Chapter 6: The Expendable Daughter

HELENE

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains and spilled across the bed.

Feeling the warmth brushing against my skin, I cracked my eyes open and glanced at the baby-pink alarm clock resting on the bedside table.

6:09 AM.

Still early.

With no pressing obligations weighing on my mind, I closed my eyes again, reluctant to leave the comfort of the blankets.

A heartbeat later, they suddenly flew open.

My plants!

Summer had arrived: the soil dried quickly at this time of year.

The thought of them sitting in the heat, thirsty and waiting, swept away the last traces of sleep. I pushed myself upright, threw off the covers, and hurried downstairs.

—

Three years ago, after I graduated from college, my maternal grandparents left this house in the old university district to me before moving to the countryside to run a small farm.

They had retired from their professorships long ago—during my first year of high school—and should have left then. But worried about how I'd fare at the Laurent house, they couldn’t bring themselves to go.

No matter how many times I assured them I could manage on my own, they refused.

In the end, they waited until I graduated.

Only then did they pack their belongings, transfer the house into my name, and finally depart.

They never insisted I live here. They simply wanted me to have a safe haven in this bustling city.

A place to retreat to.

A place untouched by a family I would rather not acknowledge.

To me, however, there was no better home.

I had grown up in this neighborhood. Its tree-lined streets and time-worn houses felt steady and familiar, anchoring me in a world that often felt uncertain.

I loved every inch of it.

At the thought of my grandparents—the only people who had given me genuine and unwavering affection—my lips curved slightly.

I stepped through the green-painted front door and onto the porch.

Summer air—warm and humid—rushed forward to greet me: fragrant with flowers, freshly cut grass, and damp earth. I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath, letting it settle deep in my lungs.

Then I descended the steps and headed toward the backyard.

Neat rows of raised beds lined the space, alongside clusters of ceramic pots and wooden containers.

Vegetables, herbs, dwarf fruit trees, berries, and flowers thrived beneath the morning light, leaves lush and vibrant.

Without wasting time, I entered the small garden shed and retrieved the watering can. After filling it at the outdoor spigot, I carried it to the nearest bed and set it down.

Squatting, I dipped my fingers lightly into the soil.

Dry, and crumbling at the edges.

Just as expected.

Picking up the can, I began watering, moving methodically from bed to bed.

As I worked, my fingertips brushed gently over each plant.

A faint thread of green light slipped from my touch—so subtle it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. It seeped soundlessly into the soil, sinking toward the roots.

Their leaves trembled almost imperceptibly, their color deepening, and their stems straightening.

Then I felt it—the soft, indistinct sense of contentment transmitted back from each plant.

The curve on the corner of my lips deepened.

Just as I had inexplicably been reborn into this world, I had also retained the plant affinity I had awakened in my previous life.

It was far weaker now, but I didn’t mind; I hadn’t expected it to follow me here at all.

Besides, even in its diminished state, it remained something beyond ordinary human capability.

It could accelerate plants’ growth and strengthen their vitality. More than that, when these plants were consumed by humans over time, they offered various health-restorative benefits.

Living proof were my grandparents, who had rarely fallen ill for years. Their doctor always praised their excellent health, and even their colleagues were envious—always asking for the secret behind their ‘rosiness.’

Most of the time, they attributed it to exercise and a balanced diet.

I never bothered to correct or tell them the truth.

Why would I?

This ability of mine was better kept a secret.

Such an ability did not belong in a world like this. Yet through me—a transmigrated soul—it had quietly made an appearance.

Perhaps it was fate.

Perhaps there was a reason I was reborn into this world with this power.

Regardless, I hoped it would not interfere with my simple wish for a peaceful, uneventful life.

Lost in thought, my hands never slowed.

After I finished watering the raised beds, I moved on to the pots and containers, repeating the process until the final leaf had been tended.

At last, I returned to where I had started and set the watering can down.

Before me, the garden stood lush and vibrant beneath the sun.

My small, quiet world.

A faint smile crept across my lips.

Good. My babies were growing well.

With that, I returned the watering can to the shed and headed back inside the house, intending to crawl back into bed.

But just as I stepped into my room, a sharp chime rang out from the bedside table.

My phone.

Who could be calling at this hour? I thought with a flicker of irritation.

Still, I walked over.

Yet, the moment I saw the Caller ID—Mrs. Laurent—my outstretched hand froze, my expression turning dark and cold.

Just two days ago, my father had barked that if I left, I should never think of stepping foot inside again. He was usually a man of his words.

Therefore—

My mother, ever compliant with his whims, wouldn’t call for no reason, especially considering the pitiable number of times we had spoken on the phone over the years.

This abrupt call could only mean one thing.

They had reached a dead-end regarding Noemie and Lucien’s engagement, and had finally chose to follow Camille’s suggestion: dump it on me.

Despite my discussion with Camille in the car that night, I had actually made a secret compromise: I could continue tolerating being tied to them for a while longer, as long as they didn’t try to force me to marry Lucien in Noemie’s place.

After all, I was their daughter too. No matter how biased they usually were as parents, surely they wouldn’t stoop so low as to sacrifice one child for the other…

But—

I blinked, then with an expressionless face, I picked up the phone and answered the call.

Camille had been right.

To them, I would always be expendable.