When my adoptive father first saw me, I was eating a bowl of sour, spoiled rice. Starving flies fought me for the food, and I didn't even have a free hand to swat them away. Later, he took me home. He threw me a seventh birthday party. He said, "Maya, today is your new birthday. From now on, this day every year will be your birthday." Everyone smiled at me. Only my adoptive mother, after the guests had left, screamed at him: "She's your illegitimate child, isn't she?!" 1 I was the second child of my biological parents. I had an older sister. My parents, desperate for a son, hid my mother's pregnancy to avoid the authorities. My ten-year-old sister was begrudgingly taken in by our aunt because she was old enough to help with chores. I, at seven years old, was left at home. It was summer. My mother's pregnant belly could no longer be hidden. She and my father had to hide in the mountains during the day, sneaking down at night to make me a little food. They would leave it covered under a bamboo basket on the table. That time, they hadn't been home for two days. I was starving. I drank a belly full of cold water. When I couldn't take it anymore, I scraped the spoiled, leftover rice from the big pot on the stove. I didn't even bother with a spoon. I just shoved it into my mouth by the handful. Flies swarmed my bowl, fighting me for the food. I couldn't even swat them away. Do you know what spoiled rice tastes like? It's sour, a little bitter. When you scoop it up, it stretches out in long, sticky strands. It looks like... vomit. My adoptive father saw me like that through the iron-barred window. He yelled at me to stop and handed me a piece of chocolate. It was a little bitter, and it melted slowly in my mouth. It didn't taste much better than the spoiled rice. Later, I found out it was imported chocolate. Very expensive. One piece could buy two pounds of peppermint candies. He taught me how to draw on the dirt with a twig. He waited with me for two days until my parents finally came back. They were holding my newborn baby brother. He was chubby and pale. Unlike me, who was dirty and skeletal. I heard my adoptive father wanted to take me away. My parents hesitated for a night. The next day, my mother had someone kill a chicken. In an unprecedented move, she put both drumsticks in my bowl. "Eat up!" The chicken wasn't cooked long enough. It was tough, and chewing it made my gums bleed. But I didn't care. I cracked the bones and sucked out every last drop of the marrow and broth. My mother stroked my gaunt face, tears streaming down hers. "Don't blame Mommy. Every family needs a son to carry on the name. "That man looks like he comes from a wealthy family. You'll have a much better life there than here. "When you get to his house, be a good girl. Be obedient." 2 I hugged my mother's leg tightly, crying and begging her: I'll be even better from now on, please don't send me away. But my father forcefully pried my hands off. He was impatient. "If you stay, we'll have to pay a massive fine for your brother." "Where are we going to get that kind of money?" The sun was brutal that day. It stretched his shadow long, covering me completely. In that massive shadow, I sobbed uncontrollably, trembling. My adoptive father stepped forward, covering my ears tightly, and frowned. "Don't say these things to the child." "She didn't do anything wrong!" He lifted me onto his tall motorcycle and placed his only helmet on my head. The helmet was too big. It wobbled like a mountain. It also felt like... a massive embrace. The motorcycle roared to life, spewing a cloud of black exhaust. My mother chased after us, shoving half a bag of peppermint candies into my hands. "You can have them all, eat them all!" Usually, she locked these candies away. Only when I was exceptionally good would she reward me with one. "Don't blame Mommy, Mommy had no choice." ... My adoptive father revved the engine. The oncoming wind scattered my mother's instructions and her remorse. I grabbed a handful of peppermint candies and stuffed them into my mouth. So cold. So bitter! My young mind couldn't understand. Why was one candy so sweet, but a whole handful so bitter? My adoptive father took me home and threw me a birthday party. He held my hand and said, "Today is the day of your new life. From now on, this day every year will be your birthday." All his relatives came. Aside from my adoptive mother, who looked indifferent, everyone spoke to me gently. I wore a princess dress and held a plastic knife. In front of me sat a two-tiered birthday cake. I was stiff as a board, forcing a rigid smile for the dark camera lens. I was terrified. I felt like a thief. Like I had stolen a princess's spotlight. And when the magic faded, I would revert to my true, miserable form. Sure enough. I couldn't sleep that night. I heard my adoptive mother furiously interrogating him. "It was bad enough when you were flirting with those women, but now you're bringing a child home? "Where does that leave me? "What 'adopted daughter' bullshit! She's your illegitimate child, isn't she?! "And you expect me to be her mother? You're pushing me too far!" ... The moonlight was dim. I gripped the doorframe tightly. Looking up, the door across the hall cracked open. My new brother, Leo's, eyes pierced through the gap, glaring at me with pure hatred. 3 I carefully closed my door, too terrified to go to the bathroom. As a result, I wet the bed. God knows how despairing I felt when I woke up. My adoptive mother already hated me. On my very first day, I had ruined the soft, sweet-smelling sheets. I was sure she was going to throw me out immediately. At 5:00 AM, I sneaked out of bed, hugging the sheets, and headed to the bathroom. I dumped the sheets into a large bucket of water and stepped in barefoot to wash them. After stomping on them for half an hour, a cold voice came from behind me. "What are you doing?" I jumped in terror, stumbling backward, and fell hard on my butt. The bucket tipped over, soaking me. My adoptive mother reached a hand out toward me. I instinctively covered my head, trembling. "Dad, please don't hit me, don't hit me! I promise I'll never wet the bed again." After a long pause, a cold hand grabbed me and pulled me up from the floor. "That bucket is for the mop." Huh? But it was cleaner than the buckets I used to carry water from the river back in the village. "Clothes and sheets can be washed in the washing machine." I had no idea how to use the twin-tub washing machine. My adoptive mother taught me step-by-step. "From now on, you're in charge of washing all the clothes in the house." This was much easier than washing clothes in the freezing river. But I still messed up. I mixed the dark clothes with the lights, and my adoptive mother's white dress was dyed a muddy, murky color. She was furious. "Do you know how much this dress cost?! I saved up for two months to buy it, and I've only worn it once! "You can't even do something this simple right." My adoptive father came out to smooth things over. "Maya didn't do it on purpose. Just buy a new one." My adoptive mother grew even angrier. "You make it sound so easy. That dress was expensive." My adoptive father wasn't just talking. He bought the exact same dress that very night. He also secretly called me outside and handed me a lollipop the size of my fist, hidden in the stairwell. "This is the biggest lollipop in the supermarket. Eat it quickly. "Your aunt complains a lot, but she has a good heart. She's a paper tiger. Don't be afraid of her." My adoptive mother wasn't acting like a paper tiger, though. She was roaring like a lioness. 4 "This lollipop cost eight dollars! Eight dollars could buy two pounds of meat! David, what is in your brain?! "And that dress! A little bleach would have fixed it! Is money burning a hole in your pocket?!" ... My adoptive parents fought constantly over things like this. I didn't understand it then, but I did when I grew up. My adoptive father was an artist. He was naturally kind-hearted, a romantic to the bone. If he only had twenty dollars in his pocket, he would spend it all on a beautiful, useless bouquet of roses for my adoptive mother. Whenever inspiration struck, he'd hop on his motorcycle and go searching for landscapes to paint. He was a handsome, wandering artist with many friends in the bohemian scene. The mundane reality of making ends meet fell entirely on my adoptive mother's shoulders. The collision of realism and romanticism. It's hard to say who was right or wrong. My adoptive father wasn't exactly a great husband, but he definitely wasn't a bad person! This made my adoptive mother both hate him and love him, leaving her constantly stressed and irritable. Which meant she never smiled at me, either. I later tried to give that giant lollipop to Leo. He snatched it, threw it on the floor, and glared at me. "I don't want your stupid candy!" My adoptive father was not a man who could stay in one place. This time, because of me, he stayed home for over a month. Once my school enrollment was finalized, on a gloomy evening, he left a letter, hopped on his motorcycle, and set off on his wandering journey again. My adoptive mother was furious. She tore the letter to shreds, grabbed my arm, dragged me to the front door, and shoved me out. "Get out, get out! He's gone, so you leave too! "Telling me to take good care of you? In his dreams!" ... The late September night was chilly. The hallway light was broken. I hugged my knees and crouched under the window, looking at the fuzzy moon obscured by dark clouds. I guess this was my world. Even with the moon, it was just a faint, blurry glimmer. I don't know how long I sat there. I almost fell asleep. The door creaked open. My adoptive mother looked down at me, her voice cold and annoyed: "Come inside." On the dining table was a steaming bowl of noodles with eggs, and next to it were the chopsticks I normally used. My adoptive mother had already slammed the door to the master bedroom shut. My stomach grumbled loudly. I carefully ate the bowl of noodles. My adoptive father called home twice a week, asking how I was doing, if everything was okay. He would tell me about what he'd seen on his travels. A strangely colored flower, an exceptionally smart stray dog, the most brilliant sunrise he'd ever seen. He would also patiently listen to me share my mundane daily life. When we finished talking, right before he handed the phone to my adoptive mother, he would always say: "Maya, when Dad comes back, I'll bring you a huge mystery gift!" Every time she got the phone, my adoptive mother's tone was sour: "Before she got here, you didn't even call once every two weeks." "What, are me and your son together not as important as her?" ... My adoptive mother remained icy towards me. My brother was also very hostile. We went to the same school. We went to school together every day, but I only dared to follow him from a distance. Whenever his classmates teased him: "Leo, is this your new sister?" 5 He would pull a long face: "She's not my sister. She's a stray my dad picked up." Kids are very good at reading the room. My brother didn't like me, and I was the new kid from the countryside, so everyone isolated me. During P.E., when the teacher organized partner games, I was always the one left out. It was a little sad. But it was bearable. Months passed like this. Winter arrived. When I woke up, I noticed my adoptive mother looked pale. I asked her quietly if she was okay, and she glared at me. "Are you hoping something happens to me?" I didn't dare ask again. After leaving the house, I realized I'd forgotten my homework from the day before. So I ran back home to get it. I found my adoptive mother passed out on the living room floor. No matter how much I shook her, she wouldn't wake up. My mind went blank. The cold air felt like it was pouring straight into my chest from all directions. I stumbled out the door and banged on the neighbor's door. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins hurriedly drove my adoptive mother to the hospital in their truck. I insisted on going with them. Fear gripped me like countless tentacles. I whimpered softly, tears streaming down my face. They fell one by one onto my adoptive mother's face. I don't know how long I cried until I heard a familiar, icy voice: "Are you mourning me? I'm not dead yet!" My adoptive mother was awake. My lips trembled uncontrollably. After a long moment, I burst into loud, heaving sobs. My adoptive mother frowned. "You're too loud." Mrs. Higgins whispered beside her, "She was terrified. Don't scare the child anymore." Leo rushed to the hospital after school. His eyes were red as he pointed at my nose and yelled, "This is all your fault! Mom was fine before you came here!" Fortunately, my adoptive mother only had iron-deficiency anemia. After some IV fluids and a prescribed diet, the doctor discharged her. She needed bed rest, so my aunt came by every afternoon with enough food for the day. Three days later, my adoptive mother still looked pale. I panicked. In the kitchen, I used a paring knife to secretly cut my finger. Bright red blood dripped steadily into the soup my aunt had brought. I don't know how much I bled, but I started to feel dizzy. Just then, Leo roared from behind me, "Why are you dripping blood into the soup?!" "Your blood is toxic! Are you trying to poison my mom?!" He ran over and shoved me hard. The back of my head hit the doorknob. The pain made my vision white out. My adoptive mother heard the commotion. She wrapped my finger in a paper towel, her voice cold: "What are you doing?" 6 I gathered my courage, looked up at her, and said shakily, "Auntie said you got sick because you didn't have enough blood." "I have lots of blood, I can share some with you!" Tears streamed down my face. "If you drink my blood, will you get better faster?" My adoptive mother's lips trembled, but she didn't speak for a long time. I looked at Leo through my tears. "Brother, please don't hate me. "I promise I'll only take a tiny bit of love from you." I held up my thumb and index finger, showing a tiny gap. Then I squeezed them closer, and closer, until there was just a sliver of light between them. I offered Leo a pleading smile: "I just want this much, is that okay?" If you've never been loved, you can stumble through life just fine. But once you've tasted what it's like to be loved... It's like an addiction you can't break. Leo clenched his fists, his face bright red, and yelled at me, "You idiot, drinking blood doesn't give you more blood!" After yelling at me, he ran out of the kitchen, ran upstairs, and slammed his bedroom door with a loud bang. My adoptive mother helped me up and gave an order: "Go sit on the sofa. I'll get the first aid kit." She went upstairs to the master bedroom. Then, the front door knocked. I went to open it. The two people standing in the doorway hit me like a bucket of ice water, freezing the tears in my eyes. It was my biological parents! Unlike my shock, they were incredibly excited. They pushed their way inside and grabbed my hand tightly. "Maya! We finally found you!" My mother's eyes were red, and she excitedly patted my clothes and my face. "Look at you, why do you look so pale? Were you just crying? Are they not treating you well here?" "Mommy thought I'd never find you again." My eyes darted between them. It was strange. My heart was pounding wildly. Not with the joy of a reunion, but with the terror of an encounter that shouldn't be happening. My dad took a drag of his cigarette, tossed the burning butt onto the hallway floor, and yanked my arm, pulling me outside. "Stop talking. Let's go, you're coming with us!" My mom wiped her tears, her face glowing with happiness. "They're building a new highway near our house back home. The government is paying twenty thousand dollars for every person registered to our address." "If you come back with us, our family gets an extra twenty thousand. With that money, our family will never have to be apart again." 7 They pulled and dragged me toward the door. I dug my fingers tightly into the doorframe. The paper towel covering my cut fell off, and fresh blood bubbled out. It slid down the doorframe like a snake. I was fighting a losing battle, my heart turning to ice. Maybe now... Maybe this was the moment the magic vanished. The pumpkin carriage, the glass slippers, the beautiful dress, the warm home... it had all just been a dream I eventually had to wake up from. As I was about to be dragged away, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. My adoptive mother, holding the first aid kit, stood under the warm yellow light of the hallway, looking at us with cold eyes. All my terror suddenly turned into bottomless grievance. Countless emotions surged in my throat, and almost instinctively, I called out, "Mom..." My adoptive mother's eyes narrowed. She walked briskly toward us and snapped, "Are you blind? Can't you see her hand is bleeding?" My dad didn't care. "It's just a scratch, what's the big deal." My mom picked up the dirty paper towel from the floor and pressed it against my finger. "Let's go. We're going home." They continued to drag me outside. My adoptive mother's thin but surprisingly strong hand clamped firmly onto my wrist. She said coldly: "You think you can just come and go as you please? Take her whenever you want? "She is a human being, not some stray cat or dog on the street. "And besides, you accepted money for her." I froze, staring blankly at my biological mother. She guiltily avoided my gaze. My dad's face darkened. "It was only two thousand dollars! Once we get the twenty thousand from the government, we'll give your two thousand back!" Leo also came rushing down. He grabbed me from behind, hugging me tightly. "Maya is my sister now! None of you are taking her away." I looked back at him, my tears falling uncontrollably. He yelled at me, "Why are you crying? You idiot, pull!" The argument and the struggle grew loud. During the scuffle, my adoptive mother's hair came undone, and a button was ripped off her coat. The neighbors heard the commotion and came out, stepping in to help protect me. Once free, my adoptive mother smoothed her messy hair and looked at me with complex eyes. "Do you want to go with them?" My mom panted and smiled. "I worked hard to give birth to her, of course she's going with me." My dad also looked incredibly confident. I carefully held my adoptive mother's hand. "I want to stay here. With you and brother." Leo jumped excitedly and shouted, "Did you hear that? She wants to stay with us! Get the hell out of our house!" My dad was furious. He raised his hand to slap me. "I raised you for seven years, and you forget me after a few months!" "I'll kill you, you ungrateful wretch!" He had always been like this since I was little. The slightest annoyance, and he would beat and kick me. Fear was carved into my bones. I froze in place, instinctively raising my arms to protect my head. At the critical moment, my adoptive mother pulled me behind her. That slap landed squarely on her face. Her cheek swelled up instantly, and blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Leo shot forward like a cannonball, slamming hard into my dad's stomach. "You dare hit my mom?! I'll kill you!" A fiery rage burned inside me. I bit down hard on my dad's arm. Since he had hit a woman, the neighbors couldn't stand by anymore. They rushed forward and restrained him. My dad roared, "She's my blood! I can hit her and curse her if I want to!" "It's my right to take her away! What right do you have to stop me?!" ... My adoptive mother held her cheek, sneering fearlessly: "You took two thousand dollars and sold your own daughter! "Child trafficking is a crime. "You'll be arrested and sent to prison, for at least three to five years!" Mrs. Higgins's eyes darted around, and she quickly chimed in: "Exactly! Leo, don't just stand there, call 911!" 8 My dad looked shocked and uncertain. "I sent my own kid away, and that's a crime?" My adoptive mother said loudly, "Taking money makes it a sale! It's definitely a crime!" Country folks like them had a deep, primal fear of the police and jail. Neither of them wanted to end up behind bars. Leo had already picked up the living room phone. My adoptive mother demanded word by word, "I'll ask you one last time. Look closely. Is Maya your child?" My mom was already intimidated. She pulled on my dad's arm, smiling awkwardly. "We made a mistake! We made a mistake! We got the wrong person!" My dad was resentful, but terrified of the police, so he let my mom drag him away. Just as they reached the stairs, my mom ran back. She pulled a small handful of peppermint candies wrapped in newspaper from her pocket. Her eyes were red. "For you." I shook my head and didn't take them. "These candies are too bitter. I don't like them." I only understood when I grew up. The young me thought those peppermint candies tasted good because my life was so bitter that even the tiniest hint of sweetness felt overwhelming. But the truth was. I didn't have to eat that bitterness in the first place. After the onlookers dispersed, my adoptive mother stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She changed out of her torn coat and slowly, meticulously combed her messy hair back into place. She took some ointment to reduce the swelling and gently applied it to her face. She had always been a meticulous, elegant woman. Even just going grocery shopping, her hair was perfectly styled. But for me, she had ended up with disheveled hair and a swollen face. Guilt swelled in my chest. I apologized softly, "I'm sorry, Auntie..." Her face darkened, and she mocked me: "When you need something, you call me Mom. When you don't, you call me Auntie. Are you playing games with me?" I frantically tried to explain, "No, it's just, I was afraid... afraid you wouldn't..." She threw the ointment down, walked straight up to me, and said fiercely, "Say it..." "Huh?" She raised her voice. "Call me Mom!" I looked up at her. She looked fierce and cold. She almost never smiled at me. But in the months I'd been here, she had never hit me or starved me. The door to her bedroom was never locked; I could open it whenever I wanted. She never left me alone in the house. When we went out, if she brought Leo, she made sure to bring me too. On the crowded streets. No matter if I walked fast or slow, whenever I looked back. She was always right behind me. She was so good. I was just afraid. I didn't feel worthy... Memories flooded my mind. My throat tightened, and I whispered shakily, "Mom..." Her eyes were bloodshot. She smacked the back of my head lightly. "How many times have I told you not to open the door for strangers! Will you remember that from now on?!" The tears were knocked loose, falling one by one onto the floor. I nodded emphatically. "I'll remember!" "I'll call the school and excuse you for the morning. Pack some clothes!"
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