In My Eighteenth Orphanage Year, Mom and Dad Finally Came

In my eighteenth year at the orphanage, the director told me my biological parents had come looking for me and wanted to take me home.

Full of anticipation, I rose up on my toes and looked out past the front gate.

It was empty. No one was there.

Director Harmon saw my embarrassment, cleared his throat lightly, and comforted me:

"Don't read too much into it. Your parents are both busy with work, and the orphanage is too far out of the way for them to come pick you up in person, but in their hearts they're surely looking forward to having you home."

"This is the address your parents sent me. I'm covering the travel costs myself, and I've already bought the ticket. Pack your things and set off as soon as you can. Don't keep them waiting."

"Oh, and remember to tell them you haven't been feeling well. Once you're home, there'll be money to treat it."

Tears spilled from my eyes, and I took a step back.

I bowed deeply to him to show my gratitude.

After eighteen hours of travel, I stood downstairs clutching my diagnosis report.

I thought I had finally found a harbor to call home.

But at that moment I still didn't know.

The gifts fate hands out have their price marked in secret all along.

I rode the elevator up and found the door by its number.

The door wasn't shut all the way.

The director had probably told them I'd arrive around this time.

I gently pushed the door open. Several pairs of men's sneakers were piled up in the entryway, all of them looking expensive.

The living room air conditioning was cranked up high.

The moment I stepped inside with my cloth bag, I heard the clatter of a keyboard.

My twin brother, Ralph, was curled up on the sofa playing a video game.

His feet were propped up on the coffee table, swinging back and forth, with a plate of sliced fruit and an ice-cold Coke beside him.

Mom was crouched next to him massaging his legs, and Dad was holding up a fan to cool him off.

Both of them had smiles on their faces, and neither looked up when they heard me come in.

"Ralphie, aren't you tired? You've been playing all morning. Why not take a break?"

"I'm not tired. Mom, don't touch me, we're in the middle of a team fight!"

"Okay, okay, Mom won't touch you. Are you hungry? I'll braise some of those pork ribs you love in a little while."

I stood in the entryway for nearly five minutes, my palm sweating against the cloth bag.

Dad finally caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye.

His smile vanished at once, and his brow furrowed.

"What are you standing there for? Come in. Waiting for someone to invite you?"

I hurried inside and had just opened my mouth to call out to my parents.

Mom straightened up and jerked her chin at me:

"The kitchen's piled with dishes that haven't been washed all morning, and the floor's filthy too. Go clean it up."

"Oh, and we're braising Ralphie's favorite pork ribs for lunch, so go trim the vegetables."

"Do you know how to braise ribs? If not, learn. I'll show you the basics in a bit."

I froze for a moment.

I had just arrived today.

They hadn't even asked if I was tired from the trip.

They didn't care how I'd been all these years at the orphanage.

The orphanage had poor conditions, and I'd been malnourished since childhood. Last month I was diagnosed with a heart problem.

The doctor said it had to be treated as soon as possible, or something could go wrong at any time.

Maybe it was just because we'd only just met and I wasn't familiar with them yet.

I clutched the crumpled diagnosis report in my hand and swallowed all that hurt back down.

I tucked the report into my bag, nodded with a small hum, then turned and went into the kitchen.

The kitchen sink was piled full.

Grease had congealed on the rims of the bowls, and there was a sour, rancid smell.

Dirty water pooled on the floor, and vegetable scraps had been tossed everywhere.

I rolled up my sleeves and started washing the dishes.

Because the air conditioning was set so low, the water was bitterly cold.

I'd barely washed two before my chest started to feel tight.

I braced myself against the sink and caught a couple of breaths.

I told myself to hold on a little longer, not to upset them right after coming home.

Mom pushed aside the door curtain and came in. Seeing me standing there holding onto the sink, her face fell instantly:

"What are you dawdling for? How long can it take to wash a few dishes?"

"What? I ask you to do a little work and you already don't want to move? I always said the kids left behind in the orphanage are lazy. If they were more diligent, someone would've adopted them long ago. Guess I was right."

"No, Mom, I'm"

"Don't make excuses."

She cut me off, reaching out to dump a basket of vegetables onto the counter.

"Wash them, fast. Ralphie eats at twelve-thirty. If you hold up your brother's lunch, I won't let it go."

With that, she turned and walked out.

The curtain over the doorway slapped back and forth.

I gritted my teeth and finished the dishes, then crouched down to scrub the grease off the kitchen floor.

When I stood up, everything went black, and I swayed twice before I caught the wall.

My chest felt tighter than ever.

The pain came in waves, like being jabbed with needles.

I leaned against the wall for a long while before I could start trimming the vegetables.

Lunch was already on the table before Ralph finally got up off the couch, taking his time.

He scanned the table, picked up a rib, took a bite, and frowned right away.

"Mom, how'd you cook these ribs? They're way too salty!"

Mom quickly grabbed a piece and tasted it, then whipped around to glare at me.

"What is wrong with you? Can't you measure the salt? You know your brother likes his food mild!"

I gripped my chopsticks and apologized in a small voice.

"I'm sorry. It's my first time. I'll be careful next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time? Your brother's about to start college. Boys develop slowly, this is a crucial time for him to grow. Don't you know too much salt is bad for him?"

Mom slid the ribs over toward Ralph and piled several more pieces into his bowl.

"Ralphie, be good. If it's really too salty, just eat more rice. Next time I'll stand right there and watch her cook."

The three of them talked and laughed, and no one looked at me again.

The dishes sat in the center of the table, out of reach from my corner.

But no one served me any food.

All I could do was hold my bowl and shovel down plain rice, the pain in my chest coming wave after wave.

When he'd finished eating, Ralph shoved his bowl away and went back to his room to keep playing his games.

I was just about to sit down and rest when Mom came over with an armful of clothes and dropped them at my feet.

"These are the clothes Ralphie wore a few days ago. They're all designer, you can't put them in the machine. Wash them by hand."

"And mop the living room floor again. Ralphie's going to come out for watermelon later, and he doesn't like wearing slippers."

I looked at the pile of dirty clothes.

There were jackets, socks, even underwear.

My stomach turned.

"Mom, I'm not feeling well..."

Mom's voice shot up at once.

"Here we go again, right? A little work and you're not feeling well. Why are you so much trouble? I think you're just faking sick to get out of the work!"

Ralph heard her from his room and stuck his head out, snorting.

"I said not to bring her back, but you wouldn't listen. Girls are nothing but trouble, so dramatic. A little work and they whine about being tired. I really don't get why we brought her back. Now I can't even go around shirtless at home."

Dad sat on the couch, looking at his phone.

He heard all this and smiled, waving Ralph over.

"Silly kid, what do you know?"

"What don't I know?"

Ralph sauntered over and picked up a slice of watermelon to chew on.

Dad lowered his voice, but I was standing close enough to hear every word.

"You've got college ahead of you, then getting married after you graduate, buying a house, paying the dowry. On just your mom's and my earnings, how long would that take?"

"An extra pair of hands is an extra pair of hands. She's grown now, she can work and earn money. In a few days we'll put her in the factory, that's several thousand a month, and we'll save it all for you. Another three to five years and we'll marry her off to somebody back home, the dowry alone will be over a hundred thousand, and there's your down payment."

Ralph let out an "Oh," like it had all just dawned on him.

He looked me up and down and said, dismissive:

"So that's how it is. Fine, then she can just stay home. She can do the work either way."

I stood there, and all the blood in me went cold.

So that was it.

So much for family, so much for being blood.

I was just a tool they'd brought back to make money for their son.

Mom turned and glared at me, her voice thick with impatience.

"What are you still standing around for? Go wash those clothes! Quit standing there in the way, putting on that pitiful act. Who's it supposed to impress?"

I didn't say anything. I bent down, gathered up the pile of clothes, and went into the bathroom.

Standing at the sink scrubbing the clothes, my chest started aching after just a few strokes, and I had to stop and catch my breath for a long while.

By the time I got to the socks, a wave of nausea rose in my stomach, and I couldn't help coughing twice.

After the coughing stopped, my chest hurt even more, as if a hand were squeezing my heart inside.

I braced myself against the sink for a long time before I finally finished washing everything.

While I was hanging the clothes to dry, my vision went black several times.

I gripped the balcony railing, looking at the trees below, and I nearly pitched straight over the edge.

At dinner, I couldn't take it anymore. I put down my chopsticks and looked at my parents across the table.

"Dad, Mom, I'm really not feeling well. Could... could you take me to the hospital to get it checked?"

My voice was very small, my tone full of pleading.

"I'll pay you back for the medical bills once I start working. I'll write you an IOU. I swear I'll pay it back."

Mom slammed her chopsticks down on the table with a bang.

"Fiona, are you ever going to stop?"

"From the moment you walked through that door, it's been one thing after another you're not feeling well, you're uncomfortable. You just don't want to do any work, is that it?"

"I think you're faking it! What kind of illness could someone your age even have?"

Dad's face darkened too.

"A person ought to know how to be grateful. We brought you back from the orphanage, gave you a place to live, gave you food to eat. Is this how you repay us?"

"Ask you to do a little work and you drag your feet, and now you want to go to the hospital? You think the hospital's free? That money's being saved for your brother's tuition!"

"But I really"

"Really what?"

Mom cut me off, spit nearly flying into my face.

"I think you're just scheming. Faking sick on purpose to win sympathy, hoping we'll feel sorry for you, isn't that it?"

"I'm telling you, it won't work! We're not falling for it!"

Ralph shoveled rice into his mouth beside them, not even lifting his head.

"Yeah, all that play-acting is so annoying. If she doesn't want to stay, she can get lost back to the orphanage. We don't feed freeloaders in this house."

I looked at the three of them, each taking a turn to curse at me, as if I were an enemy.

The pain in my chest grew sharper and sharper.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't get out a single word.

That night, I lay on the hard wooden bed in the guest room the whole night.

The room was tiny, with no windows.

It was damp, and the blanket smelled of mold.

I clutched my chest, hurting so much I couldn't sleep all night.

I couldn't understand it. We were both their children, so why did Ralph get to be treated like a treasure?

Why was I the one left in an orphanage for eighteen years, and then brought home only to be worked like a mule?

No one gave me the answer.

The next day, right as dawn broke, I was woken by the sound of my mother pounding on the door.

"What time is it? Still sleeping? Get up and make breakfast!"

"Your brother wants soy milk, freshly ground, and fry him two eggs!"

I forced myself up and out of bed.

My head felt heavy and my legs weak, so lightheaded that even walking felt like drifting.

I bustled back and forth in the kitchen.

The greasy smoke made me cough, and my chest hurt so much I broke out in a cold sweat.

When I carried breakfast to the table, my vision went black and I swayed.

The soy milk in my hand nearly spilled.

"Watch it! What if you scald your brother?"

Mom quickly grabbed the bowl from me, pushed it in front of Ralph, then turned and scolded me.

"So clumsy, can't do a single thing right. What use are you at all!"

I leaned on the table and gasped for a long while before I recovered.

After breakfast, Mom gave me another long list of chores.

Wipe the windows, mop the floors, tidy Ralph's room.

Go to the grocery store at noon to buy fish.

She said Ralph wanted steamed fish, that it was good for the brain.

"Oh, and the grocery store's at the other end of the street, a twenty-minute walk. You can walk there. Don't take a car, it's a waste of money."

When I went out with the shopping basket, the sun was blazing, and it left me dizzy and faint.

My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe, and every step felt like stepping on cotton.

I gritted my teeth and made it to the grocery store, but on the way back after buying everything, a sharp pain suddenly tore through my chest.

My legs gave out, the groceries dropped from my hand to the ground, and I toppled straight over.

Before I lost consciousness, I heard the alarmed cries of passersby nearby.

"Isn't this the Fox family's girl, the one they just brought home? How did she end up collapsed here?"

"Somebody call Lambert, quick, before something goes wrong and no one can explain it..."

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the floor of my own living room.

My face burned.

My mother stood over me, hands on her hips, her face full of fury.

"Well, Fiona, you've really gotten bold, haven't you? Now you dare fake fainting out in public?"

"You did it on purpose, didn't you? Collapsed out there deliberately so people would see and say we abuse you? How can you be so scheming!"

I propped myself up on my arms, trying to sit up.

Only when I moved did I realize my knees and palms were scraped raw and oozing blood.

"I didn't... I really was dizzy..."

"Still talking back!"

Mom kicked my arm.

"If you weren't born a princess, don't act like one! Faking a faint the moment there's a little work? Let me tell you, that doesn't fly with me!"

"Lie there if you want. Lie there till dark and nobody's going to care!"

Then she turned and walked into the kitchen, humming a tune as she cooked fish for Ralph.

When Ralph came out of his room, he went out of his way to give me a wide berth as he passed, like he was avoiding something filthy.

"Mom, is she just going to lie right there? That's such bad luck."

"Leave her be. She's faking. She'll get up on her own once she's had enough."

I lay on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling.

The pain in my chest grew worse and worse, and every breath tasted of blood.

Tears slid from the corners of my eyes and dropped to the floor.

So it turned out people really could be this cruel.

Even to their own daughter, they could be this cruel.

I don't know how long I lay there before I slowly crawled up.

The wounds on my body hurt with every movement.

I didn't cry, and I didn't make a scene.

I quietly gathered up the groceries that had fallen on the floor, washed them clean, and went into the kitchen to cook.

My health got worse by the day.

I was often dizzy and couldn't eat.

At night the pain kept me awake, and the phlegm I coughed up was streaked with blood.

But I didn't dare say anything.

Saying anything would only get me scolded.

A week later, in the afternoon, my parents came home with Ralph's college acceptance letter, grinning from ear to ear.

The red letter, with its gold lettering, was set in the most prominent spot in the house.

"My son's going to make something of himself! Getting into such a good school!"

"Of course he is. Look at whose son he is!"

The two of them fussed over Ralph for ages.

Then Mom turned her head and saw me standing off to the side, and seemed to remember something.

"Oh right, Fiona, there's something I need to tell you."

"Your dad and I found you a job at an electronics factory. Room and board included, forty-five hundred a month. The pay goes straight into my account to save up for your brother's tuition. You go report for work tomorrow."

My head snapped up to look at her.

The electronics factory ran two shifts, twelve hours on your feet a day.

With my body, going there would mean death.

"Mom, I can't. My body really can't take it..."

"Take it or not, you'll take it!"

Dad flared up at once and slammed the table.

"I think you're just lazy! What's wrong with a little work at your age? When we were your age, we were already out working to feed the family!"

"Exactly."

Mom chimed in, her voice cutting.

"Don't pull this on me. I'm telling you, you're going to that job!"

"You think we brought you back here so you could live it up? Your brother's schooling costs money, and one day his wedding and a house will cost money too. If you don't pull your weight, who will?"

"But I..."

"But what! There's no but!"

Ralph sat with one leg crossed over the other, giving me a sideways look.

"When you're told to go, you go. Why all the yammering? You're lucky you get to earn my tuition. Don't be so ungrateful."

I was shaking all over with anger.

The sharp pain surged up in my chest, like a knife twisting inside.

I slowly sank into a crouch, cold sweat dripping off my chin.

I opened my mouth to speak, but not a sound came out.

Mom stamped her foot in a rage.

"Here we go again! Every single time I tell you to work, you pull this! Aren't you sick of it? Can't you come up with something new?"

"Fake, fake, fake, that's all you do all day. Why don't you go be an actor!"

"I'm telling you, you can talk till the sky falls, you're still going to that job!"

The pain blurred my mind, my ears rang, and their voices sounded like they came through a layer of mist.

I braced myself against the floor, struggled to my feet, and stumbled toward the guest room.

Mom shouted after me.

"Get back here! Where do you think you're going?"

I didn't look back. With the last of my strength, I made it into the guest room.

I shut the door behind me and locked it.

I leaned against the door and slowly slid down it.

Breathing grew harder and harder, as if something were blocking my airway.

I reached out to grab something, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Outside the door, the cursing went on.

"I told you not to spoil her. She's just faking!"

"When she comes out she's going to work tomorrow, no arguments! Spoiled rotten, that one!"

"Mom, if she won't go, just don't feed her. Let's see if she keeps faking then."

I leaned against the door, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

At eighteen, I thought I finally had a home.

It turned out that behind this door was where I really belonged.

My awareness slowly faded.

In a haze, I felt like I was back at the orphanage.

The director patted my head and told me I'd have a home now.

Yes.

I had a home now.

Only this home had never once belonged to me.

The cursing outside the door grew farther and fainter.

My head tilted to one side, and my hand fell limp.

Outside the door, Mom cursed for a good while, and with no sound at all coming from inside, her temper only rose.

"Fine, so now you're giving me the silent treatment, huh?"

"Fiona! I'm counting to three, and you'd better open this door! Or I'll break it down!"

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

Still no sound from inside.

Dad came over, his face dark.

"Don't waste your breath on her. Break the door down and let's see how long she can keep up this act!"

With that, Dad took a step back and kicked the door open.