Chapter 3

At the very least, I could have begged those strangers to save my life.

Now my application was in Dad's hands.

"Miles, you're a disappointment."

He leaned back in his seat. His voice wasn't angry. It was filled with something worse: contempt.

"The Voss family has fed and clothed you for so many years. And this is how you repay us? You sneak off to some DNA registry to find your 'real' parents? What, has our family treated you so badly that you're already looking for somewhere better to live?"

I stared at the papers. My throat closed up, thick with the taste of blood.

I'd been looking for my birth parents because I wanted to live. As far as Dad was concerned, I was simply an ungrateful son who couldn't be satisfied.

"That's not it." I calmly slid the pages back into the envelope. "I just wanted to know where I came from."

He gave a cold laugh and pulled the car into traffic.

"If you want to know that badly, I'll give you an answer. We're going home."

* * *

When we finally arrived at home, Mom and Nolan were sitting on one of the living room sofas.

Facing them were a middle-aged man and woman in worn, shabby clothes. The man's skin was weather-beaten and his hands were rough. The woman's tangled hair framed eyes that kept darting around the expensive room.

Dad walked in and pointed at the pair.

"Miles. Come here."

I stopped beside the coffee table.

"You wanted to find your biological parents, didn't you?" He spoke as casually as if he were closing an unimportant business deal. "I had someone look into it. These are your parents. Clive and Martha Haskett."

Martha sprang to her feet and grabbed my hand, squeezing out a few tears.

"Oh, my boy! I've finally found you! We were so poor back then that we couldn't feed you. We had no choice but to leave you by the road. You don't blame me, do you?"

The smell of cheap cigarettes and stale sweat hit me. I pulled my hand away and looked at Mom and Dad.

They were terrible actors.

If I hadn't heard the truth the night before, I might have swallowed the story and accepted these two people as proof of my miserable beginnings. But I had heard everything. I was the Voss family's biological son. These people were strangers my parents had dragged in from some backwater town to play a part.

Mom dabbed elegantly at the corner of her eye with a tissue.

"Miles, please don't think we're being cruel. If you're so determined to find your real parents, who are we to stand between you and them? Pack your things. You can spend some time with them in the country."

Nolan sat beside her, his voice soft and sympathetic.

"Don't be scared, Miles. Things might be tougher out there, but they're your family. A little time away will build your character. Maybe then you'll appreciate how much Mom and Dad have done for you."

I stood there, looking at this absurd little family of four.

Build my character. Teach me gratitude.

To accomplish that, my own parents were willing to hand their terminally ill son over to two complete strangers.

A bone-deep exhaustion settled over me. I couldn't even summon the strength to argue.

I didn't have long to live anyway. If I died at the Voss estate, I'd probably just ruin another expensive carpet. Dying in the country might be easier on everyone.

"Okay," I said, barely above a whisper. "I'll pack."

Mom blinked. Clearly, she hadn't expected me to agree. All the lectures she'd prepared died on her lips.

I went upstairs to the old housekeeper's room and stuffed my few threadbare clothes into a backpack. By the time I came back down, Clive Haskett was already impatient to leave.