They Picked the Adopted Daughter, I Picked My Adoptive Mother, Fair

The day my birth parents found me, they announced the will to the world.

In it, the money went to my adopted sister. The company went to my brother.

All I got were the few acres of land my grandmother had left in the countryside.

Later, my adopted sister developed depression, stood on the rooftop, and told our parents to choose one of us.

My mother looked at me, torn, and said, "Or maybe... you could go back to the countryside for a while?"

"Once Frances Swanson is better, we'll bring you home again."

Afraid I'd refuse, my father quickly added, "I'll hire someone to look after you, and I'll send you living expenses regularly."

I pulled out the suitcase I'd packed long ago and said calmly, "No need to hire anyone. My mom will take care of me."

"Just send the living expenses on time."

After all, even if Frances hadn't made a scene, I'd been planning to leave anyway.

My mother looked stricken, and asked me with real pain in her face, "This mom you're talking aboutyou mean that adoptive mother out in the countryside?"

"I knew it. In your heart, she's the only one you've ever thought of as your mother."

I looked at her, puzzled.

These three years, every single time, they had chosen my adopted sister over me.

This one time, I chose my adoptive mother.

And she couldn't bear it?

...

Maybe my expression was too cold.

My mother's eyes reddened, and she asked me, wounded, "Do you regret being brought back?"

I made myself look as sincere as I could and said, "No. I've always been grateful to you."

Back then, when they found me, I was on my knees at the hospital, begging the doctor to save my adoptive mother.

My adoptive father had run off with his mistress and the family's savings, and my adoptive mother, sick with rage, had a sudden stroke.

I couldn't come up with the money for her surgery.

It was my birth parents who found me and paid for it.

So I went back with them, and repaid that debt with three years of grievance.

Hearing this, my mother felt much better.

My father, too, said with a look of relief, "You're a good child, one who knows how to be grateful."

"With your adoptive mother there to look after you, we can rest easy."

"But remember, you have birth parents."

"This is your home."

That line was familiar.

They'd said it three years ago, when they brought me back.

But from the moment I stepped through the door, when Frances smashed my head open with a glass and my parents only rushed to comfort her, I knew this place would never be my home.

I nodded, didn't argue, my voice still calm. "Then I'll be going."

I turned and left, dragging my suitcase.

I'd barely stepped out of the yard when I ran straight into my brother, Percival Swanson, hurrying back from the company.

He looked at my suitcase, his lips moving.

I thought he'd say something to make me stay.

After all, since I'd come back, he was the only one in this family who ever cared about me.

But he didn't. Instead, he made excuses for Frances. "Frances is sick. Don't... don't hold it against her."

"Before the SATs, I promise I'll bring you back."

Whatever last trace of warmth I still felt for this family vanished completely in that moment.

I smiled at him. "I'm afraid that won't work. My school records are in the countryside now."

Percival froze, and then the color drained completely from his face.

So he'd remembered. On my third day back, Mom and Dad had wanted to register my residency paperwork.

Frances's hand had shaken violently around her chopsticks.

She said she couldn't help it.

The doctor called it the physical symptoms of her depression.

So, to keep her calm, my parents put my paperwork under the house of my late grandmother.

They said that once Frances got better, they'd transfer it back.

They never brought it up again.

Percival said, a little sheepish, "Sorry"

I shook my head and said flatly, "It doesn't matter."

He took the suitcase from my hand. "I'll drive you to the train station."

I didn't refuse.

The sky was low with dark clouds today, the wind whipping every which way.

A heavy rain was coming.

The country roads out there weren't easy to walk, and I didn't feel like getting soaked.

But I hadn't taken two steps before my mother's voice called out behind me. "Percival, Frances wants those curry beef breakfast sandwiches from that place in South End. Go get them, quick."

Percival's brow creased slightly.

They were just sandwiches. Anyone could go buy them.

But he only looked at me apologetically and said, "Frances hardly ever has an appetite"

The little flicker of hope that had risen in me a moment ago suddenly felt like a joke.

I took the suitcase back from him and said coldly, "I'll just have the driver take me."

Percival let out a breath, reached over and ruffled my hair. "I knew you'd always be the sensible one."

He bent his head and wired some money to my card. "Text me when you get there, so I know you're safe."

I looked at the five hundred thousand that landed in my account and said, sincerely, "Thank you."

The Swansons were rotten people, but the money really was sweet.

I turned and left. I didn't go looking for any driver.

Percival had probably forgotten again that the Swanson drivers weren't responsible for taking me anywhere.

I took a cab, and not long after I got in, the rain started coming down in sheets outside.

The driver laughed. "You got lucky, miss. A few minutes later and you'd have been caught in the rain."

I tugged up the corner of my mouth. "Mm. I've had good luck since I was little."

At the station, I boarded the train and watched the scenery rush past the window, and finally it felt real that I was leaving this place.

As we neared my stop, my phone lit up. A text from my adoptive mother:

"Almost there? Mom made you dumplings, green bean and pork."

I hadn't cried when I left the Swanson house. I hadn't cried when the one brother I'd held out hope for made up his mind to "give up" on me.

But looking at the photo she'd taken of the dumplings, my nose stung all at once.

I love green bean and pork dumplings.

But the Swansons didn't like dumplings.

The Swanson table was always laid with delicate, high-end dishes.

Last New Year's Eve, all of them had gone out to a banquet and left me home.

The reason was that my presence would make people look at Frances strangely.

I missed my adoptive mother, and I missed that bowl of dumplings that stood for a family whole and together.

So I went into the kitchen myself and folded ten of them, ten for a perfect, complete new year.

But I'd barely taken one bite when Frances came home, rushed over, and knocked my bowl to the floor.

She covered her nose and said in disgust, "It smells awful. How does trash like this even get through our door!"

My mother rounded on me sharply. "Are you really that greedy? Or do you want people thinking we don't even feed you enough in this house?"

I wanted to explain.

But meeting my parents' disdainful eyes, in the end I just quietly picked the dumplings up off the floor and threw them in the trash.

That night was the first time I cried since coming home.

In the dark, I buried myself under the blanket and thought about calling my adoptive mother, but I didn't want her to worry.

So I lay there alone, clutching a blanket wet with tears, eyes open until morning.

At least now, no one would ever complain again that my dumplings smelled bad.

I sent a drooling emoji.

The damp weight in my chest eased, like the sky clearing after rain.

By the time I got home, night had already fallen.

My adoptive mother hugged me, happy, and said, "You're finally back."

On the stove, plump white dumplings tumbled in the boiling water.

I scooped some out and couldn't wait to take a bite.

I gave her a thumbs-up, grinning. "Mom, these dumplings smell amazing."

She smiled, but her eyes had gone red.

She lowered her head and rubbed them. "Something flew into my eye."

"If you like them, eat plenty."

I hummed in answer and pretended not to see the tears fall.

Late that night, I got a message from Percival: "Did you get there okay? Are you settling in fine out in the countryside?"

I didn't reply. I tossed the phone onto the nightstand.

The screen lit up and went dark, again and again, until at last it gave up for good.

The next day, I went to check in at my new school.

My grades looked ordinary, so no one paid any attention to the transfer student.

I was put in one of the regular classes.

When the others heard I'd come from D.C., they were curious.

But they had manners, and never pried.

Then the rumors started. People said I was spoiled and vicious, two-faced and cruel, that I'd hurt my adopted sister for the fun of it.

And that was why my birth parents had thrown me away.

Groups of them started coming by just to see what this cruel girl looked like.

Once they saw me, some fell quiet. "How can someone this pretty be so rotten?"

Someone threw a wad of paper at me. When I ignored it, they went red with anger. "Who do you think you are, playing the little rich princess? Still think you're some city girl?"

Someone else gloated. "The princess from D.C. probably never had to study much, huh? Think you can keep up out here with us?"

"Careful you don't fail out of even community college. Then all you'll have left is marrying someone off!"

"Hey, princess, you gonna marry a city boy, or one of us?"

There was always that chattering laughter beside my desk.

The mean-spirited kind, the kind that never minds making things worse for a bit of fun.

It weighed on my homeroom teacher.

The other students looked uncomfortable too.

A few days later, I got a text: "Sis, I heard you're getting shut out down in the countryside?"

"Guess people you can't stand are hated everywhere they go."

She sent a few more pictures.

They were all group shots from a trip.

Frances wrote: "Mom and Dad took me on a road trip to celebrate you leaving."

"Even my brother set his important work aside just to cheer me up."

"Oh, right, I'm going to study abroad. Mom and Dad donated a hundred million to the school abroad to polish my rsum."

"After all, I'm their little princess. I don't need to suffer through the SATs at all."

I looked at the family beaming in the photos, and felt absolutely nothing.

Only in that moment did I realize I hadn't thought about the Swansons in a long time.

I saved a screenshot of the photos, then went to find my homeroom teacher to ask if I could study from home.

Ms. Lane frowned. "Why?"

I said, "I don't want to affect the other students."

Frances wouldn't let me be. Even with only a month left, she wouldn't let me have any peace.

I didn't want to drag innocent people into it.

But Ms. Lane shook her head. "What are you thinking? It isn't your fault. Why would you go home?"

I hadn't expected that.

Usually, whenever Frances's people picked on me, the teachers blamed me for causing trouble.

I'd assumed it would be the same here.

Ms. Lane patted my shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry. From today on, nobody's coming into our class to stir things up."

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Between us, the boys in our class gave the one who started the gossip a real beating."

Something surged through the dead quiet in my chest, like a wave breaking over still water.

My head snapped up to look at her, and I ran straight into the ache in her eyes.

She said, "Your mother came looking for me. You've had it hard, Thelma."

"And even if you're only here for a month, you came into my class, so you're my student."

"If I can't protect you, then I'm useless."

I stepped back and bowed to her, deeply.

I said, solemn, "Thank you, Ms. Lane. I'll pay you back for this."

She smiled and teased, "You're so young. Where does all that stiff old-soul talk come from?"

"I don't want anything back. I just hope you can be happy in my class."

I looked at her, and for the first time since coming to this school, I smiled and meant it.

Back in the classroom, I found a cup of iced lemonade sitting on my desk.

I walked over, and my deskmate grinned. "That's for you. New place opened in town yesterday. Wasn't sure it'd be to your taste."

My face went warm, and even with that cold cup in my hand, something inside me felt warm too.

I said quietly, "Thank you."

She said, "Don't mention it. You showed up here, so we're meant to be friends. As for those people, don't give them a second thought."

The others nodded too.

Nobody said much of anything, and yet it felt like they'd said everything.

I stuck the straw into the cup and took a sip, sour and sweet, just like the way I felt right then.

I'd thought this place was only a stopover, that it would never leave any real mark on me.

But now, that had changed.

That night I went home, organized my notes, and printed them out.

The next day was the city-wide placement exam, and I stopped hiding what I could do.

When the scores came out, everyone was stunned.

I'd placed first in the school.

And first in the entire city.

My deskmate asked, disbelieving, "Is the teaching here really that far behind?"

Then she rushed to apologize. "Thelma, I don't mean to look down on you."

"It's just, I really never thought your ordinary grades in D.C. could take first in our city."

"But either way, you're amazing!"

I looked around the room and said softly, "The education here isn't behind at all."

"I was just holding back. That's all."

"If I did well, I'd never get to come back."

The Swanson family had no room for a plain biological daughter, but they'd hold on tight to a top-scoring prospect.

If my grades were good, then I'd be the Swansons' public face, their "pride."

No matter how much Frances threw fits, they'd never let me leave.

For the sake of my freedom, I'd hidden it for three years.

I'd meant to only show my real level on the day of the SATs, but now, I didn't want to hide anymore.

The heart the Swansons had packed hard as cement had finally, here, put out one small flower turned toward the sun.

The classroom went silent in an instant.

There was ache in the way every one of them looked at me.

My deskmate wrapped her arms around me and sobbed out loud.

The truth was, I knew Ms. Lane had held a class meeting behind my back.

She'd probably told them about my situation, which was why they all felt for me and looked out for me.

She hadn't let me know because she was protecting my pride.

I pretended not to know because I didn't want her blaming herself.

Pride matters so much when you're young. It can crush a person's spine.

But I didn't care.

The same way I didn't care whether the Swansons would still choose me.

I patted my deskmate's back helplessly, and just as I was about to comfort her, I suddenly saw Percival standing in the doorway.

Our eyes met, and my smile fell away.

I knew he'd heard.