Chapter 2

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.