Chapter 3

The Walton family's villa was enormous—so enormous that standing in the middle of the living room, I felt like a speck of dust swept in through the door.

A family portrait hung on the wall. Joseph, Lorna, Matthew, and Gwen were smiling in perfect unison.

Beside it, a glass cabinet was filled with Gwen's trophies. At the very top sat the first-place award for the statewide Innovation Project.

The project title read "A Study on the Assistance Mechanism for Accidental Injuries Among Urban Marginalized Laborers".

"Ada, do you like this project too?" Gwen asked softly.

"I know it well. After all, it's mine," I replied.

The living room fell silent in an instant.

Gwen's eyes reddened.

"Ada, I admit I referenced your interviews at the very beginning. But the subsequent analysis and defense were all done by me."

Matthew slammed his glass down on the table.

"Do you know how many all-nighters Gwen pulled for this project?"

I looked at him. "The injury cases in her defense were real materials that my father and I gathered together by going door to door. She thanked her advisors, her university, and her parents—but she never once mentioned my father."

Gwen sobbed and shook her head. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to prove myself so badly."

Lorna held her close, pained to see her like this. "Don't cry, Gwen."

Then, she looked up at me and said, "Ada, we'll talk about this later. The hearing is tomorrow, so let's deal with your father's matter first."

Joseph placed a document in front of me.

"This is the statement you'll read tomorrow."

I looked down at it. The words were typed out, and every sentence killed Dad a second time.

"I, Ada Bolton, confirm that my adoptive father, Claude Bolton, suffered from long-term mental instability. Prior to his death, he demanded 500 thousand dollars from Gwen and became emotionally unstable after she refused. His death was an individual act of extremism and had nothing to do with Gwen. I voluntarily withdraw my complaint against Gwen."

I looked up. "You want me to personally tell everyone my dad was a blackmailer?"

"This is the best way to handle it. There's no bringing the dead back to life, and the living must move forward," Joseph replied calmly.

I laughed. "And who exactly do you mean by 'the living'?"

"If your father really cared about you, he wouldn't want you to fall out with us," Joseph retorted coldly. "Besides, what could a mere mechanic like him ever give you?"

I stared at him. "He gave me a home."

Matthew let out a derisive snort. "You call a run-down repair shop a home?"

My phone buzzed with a message from Ms. Kramer.

"Ada, Claude hasn't been taken away yet. Don't worry, I'm here with the villagers watching over him."

As I gripped my phone, my nose suddenly stung with the threat of tears.

Gwen walked over to me and said softly, "Ada, just sign it. If Mr. Bolton really loved you, he wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life consumed by hatred."

I turned to her. "Don't say his name."

She froze.

"You're not worthy of doing that," I added emphatically.

Matthew shot to his feet.

"Don't push your luck, Ada. Gwen is willing to humble herself because she's kind. But what about you? From the funeral hall until now, what have you done besides refuse to let go?"

"I'll remember every word you've said today and how you've pressured me," I said quietly. "And I'll also remember how you treated my father."

Joseph's face hardened. "Ada, don't threaten your family."

"You're not my family," I shot back softly.

…

That night, I was put up in a guest room on the second floor.

There were men stationed outside the door.

Not only were they afraid of me leaving, but they were also worried I'd call the police.

But little did they know that I had already made the call the moment I saw that box at the funeral hall.

The police had said there wasn't enough evidence for now, so I could only file a preliminary report.

I sat on the edge of the bed and plugged the charger into Dad's cracked phone. The screen lit up and went dark again. Finally, the startup screen appeared.

The passcode was my birthday.

There was a text he never managed to send.

"Ada, if I don't make it back, don't be afraid. I may be useless, but I'm not scared. We can't let them take what's yours for nothing. Whether you go back to the Walton family or not, don't ever sell yourself short."

There was nothing after that.

My tears fell onto the screen.

In the room next door, Lorna cried once—as did Gwen. They both had someone to comfort them.

Only I sat holding Dad's old phone until dawn broke.

Before sunrise, I sent another text message to the police hotline.

"If the Walton family forcibly handles the remains, please help me preserve the record of my dad's autopsy request."

After I sent it, I stared at the unfinished message on the phone screen.

Dad, this time I'd stand on my own.