner of her eye, putting on a show of elegance. "Claire, don't blame us for being so heartless.

"Since you're so insistent on your real parents, we won't stand in your way. Go ahead and be a good daughter to them. Pack your things and go stay with them out in the sticks for a while."

Emily hooked her arm around Mom's and put on her sweetest voice, "Claire, don't be scared. Sure, the sticks are a bit rough, but at least you'll be with your real family.

"After you've had a taste of real life out there and learned a thing or two, you'll finally see how good Mom and Dad have been to you."

I stood there, watching this absurd family of three.

They actually handed over their own dying daughter to two strangers so I could learn a lesson, so I'd finally realize how good the Foster family was to me.

Suddenly, I felt so tired that I didn't have the strength to argue.

It didn't matter anyway. I wasn't going to live much longer.

If I died in the Foster family, I'd dirty their expensive carpet. Maybe dying out in the sticks wouldn't be so bad.

"Okay." My voice was barely audible as I nodded. "I'll go pack my things."

Mom looked stunned for a second, like she never expected me to go along with it. She'd been all set to tear into me, but now all those words got stuck in her throat.

I turned and headed upstairs, back to the maid's room, and stuffed my few old clothes into my backpack.

When I came back down, Frank was already waiting impatiently.

He yanked my backpack out of my hands and barked, "Let's go. Stop acting like you're some big-shot heiress."

I followed them to the door.

Dad was sitting on the couch, not bothering to look back.

Mom called out to me. "Claire, when you're out in the sticks, be sensible, do as you're told, and stop acting like you never appreciate anything we do for you here.

"When you finally figure things out, give us a call. We'll come pick you up."

I stopped and glanced back at her.

Right then, I looked past her and saw the huge family portrait hanging on the wall.

In the photo, Dad, Mom, and Emily were all smiling sweetly. I wasn't in the picture.

"Got it." I pushed the door open and walked out. "Don't expect me to call you."