Chapter 1

My mother was a liar.

When I was eight years old, she told me she was going to the big city to work. She said she was going to save up for my college tuition and would come back once I graduated.

"Chloe, sweetheart, you have to be a good girl for Grandma."

I clutched the hem of her jacket, tears streaming down my face. "Mom, please don't go."

She wiped my tears away. "Don't be silly. Mom will buy you sweet taffy and pretty floral dresses. Just be good, and I'll be back before you know it."

Grandma stood at the doorway, wiping her eyes with her apron.

But after my mother left, she never came back.

There was no sweet taffy, and there were no pretty floral dresses.

The only proof that she was still alive was the meager allowance wired to Grandma’s savings account every month.

Grandma always said, "Your mother is having a hard time. She's suffering out there in the city to support us. Don't resent her."

I didn't resent her. I just missed her so much.

Ten years flew by.

I was eighteen, a senior in high school.

Grandma was getting old. Her back was bent like the old weeping willow at the edge of our driveway, and her steps were shaky.

She would often sit on the porch, staring down the road that led out of our small town, her cloudy eyes filled with endless yearning.

"Your mom... she should be coming home soon, right?"

She would mutter to herself, sometimes asking me, sometimes asking the wind.

I would lay down my study guides, walk over, and gently massage her shoulders.

"Yeah. She'll be back soon."

I whispered the reply, but my heart felt like it was pressed under a cold, waterlogged stone.

Ten years.

She hadn't returned even once.

Her phone calls had grown fewer and farther between. It went from once a month, to once every three months, and finally, to just a brief call on my birthday every year.

"Happy birthday, Chloe. Study hard."

The background noise was always deafening—sometimes sounding like a noisy construction site, other times like a roaring factory assembly line.

Her voice was always exhausted, raspy, and heavy with fatigue. She would hang up after just a few hurried sentences.

I once asked her, "Mom, when are you coming home?"

She would always give a vague answer. "Soon. Just after this busy season... Do you have enough money? Tell me if you need more..."

Then came the notification sound of the bank transfer.

She seemed to believe that money could make up for everything.

Grandma's health got worse and worse. She coughed violently and could never sleep peacefully at night.

I begged her to go to the hospital, but she always shook her head. "It’s just an old ache. Why waste money on that? Your mother works so hard for every dollar..."

Every penny she saved went into buying my SAT prep books, fresh groceries, and a warm winter coat.

Yet, she herself still wore the old clothes my mother had left behind ten years ago, patching them up over and over again.

Under the dim light, I watched Grandma hunching over, using her rough, calloused hands to stitch a tear in my school hoodie. Her fingers looked as dry and cracked as tree bark.

My heart ached terribly.

I had torn that hoodie earlier that day while helping our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, unload heavy grocery crates.

Mrs. Gable had slipped me two warm, homemade blueberry muffins and whispered, "Chloe, don't push yourself too hard. Your grandma... is relying on you."

I knew. I knew better than anyone.

I had been holding this house together for a long time.

The money my mother sent was never enough. I spent my weekends working at the local diner, and my summers picking berries on the farm. My hands were covered in layers of calluses.

But I never told my mother any of this.

She already sounded so tired over the phone.

Three months before my final exams, Grandma collapsed.

She was coughing up blood.

The local clinic doctor looked grim and told me to get her to the county hospital immediately.

I was terrified and completely lost. For the first time in my life, I initiated a call to my mother.

The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up.

The background was loud, filled with the roar of heavy machinery.

"Hello? Chloe?"

My mother’s voice was breathless, as if she was running.

"Mom... Grandma is coughing up blood..." I sobbed into the receiver.

There was a sudden silence on the other end, followed by even heavier breathing. "Coughing up blood? Is it bad? Have you seen a doctor?"

"The clinic doctor said we need to go to the county hospital... Mom, I'm so scared..." I couldn't hold it in anymore and burst into tears.

My mother's voice instantly shot up, filled with a panic and sharpness I had never heard before. "Don't be scared! Chloe, listen to me! Get Grandma to the county hospital right now! I... I'll wire you the money immediately! Find the best doctor! Use the best medicine! If it's not enough, just tell me! We have to save her!"

She spoke so fast she was almost incoherent.

Before I could say anything else, she hung up.

A few minutes later, my phone pinged. A massive wire transfer had arrived—far exceeding any amount she had sent in the past ten years.