After an hour or what felt like an hour of crying into my own hands, I realized something.
It wasn't their fault.
Not really. They didn't owe me blood to love me.
They didn't owe me a matching liver to make me feel like their daughter. They already had. In every way that counted.
They gave me the kind of life some people only dream of. Hugs, birthdays, bedtime stories.
Warm meals. Warmer hands. And a home. A real home. They didn't abandon me.
They found me. They chose me. So no this wasn't their fault.
It was theirs.
Whoever brought me into this world and decided I wasn't worth staying for.
Whoever used their body and didn't want to deal with the consequences. I've always hated that. The way some people treat life like it's something disposable.
Have fun. Get drunk. Have sex.
And then what?
A child happens. And suddenly it's too real. Too much. Too inconvenient. So they kill it. Or toss it away. Or hide it like shame.
Like it wasn't their own damn responsibility to protect themselves in the first place. I never asked to be born. Never asked to be someone's mistake.
And yet here I was. Existing. Feeling everything.
I sat there, alone in the hallway, still in the clothes I wore on the bicycle this morning like that girl handing out tulips didn't just die a quiet death inside me.
There was so much I didn't know. So many pieces missing.
But for the first time in my life, I didn't want sugarcoated answers or soft voices.
I wanted the truth. Even if it burned. Even if it changed everything.
The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the hallway clock and the ache in my chest pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Eventually, I stood.
My legs felt heavy, but I walked anyway slow, unsure back to the one person who had always been my home, even if she hadn't given birth to me.
She was still in the kitchen.
Sitting at the marble island, elbows on the table, head in her hands like she hadn't moved since she dropped the truth on me.
I didn't say anything at first.
Just walked over quietly… and wrapped my arms around her from behind.
She froze. Then exhaled shakily, her fingers curling around mine like she didn't believe I was really there.
"I'm not mad at you," I whispered.
She turned slowly, eyes swollen and red, looking at me like I was the one who needed comforting.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice almost broken. "I should've told you years ago"
"No," I shook my head, kneeling next to her. "You didn't do anything wrong. You loved me. You raised me. You gave me everything. That's more than most people ever get."
Her lips trembled. "You were never meant to find out like this. Not because of this."
I nodded. "I know."
We sat there like that for a moment. Me on the floor, her on the stool. Two people stuck in a truth neither of us asked for.
Then I asked the one question that had been pressing on my chest since the moment she said "liver."
"So… what do we do now?"
She blinked at me. "What do you mean?"
"About Papa," I said, my voice firmer now. "About the transplant. So… how do we get the liver?"
She looked away, pressing her lips together like the answer tasted bitter in her mouth.
She hesitated too long this time.
"You said we have no relatives," I said slowly, catching the shift in her eyes.
She looked at me, then down at her hands.
Quiet. Heavy. As if something she'd buried years ago was clawing its way back up.
"There are… relatives," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
My breath caught. "What?"
She nodded slowly, eyes glassy but locked on mine now. "They're in Shanghai. Your father's family."
I blinked, stunned. "You told me there was no one left—"
"We had to break ties," she said softly, her voice cracking around the edges. "Years ago. When we decided to get married."
My heart was racing now. "Why?"
"They didn't approve of me," she said simply. "Or the life we wanted. So we left. Ran away, started over here. We never looked back."
"And they never looked for you?" I asked.
She smiled sadly. "Pride runs deep in that family."
Her hands were trembling as she spoke, even though she tried to keep her voice steady.
"I want you to go," she said, eyes locked on mine. "Back to Shanghai. You need to find your father's family. You need to talk to them, convince them to help… before it's too late."
I stared at her, stunned. "What? Me? How am I supposed to do that? I don't even know anything about China about them. I wouldn't even know where to start."
"There's a phone, Claire," she said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear the way she always did when I was younger. "I'll tell you everything you need to know. I'll help you from here. But… it has to be you. They won't speak to me."
I looked down at my hands. Cold. Restless.
This wasn't just some favor. This was his life.
And no matter how upside down everything felt, one thing hadn't changed I'd do anything for my father.
"…Okay," I said finally, swallowing hard. "I'll go."
Her relief came like a sigh she'd been holding in for years.
The next morning, I woke up to find my suitcase already packed.
The heck? Already?
Two bags zipped, sitting near the doorway like they'd been waiting for me longer than I had known.
"You already packed?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
She turned from the kitchen, holding a mug of tea. "Of course. I knew you'd say yes."
"Wait… when's the flight?"
"Tonight."
I blinked. "Tonight? Why so early?"
She didn't hesitate. "Because if not now, it might be too late."