Chapter 2

The Rowe family thought I was a disgrace, and the Dickerson family thought I was vicious at heart.

Before I could even defend myself, I was shipped off to a lawless border region that very night.

There was no law there, no dignity. Every day meant electric shocks, beatings, and forced labor.

My lower leg was snapped clean in two by those people during one of my escape attempts.

While they were torturing me, they grinned and said, "That's what you get for crossing the wrong person and standing in someone's way."

Only then did I understand that Delia and Derek couldn't wait for me to die.

Two years ago, I escaped with Ryan's help.

The first thing I did was divorce Derek.

The second was to cut ties with them forever, and to start gathering evidence.

The memories faded, and the smell of disinfectant in the exam room pulled me back to reality.

I took a deep breath, pushed down the emotions churning inside me, and turned to the next medical file with a blank expression.

"Next. Ms. Li, please come in."

I focused on the patient in front of me, which pulled me away from the bloody memories of the past.

Saving lives and healing the sick—that was why I went into medicine in the first place.

Even now, working through the pain, I still wanted to stay on the front line.

After work, I had just reached the parking lot when I saw that someone had spray-painted my car.

Worthless doctor, go die already!

I stared at the red words, my fingernails digging into my palm, then took out my phone and called the police.

Inside the police station.

The surveillance footage was crystal clear: two strange men had done it, and the person who put them up to it was quickly identified. It was Delia.

Derek rushed over, learned the whole story, and then said to me,

"Dorothy, Delia's emotions are unstable during her pregnancy. Surely you can understand that?"

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice calm.

"Mr. Rowe, deliberately destroying property and spreading rumors—that isn't something you can wave away with 'unstable emotions.'"

His brows furrowed, and a trace of impatience crept in.

"I know Delia went a little too far, but she's your sister after all, and she's pregnant now."

"Can't you let it go, for the sake of what we once had?"

I looked at him as though I'd heard some absurd joke, and asked back,

"You think there's still something like that between us? You let me be exiled to that border region for three years, and now that I just want to live my own life, that's wrong too?"

Derek's face turned ugly in an instant, his eyes wavering, not daring to meet mine.

Beside us, the officer asked, all business, "Ms. Whitney, the evidence is conclusive. Do you want to pursue legal action against her?"

My tone was firm. "Of course I do. Handle it through the proper channels. I won't accept any kind of settlement."

Derek wanted to say more, but I had already signed my name on the record.

As I walked out the door of the station, his urgent voice came from behind me.

"Dorothy Dickerson."

I turned and cut him off.

"My name is Dorothy Whitney now."

Derek was furious. "All we did was send you abroad for three years, and now you change your name and refuse to acknowledge your parents."

"Do you have any idea how much this hurts people?"

I let out a soft laugh and spoke without a shred of warmth.

"That wasn't abroad. That was a lawless border region. That was hell. As for my parents..."

"They chose Delia a long time ago. They don't deserve to be my parents. My name is Whitney, because the orphanage director is the one who gave me a second life."

Derek seemed to choke on that, but he couldn't help defending himself.

"If you hadn't framed Delia, we would never have wanted to teach you a lesson."

"Besides, you made it back just fine, didn't you?"

Made it back just fine?

I'm covered in scars, with damage to more than one organ, and every night I have countless nightmares—I can't fall asleep without medication.

And they thought none of it mattered.

I didn't want to talk to him anymore, so I walked out, flagged down a car, and headed home.

My phone kept ringing.

For over a year now, no matter how many numbers I changed, they always managed to track me down.

One abusive text after another.

Dorothy, raising you would be worse than raising a dog. I should have known better than to take you back. —Mr. Dickerson.

Dot, come home. Apologize to Delia. I'll bury the past for you, and we'll still be a family. —Mrs. Dickerson.

To me, you'll always be a loser. —Delia.

I stared at them with no expression, then blocked all three numbers on the spot, and the world went quiet in an instant.