Chapter 3

I held the counterfeit bill in my palm and stared at it for a long time.

My $100 was now $50.

$50 was barely enough to buy a single box of Grandpa’s medication.

However, I did not dare confront Mr. Zellen. He controlled all the food and supplies at the old residence. If I got on his bad side, Grandpa would be the one to suffer.

I returned to the bedroom and looked at the oxygen concentrator beside the bed, which kept making strange noises from time to time. For the first time, I took the initiative and messaged Mother.

Zachary: [Mom, Grandpa’s oxygen concentrator is broken. Could you lend me $1,000? I’ll pay you back ASAP by gathering medicinal herbs and weaving wicker baskets.]

I waited for hours, but no reply came. I sent the same message to Father. He responded quickly.

Father: [The family provides a monthly allowance for his care. Don’t bother me with trivial matters like this.]

I stared at his message, feeling a little ashamed.

Father managed such a huge company. He must be incredibly busy. To him, replacing a machine probably really was a trivial matter.

I opened Eliana’s profile. Her latest social media posts still showed she was overseas.

I messaged her asking for help, but even after nightfall, it remained unread.

In the end, I had no choice but to turn to Alistair.

Less than a minute later, he sent me a photo of the wild Phoenix Root.

Alistair: [The Phoenix Root I bought for Grandpa has already cleared customs. If you really care about Grandpa, Zachary, just focus on taking care of him. Stop using his illness to compete for attention from the family.]

I hurried to explain.

Zachary: [I’m not trying to compete for anyone’s attention. The machine really is broken.]

A red exclamation mark appeared on the screen.

He had blocked me.

I put down my phone, consumed by guilt.

I was just too useless. The Spencer family had entrusted me with Grandpa’s care, yet I could not even afford to buy him a new machine.

From that day on, Mr. Zellen completely forbade me from leaving the house.

Two maids also lived in the house with us. However, once they realized I was not favored by the family, they gradually stopped treating me with any respect.

When I asked them to help turn Grandpa over in bed, they hid in the kitchen to watch videos on their phones.

When I asked them to change his bedsheets, they dumped the dirty water into the yard, nearly drowning the lettuce I just planted.

Mr. Zellen was even worse. He loaded the eggs and grain onto a truck and hauled them away, telling everyone that the household expenses were too high, and he needed to sell some things to cover the deficit.

I rushed to stand in front of the truck.

‘Those eggs are for Grandpa! He needs them to regain his strength!”

He shoved me aside.

“Have you really started thinking of yourself as the master of this house? These things belong to the Spencer family. Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

I fell into the mud, scraping the skin off my elbow.

Before climbing into the truck, Mr. Zellen turned back to warn me.

“Try telling on me, and I’ll say you’re the one who’s been stealing and selling things.”

After the truck drove away, I sat on the ground and stared at the empty chicken coop. That was when I noticed the willow grove along the yard wall.

My adoptive father had taught me how to weave wicker baskets when I was little.

One basket would not earn much money, but what about ten? A hundred?

That very night, I cut down two willow stalks and split them into thin strips.

During the day, I cared for Grandpa, tended the vegetables, and fed the chickens. At night, I sat beneath a dim lightbulb and wove baskets.

Whenever the wicker strips cut my fingers, I wrapped them in cloth and kept going.

Whenever I grew so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open, I would splash cold water on my face.

The vegetable vendors in town soon noticed how sturdy my baskets were, and one after another, they began placing orders.

I bundled up the eggs, dried medicinal herbs, and finished baskets, then asked someone to take them to the market for me.

$10, then $50, then $100. Little by little, the money in my tin box began to add up.

…

Spring passed, and the tomatoes in the yard ripened to a bright red.

Summer passed, and when the fan in Grandpa’s room broke, I sat beside his bed and fanned him by hand through the entire night.

By the time the leaves began turning yellow, I finally tipped all the money out of the tin box.

I had finally saved up $1,000, cent by cent.

My hands trembled as I counted the money three times before I finally dared to ask the vegetable vendor to help me order a new oxygen concentrator.

On the day the machine was delivered, Mr. Zellen suddenly pushed open the door.

“Get yourself cleaned up. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, Miss Eliana, and Master Alistair are coming to visit Mr. Spencer Sr. today.”

My heart leaped with joy. It had been so long since my family last visited Grandpa.

I hurried into the mountains to pick a basket of fresh wild vegetables, then caught one of the hens I raised myself.

I figured that once they arrived, I would butcher the chicken, simmer it into a hearty soup, and cook a whole tableful of hot dishes. Just thinking about it made the house feel a little livelier.

‘Grandpa, when the family sees how well I’ve been taking care of you, they’ll be happy, too. They will, won’t they?’