002

Clara held her almost weightless canvas bag as she stepped out of the Bennetts' grand gates, those cold, ornate iron doors behind her. Just then, hurried footsteps came from behind.

"Clara! Wait up!"

It was Christopher. He caught up quickly, his voice laced with a hard-to-spot note of condescension. "This area's kind of hard to get a cab from. I'll drive you back to the Howard place."

He paused, eyes flicking to her plain canvas bag. "I mean, no matter what, we were siblings for eighteen years. Watching you just walk off like this... doesn't sit right with me."

Clara looked up, quietly staring at him.

In her past life, she fell hard for that calm, considerate act.

She'd honestly believed he still had some bit of brotherly affection for her.

Until the day she overheard him, coolly telling someone to 'clean her up' like she was some kind of trash. That's when the mask dropped and she finally saw what was underneath—pure ice.

Drive her back? Yeah, right.

He just wanted to make sure she landed headfirst in the dirt, so he and the rest of their family could sleep easy, knowing she was out for good.

This fake caring? Same old script. Same disgusting tone.

Fighting back a wave of cold mockery inside, Clara lowered her eyes slightly, her voice trembling just enough to sound moved. "Thanks, Christopher."

That hit a nerve he couldn't quite place. But watching her try so hard to act tough made that tiny flicker of unease quickly morph into a smug sense of control.

Look at her—still that pitiful little stray, needing the Bennetts' leftovers to survive.

"Come on then," he said, heading for the shiny Bentley.

Meanwhile, across the city, in a cramped and messy neighborhood.

Nancy Collins clutched a worn-out fabric pouch, its faded seams stuffed with some homemade flatbreads and a few wrinkled bills she scraped together overnight.

"Rachel, take these for the trip, okay? And if you don't feel comfortable over there, just come home anytime..."

Her voice trembled, eyes brimming red, her whole face a picture of love and worry.

"Enough already!" Rachel Howard shot back, irritation written all over her pretty face. She pointed at the tiny, cluttered room with peeling walls, disgust oozing from her tone. "Uncomfortable? I've been uncomfortable my whole damn life! You think I don't hate this dump? If you hadn't messed things up years ago, I'd have grown up as a pampered princess in the Bennetts. And now? That faker lived my life for eighteen freaking years!"

Her voice got sharper with every word. "Honestly, I'm thrilled! Don't you dare show up around me again. I want nothing to do with you, or the fact you're my mom. You're embarrassing!"

Nancy stared, stunned. The daughter she'd poured her soul into raising for eighteen years stood there, throwing that love back at her like it was nothing.

Would Clara turn out to be like Rachel too? Looking down on this shabby home and the useless woman who gave birth to her?

A distant car engine hummed softly outside, cutting through Nancy' racing thoughts.

The creaky wooden door swung open. First to appear was Christopher, way too dressed-up in his tailored suit—he didn't fit in here at all. He gave a subtle frown, then dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, clearly bothered by the musty, damp smell floating in the air.

Right behind him walked in Clara.

She had on a plain white top and jeans, yet somehow looked like a sudden beam of moonlight cutting through the darkness—impossible to miss.

Rachel's face flipped instantly into a pitiful look as she rushed over to Christopher, her voice sugar-sweet: "Christopher, you're finally here..."

The other Bennett brothers followed behind. The moment they saw Rachel, they practically swarmed her.

"This is where you lived before, Rachel? Must've been tough on you."

Matthew's voice was loud on purpose, making sure Clara could hear it. "Come home with us. We'll give you the biggest room and the best clothes!"

Thomas took it up a notch—he pulled out the latest smartphone, still boxed, and handed it to Rachel. "Out with the old, in with the new. Toss that junky phone. From now on, I'll make sure you always have the newest stuff!"

Everyone was bending over backwards for Rachel, throwing love and gifts at her like they were trying to make up for eighteen lost years all at once.

But every few seconds, their eyes would dart toward Clara, who stood quietly in the shadows by the door. Their glances were loaded with mockery and disdain.

Clara just stood there watching it unfold, a bitter smile twitching at her lips. The irony hit hard.

Back then, she used to long for this kind of warmth. All it got her was broken into a million pieces.

A sharp ache flared in her chest, laced with a cold, buried hatred.

That's when a soft, hesitant voice spoke right beside her.

"Sweetie... are you Clara?"

She turned, meeting eyes heavy with guilt and sincerity. Nancy.

Nancy's chapped hands twisted nervously in front of her. Her clothes were old but spotlessly clean.

Looking at this cool, stunning girl in front of her, Nancy's heart twisted into knots.

Her daughter. Her real, flesh-and-blood daughter.

So beautiful... raised like a princess in someone else's arms.

The more radiant Clara looked, the more ashamed and scared Nancy felt—that maybe Clara would reject this run-down place and the mother who never got to raise her.

Crushed by guilt yet overwhelmed with joy, she stepped closer, mustering every bit of courage to wrap her arms around Clara.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart... I'm so, so sorry..."

It wasn't a strong hug. But it had none of the Bennett family's fake comfort. Just the rawest, clumsiest, and warmest love a mother could give.

Nancy was choking up so badly that her voice broke, burning tears splashing on Clara's neck and making her frozen heart twitch.

Clara's stiff shoulders, wrapped in that raw, clumsy warmth, finally began to relax bit by bit.

She stayed quiet for a few seconds before finally whispering into the hug, "Mom..."

That one word hit Nancy like a tidal wave. She completely broke down, tears gushing like a burst dam. But beside them, Vivian instantly snapped.

"Clara! What did you just call her? I raised you for eighteen years and barely heard you call me 'Mom' like that! You really are ungrateful—just saw your bio mom and ditched me in a second!"

Furious, she yanked Rachel closer, who was still acting like the obedient daughter, then shot Clara and Nancy an icy glare. "Rachel, let's go! This dump is making me nauseous."

With that, she stomped off, dragging Rachel behind her like the place had suddenly become toxic.

Her sons caught onto the drama and didn't miss the chance to pile on.

"So just like that, she's 'Mom' now? Guess trash attracts trash, huh?"

"Don't come crawling back when you regret this. You'll get your fill of this dump real soon!"

Clara just looked at them calmly and lifted her chin slightly, her voice steady and completely unfazed. "Don't worry. I mean what I say. From now on, we're going our separate ways. Take care of yourselves."

Not bothering to spare them a second glance, she walked away. The pampered men, used to being flattered, could only scoff and awkwardly trail after Vivian and Rachel with stiff backs.

Finally, the cramped room fell quiet—just Clara and Nancy left.

Nancy awkwardly let go, her hands fumbling, like a kid caught doing something wrong. Flushed and nervous, she said, "Clara... I'm sorry—the house's small, and money's tight. You've got two brothers and a sister out working, and your dad... he got hurt years ago, hasn't been able to move since..."

The more she talked, the quieter her voice got. Her head dropped lower and lower, weighed down by self-doubt.

She was terrified. Afraid that this daughter she just found again would be like Rachel—disgusted by everything.

But Clara just listened, quiet, her eyes scanning the small, modest room. It wasn't much, but it was neat and had life in it.

She'd already lost everything once. Money, status—none of that mattered anymore.

This place didn't have the pricey polish of the Bennetts', but it had something they never gave her—genuine warmth.

This woman, trembling and awkward, had been the first to give her a hug. She mattered.

So Clara gently took Nancy's rough hands and said, "It's okay. As long as we're together, that's enough."

Nancy looked up fast—right into her daughter's clear eyes that carried strength way beyond her age. And then the tears came again, but this time, they were different—tears of joy, full of hope.

Her daughter... didn't hate her.