Chapter 4

Heather's POV

The moment the aircraft door opened, a wave of heat hit me, carrying the dusty smell of the earth. I was officially in a foreign country.

A man in his 30s walked toward me. "Are you Heather Foster?"

He sized me up and down, then tucked the clipboard under his arm. "I'm Hector Zimmerman, the team leader. You can call me Hector. Sorry to ask, but how old are you?"

"I'm 18."

"18…"

He shook his head. "You're the youngest volunteer I've ever had. The youngest before you was 23. Did your family agree to let you come? The conditions here are pretty tough. You signed on for two years. Just so you know, you can't just leave halfway—"

"I don't have a family," I clarified calmly.

Hector looked at me for a couple of seconds, then gave up asking. We got into a car, and he stepped on the gas.

Outside the window, the paved road turned into gravel, then dirt. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, my mind blank.

Five thousand miles away from home… That should be far away enough.

…

Third-Person POV

Three days later, the first of September arrived, marking the first day of the new school year.

Early that morning, Margot called her ex-husband, William.

"Hey, did you take Heather to her orientation? Which college is she going to? Send me the location. I'll mail her some basic supplies."

William froze. "I thought you were taking her."

Margot was just as confused. "Me? Why would I? Didn't you say you'd drive her there once she went back to the countryside?"

"When did I ever say that?" He raised his voice, adding, "You've been handling everything for her these past ten years!"

She was getting worked up, too. "I see her once a year! How would I have handled anything? I don't even know what she eats, wears, or which college she goes to!"

A five-second silence settled on both ends of the call.

In the end, William asked, "Then… who's been taking care of her all these years?"

Neither of them had an answer. They called Heather more than a dozen times in a row, but her phone was switched off.

William couldn't sit still anymore. He got in the car and drove back to the countryside. "I bet she just slept in!"

When he got to the countryside and pushed open the door to Heather's bedroom, he froze at how empty it was. He rushed into the courtyard and grabbed Eleanor.

"Mom! Where's Heather? Where did she go?"

Eleanor was confused. "Didn't she go into the city to meet with you guys a few days ago? She never came back. I thought she was staying with you."

On the phone, Margot sounded frantic. "Could something have happened to her? Call the police!"

Hazel, on the other hand, remained calm. "She's not the reckless type. Besides, she has money on her. Nothing could've happened to her."

William paused, then nodded. "Right. I send her 200 dollars every month for living expenses."

"I do, too," Margot said. "300 dollars a month. It's been ten years. She must've saved quite a bit by now."

He sighed. "That's good. At least she wouldn't have—"

He hadn't finished speaking when Margot suddenly backed out of her banking app, her face changing. "Wait. That's not right. Every payment I've sent her was transferred out on the same day it arrived."

Both William and Margot had access to Heather's account since they started sending her money.

He checked the account as well and saw the same thing. Every single payment they had sent was transferred to another account within half an hour.

The account was registered to none other than Eleanor.

He shoved his phone screen in front of Eleanor. "Mom, why did you take all the money we've been sending Heather over the years?"

She was feeding the chickens and barely looked up. "I've been saving it all for Hazel. Things cost more in the city. She needs money for college."

"You saved all of it for Hazel?" Margot exclaimed through the phone. "Then… how has Heather been getting by all these years?"

Eleanor scattered the last handful of bran from the bowl and dusted off her hands. "She has food to eat and a bed to sleep in. What would she need money for?"

"Have you ever bought her a single new piece of clothing?" Margot practically screamed. "The sweatshirt she wore that day was the one I sent her two years ago! The sleeves were already too short, yet she was still wearing them!"

William's eyes reddened. "So, she's been living off the 15 dollars we give her when we come home once a year? For ten years?"

Eleanor stood beside the chicken coop, holding the empty bowl. A cold laugh escaped her.

"Then you should've come home more than once a year if you cared so much. You left her here for ten years, and now you're here demanding answers for how I raised her?

"I fed her and clothed her. I never failed to do my part. That money was never meant to be hers. Her fate was to stay here and look after the house. I can give that money to whoever I want."

With that, she turned and walked into the house.

William stood in the courtyard for a long time. Finally, he muttered to himself, "Forget it. It was all fate. She drew the short straw."

Over the wall separating the two yards, the neighbor, Lynette Hackley, was hanging bedsheets. She had been listening for a while. In the end, she draped the sheet over the clothesline and leaned over the wall.

"Oh, Will…"

She hesitated for a few seconds, then sighed. "The truth is, Heather didn't draw the short straw."