They Told Everyone I Was Adopted, I Was Their Real Daughter Chapter 08

They Told Everyone I Was Adopted, I Was Their Real Daughter Chapter 08

When that cycle wrapped up, Nathan found me. 

“Your parents are here. They’re already deep in the territory.” 

My report fell to the floor. 

I didn’t believe it. Coming here was a hassle. They wouldn’t go through all that trouble for me. And Mom had a bad back–she couldn’t handle long car rides. Even when I was in middle school, she’d refused a parent–child trip because the half–hour drive was too much. But for Zoe, she’d driven eight hours through the night to a neighboring city just so she could see her idol. 

At the gate, an off–road vehicle in the distance. Two familiar figures got out, leaning on each other as they walked toward me. Mom was wearing a headscarf, already complaining. “What kind of place is this? Is it even fit for people?” 

Nathan smiled and stepped forward. “Ma’am, the conditions aren’t great, but we take good care of her.” 

Mom gave a tight, awkward smile. 

Dad stopped a few steps away, his eyes on me, full of something I couldn’t name. “Gia… are you 

okay?” 

I spread my arms and turned. “Look at me. I’ve 

gained weight. I’m fine.” 

Mom stepped closer, searching my face for 

cracks–like she was hoping to find proof I was 

suffering. She saw none. Her expression 

hardened. “No matter how good it is here, it’s not 

home. Zoe’s been waiting for you. We’ve kept your 

room ready.” 

I said, simply, “I’m fine here. I have work.” 

Mom opened her mouth again. Dad interrupted 

her. “This is Gia’s job. She can’t just pack up and 

leave.” 

I turned away. “Come in. It’s windy out.” 

I led them to my dorm. Mom scanned the place, 

muttering about how rough it was. Dad stayed 

quiet. 

When he saw my photo on the research honor 

board, he gave a bitter smile. “Your mother and I- 

we had no idea you were this capable.” 

I kept walking, didn’t look back. “I know. I’m used 

to it.” 

They’d always only cared about Zoe. Her 

third–grade essay prize. Her weekly piano lessons. 

Her favorite brands. The celebrities she followed. 

They’d never even remembered where I went to 

college. 

I gave them a quick tour. Mom sniffed. “This place. 

is so bare. Not like home.” 

“It’s fine. At least I don’t have to worry about being 

thrown out.” 

Her face went tight. She said nothing. 

Dad looked at me, but said nothing. 

I took a day off and showed them around. Zoe 

called them constantly, demanding they come. 

home. 

Dad picked up one more time. Her voice 

screeched through the speaker: “You missed my 

performance! You’re only thinking about Gia, aren’t 

you? Are you choosing her over me? She’s stuck in‘ 

that dump, and you still went all the way out there 

to see her! If you don’t come back now, you’re 

going to lose me as your daughter!” 

Everyone heard it. 

Dad was quiet for a moment. Then he said, firmly, 

“Zoe, you’re not a child anymore. Can’t you see what matters?” 

For once, Mom didn’t defend her. 

On the other end, silence. Then, a sob. The line 

went dead. 

The air was thick. Dad held the phone, his face ashen. I stood apart from it all. 

He turned to me, his voice rough with guilt. “We’ve spoiled her too much.” 

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

From the beginning, it had always been Zoe who cried, Zoe who threw tantrums, Zoe who got what she wanted. This was the first time they hadn’t caved. 

But I didn’t need this justice anymore. 

The wind carried sand through the hallway. Here, I had built my own footing and earned my place through hard work. I didn’t need to please anyone, make space for anyone, beg for anyone’s love. I looked toward the rocket model in the distance 

and said, “You’ve seen everything. You should head back soon.” 

“Work’s busy here. I can’t send you off.” 

Dad hesitated, like he wanted to say more. But I turned toward the office and pulled away. I heard Mom crying behind me. I paused. But I didn’t turn 

around. 

I booked their return tickets. At security, Dad looked back one last time. “Gia… will you ever 

come home?” 

I didn’t hesitate. “No. You can visit me. I’ll come 

see you sometimes. But I won’t go back to that 

house.” 

Dad seemed to deflate. 

Five years passed. I was leading the 

new–generation renewable–energy rocket project. On launch day, I spotted my parents in the 

audience. And Zoe, who I hadn’t seen in years. 

She’d matured. She’d come several times to ask 

for forgiveness, to ask me to come home. 

I’d said no every time. 

The launch was a success. Thunderous applause. 

I stood in the middle of it all, accepting 

congratulations with calm gratitude. 

I’d left behind a family that never had room for me 

-by doing so, I’d become everything I could be.