Chapter 2

"People from the country are used to living in mud houses. Since when did they become so particular? Isn't that storage room better than the mud houses back home?"

Ethan Fitzpatrick straightened up and took his mother's side. "Brooke, that's enough! So what if your mother stayed in the storage room for a few days? What's the big deal?"

"Would you make your own sister sleep in the storage room?" I shot back.

"Then what do you want?" Ethan had lost his patience, too. He threw the things in his hands onto the floor. "You want Maddie and her daughter to sleep in the storage room? She's only three years old. How could you live with yourself?"

He couldn't bear the thought of Madison and her daughter sleeping in the storage room.

But he could bear making my mother, who'd spent seven hours on a bus to visit me, sleep there?

Patricia let out an even more contemptuous snort. "Maddie is one of us. It’s only natural for her to stay in her own brother’s home.

"As for your mother... She's getting on in years, and she's still living in her daughter's and son-in-law's house? People would laugh at her if they found out!"

Her words made me dig my fingernails into my palms.

Why hadn't she said any of this when she asked my mother to pay for the house?

Besides, we agreed back then that one room would be reserved for my mother so I could bring her to the city when she needed someone to care for her in her old age.

But Patricia had arrived early and driven my mother away by sheer force of will.

Now my mother couldn't even visit me once in a while and stay in a house that was partly hers without being looked down on?

What kind of twisted logic was that?

I was about to argue back when the doorbell suddenly rang.

Patricia hurried to open the door, her wrinkles bunching into a huge smile. "Oh, Maddie! You're here! Come on in, come on in! Where's Harper? Grandma's missed you so much!"

It was my sister-in-law, Madison, and her daughter, Harper.

As they walked in, Harper was holding a lollipop that was already melting. Drops of syrup fell onto the floor, one after another, leaving a sticky mess. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of sugary drips behind her.

Patricia glanced down at the floor and still smiled. "Harper is just too cute."

When my mother arrived, she had worn the new clothes she saved for holidays and special occasions. They were perfectly clean.

Yet they thought she was dirty.

The apples in the pie she brought had been picked especially for me from the apple tree she had grown herself.

She had spent the entire year tending to the apple tree in her backyard until the apples were ripe, all so she could bake a homemade apple pie just for me.

But the moment Patricia saw them, she had covered her nose and complained that they smelled strange.

Ethan hadn't even opened the bag to look inside. He'd picked it up and thrown it straight into the trash. The disgust on his face had been unmistakable.

I closed my eyes, unable to bear watching their little happy family act any longer, and turned toward the kitchen.

The apple pie my mother had specially brought for me was still sitting in the trash can.

I let out a long sigh, took it out, unwrapped it, and bit into it.

It tasted just as I remembered.

My mother knew how much I loved apple pie, so she poured love into the apple tree in her backyard, carefully watering it, pruning its branches, and watching over the fruit until the apples were ripe.

She picked them one by one, saving the best for the pie she wanted to make just for me.

Then she spent seven hours on a bus, holding it in her arms the entire way.

All so I could enjoy a single bite of her homemade apple pie. It was filled with love, yet someone else had called it dirty.

I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and took another bite. The crust had gone cold and tough, but I kept eating anyway.

My mother had made these especially for me. I couldn't let them go to waste.

After I finished eating, I put the remaining pie in the refrigerator.

When I came out, I saw Harper holding the family portrait of me and my parents, scribbling all over it with colored markers.

"What are you doing?!" I hurried over and snatched the portrait back.

Harper burst into tears. "Mean! Aunt Brooke is mean!"

Hearing her cry, Patricia rushed over immediately and stood in front of Harper.