Chapter 1

The day we traveled back home to Sunport City, my daughter shoved me into the trunk.

Her reason was simple. Her mother-in-law got carsick and had to sit up front. Her husband was driving. She needed the back seat to take care of the child.

It was a seven-seater van. There were seats for everyone except me.

"Mom, you're in good shape. You'll be fine curled up for a bit. It's only seven hours. Just hang in there," Charlotte said.

So I folded myself into the trunk, surrounded by luggage and three boxes of supplements for her mother-in-law.

Through the rear window, I saw Lily sitting on her grandma's lap, munching on the snacks I bought for her. Then she shouted, "Grandma's the best. Grandma Helen is the bad guy!"

That was the moment my heart went cold.

Seven hours later, I made it back to Sunport City. Then I packed my things, unlinked my pension card, and bought the earliest flight home.

Her mortgage, her nanny bills, the expenses for their little family of four, and even her own mess of a life could all go to her mother-in-law.

From my hometown in Willow Valley to Sunport City, the drive was over 625 miles.

I stayed curled up in that pitch-black trunk for a full seven hours.

I was already fifty-three, and my back had been bad for years. After that long, bumpy ride, it felt like every bone in my body was coming apart.

But worse than the pain was the humiliation.

A suitcase dug into my lower back, and the boxes of supplements pressed down on my legs. I had to stay twisted on my side the whole time, half-curled, unable to even straighten up.

Every time the driver hit the brakes, I slammed forward. Every time the van turned, I rolled around like loose cargo.

The heater kept the cabin warm, but the trunk was freezing. I only had a light jacket on, and I shivered the whole way.

Through the rear window, I could still see what was happening in the back row. Charlotte held Lily in her arms and fed her snacks, the imported cookies I had gone out to buy the day before.

Grace sat in the front passenger seat with a thermos in her hand, cooing nonstop, "Simon, drive slower," and, "Simon, crack the window a little."

My son-in-law, Simon Locke, was like a puppet on a string. Whatever his mother said, he did.

Inside the car, it was warm and lively. Everyone was chatting and laughing.

Inside the trunk, I was alone in the dark, my back aching so badly I wanted to cry.

Then Lily suddenly turned around and spotted me through the back window.

She clapped her hands and yelled, "Grandma, look. Grandma Helen looks so funny, like a turtle hiding in its shell."

Everyone in the car burst out laughing. Grace laughed the loudest. "Lily is such a smart girl. That's exactly what she looks like."

Even my daughter laughed. "Lily, that's rude." But from the way she said it, she was clearly encouraging her.

I closed my eyes, but the tears still kept running down my face.

A year ago, around the same holiday season, things had been very different.

I had escorted Grace back to her hometown, a trip of over 300 miles.

That time, my daughter and son-in-law had spent 1,000 dollars to hire a van just so Grace could travel in comfort.

It was a seven-seater car, and she was the only passenger.

My son-in-law had even hired an experienced driver to make sure the ride stayed smooth and fast.

My daughter kept checking in on WhatsApp the whole way. [Mom, how's the trip? Is Grace doing okay? Did the ride wear her out?]

But when it was my turn, I, her actual mother, was only good enough for the trunk, like some stray mutt.

Inside the car, Charlotte was peeling an orange for Grace. "Mom, try this one. It's really sweet."

Grace replied in a sugary voice, "Oh, Charlotte, you're way too good to me. You're even closer than my own daughter."

Charlotte immediately fawned over her. "You are my mom. My own mom... well, she's healthy. She doesn't need that much fuss."

Healthy? I'd had a slipped disc for three years. Most days I had to wear pain patches just to stand up straight.

At my checkup last year, the doctor said my blood pressure was high and told me not to overwork myself. But when had I ever gotten the chance to rest?

Every morning I got up at six to make breakfast, took Lily to preschool, came back to wash clothes, mop floors, shop for groceries, and cook. In the afternoon, I picked her up, and at night I still had to help with her schoolwork.

Whenever Grace came to stay for a few days, I had to wait on her too. I did everything myself, afraid she'd so much as lift a finger.

So this was what my daughter meant by, "She's healthy. No need to worry about her."

At last, the van stopped.

We were back in Sunport City.

My son-in-law opened the trunk, and the light was so harsh I could barely open my eyes.

I tried to crawl out, but my back hurt so much I could barely move.

Simon frowned. "Mom, hurry up. You're blocking me from getting the luggage."

I gritted my teeth and forced myself out.

My legs had already gone numb. The second I stood up, I collapsed onto the ground.

My daughter was busy helping Grace out of the car and didn't even look back. "Mom, be careful. Don't damage the luggage."

The luggage? It wasn't "Don't hurt yourself." It was "Don't damage the luggage."

Sitting on the ground, I felt the tears fall again.

Grace glanced at me and said lightly, "Oh dear, you're getting older and your legs aren't what they used to be. You should probably go out less from now on, so you don't make things harder for the kids."

I froze. Go out less?

I had traveled all the way from my hometown in Willow Valley to Sunport City, over 625 miles one way, and somehow I was the one causing trouble?

Then what about Grace? She lived locally and only came over three days a month. What did that make her?