Real Daughter's Revenge novel Chapter 13

The day the final exams ended.

The mysterious person who had previously sent me the recording messaged me again: “Lena has been hospitalized.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“She really had a heart attack.”

I was taken aback for a moment.

That person said, “Her mother is crying terribly at the hospital, saying her daughter has had a hard life.”

Her mother?

Right, Lena’s biological mother.

“Her biological parents are very poor and can’t afford treatment.” The other person probed, “Do you want to tell your family?”

“No need.”

“She might die.”

“That’s her fate.” I hung up the phone.

I’m not a saint; I won’t sympathize with someone who has schemed to harm me.

Even if she really is dying, it has nothing to do with me.

I packed my things, getting ready to return to my hometown for winter break.

Dragging my suitcase out of the dormitory building, I unexpectedly saw Bernard downstairs, leaning against his car and smoking.

There were people nearby secretly taking pictures of him.

I walked past him without looking, casually saying, “Smoking in public–do you think that makes you look cool?”

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The man in a suit and tie’s expression changed; he stubbed out his cigarette and tried to wave away the smoke in the air.

“Jessie, where are you going?”

“Back to Brookline, for the New Year.”

“Brookline?” He was surprised. “Isn’t that your adoptive parents‘ home?”

I didn’t even look back. “It’s the home of the neighbor grandma who raised me until I was ten. She’s my real family.”

That grandma was the only person who truly cared for me.

Before I turned ten, I spent most of my time at her house.

She taught me to read, taught me how to be a good person, and taught me to be strong.

If it weren’t for her, I might have been driven mad by my adoptive parents long ago.

The car I called had been waiting at the entrance for a while. Bernard’s car happened to not start, so even though he tried to catch up with me,

he couldn’t.

My hometown is a small county town in the neighboring province; it takes eight hours by train to get there.

By the time I arrived, it was already late at night.

Grandma was still awake, sitting at the door waiting for me.

“Jessie is back!”

She saw me and her face lit up with a big smile.

“Grandma.”

I put down my luggage and hugged her.

She had lost a lot of weight, and her hair was completely white.

“You’ve lost weight.”

She touched my face. “You haven’t been eating well out there, have you?”

“I have, just been too tired from studying.”

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“Did you get into a good university?”

“Yes, MIT.”

“Good! Good!”

She pulled me into the house. “Grandma made your favorite braised pork.”

During that meal, tears streamed down my face as I ate.

Not because I was moved, but because it was too spicy.

Grandma was getting old and her sense of taste had faded, so she put in a lot of chili peppers.

But I still finished everything.

At night, I shared a bed with Grandma, listening to her ramble on about things happening in the village.

Who got married, who had a baby, whose chicken laid a double–yolked egg.

All trivial matters, but I listened intently.

This is what life is really about.

It’s not about scheming or pretending.

It’s just about living simply, day by day.

“Jessie,” Grandma suddenly asked, “Are your biological parents good to you?”

I was startled: “You know?”

“I saw it on TV.” She sighed. “The Fraser family, such a prominent family.”

“Yes.”

“Do they… do they love you?”

I was silent for a while. “They love their adopted daughter more.”

Grandma held my hand. “Our Jessie has suffered so much.”

“It’s not suffering.” I held her hand back. “As long as I have you, Grandma, it’s not suffering.”