Chapter 3

Mia dramatically pulled out a thermal lunchbox and popped the lid open, humming a celebratory tune.

"Ta-da!"

Inside was a steaming bowl of homemade clam chowder.

The second Evelyn saw the clams, her smile twitched slightly, but she immediately forced a broader grin.

Under Mia’s eager gaze, Evelyn picked up the spoon and took big, enthusiastic bites.

Everyone in the room—including my ghost—was stunned. We all knew Evelyn despised seafood more than anything in the world.

Evelyn ate happily, and Mia watched her with a sweet smile.

Yet that smile sent a shiver down my spine. I didn't know what she was scheming, but I knew for a fact it was drenched in malice.

Evelyn hated seafood to the bone.

Yet she scraped the bottom of that bowl clean, just to make Mia happy.

Staring at the empty container, I drifted into a distant memory.

I had tried cooking for my mother once, too.

My father, Richard, had been a penniless opportunist.

After marrying my wealthy, brilliant mother, he used her connections and family funds to launch his own tech startup.

The moment I was born, he stripped the family accounts, funneled all the assets into his firm, and installed his side-chick as a high-ranking executive.

He figured having a baby and financial entanglements would keep Evelyn from ever filing for divorce.

He was wrong. Evelyn was devastated by the betrayal and gave up on love entirely. She resigned from the corporate world and locked herself in research labs.

And I became the only physical reminder of the man who had destroyed her. Every time she looked at me, she looked at an enemy.

Overnight, I went from an adored heiress to an unwanted curse.

Evelyn tried to dump me at an orphanage. Just before she did, my maternal grandparents stepped in and took me in.

From that day on, I grew up with my grandparents.

I knew I had a gorgeous, brilliant mother, but I almost never saw her face.

When I was six years old, Grandma told me stories about all the foods Evelyn used to love.

My naive, childish brain instantly conjured a daydream:

Mom would eat the food I made, praise me, and pull me into a tight, warm hug.

I looked up at Grandma and asked, "Grandma, if I make Mommy yummy food, will she come home and see me?"

Grandma’s lips parted, but she couldn't bring herself to answer.

I didn't press her. I just begged her to help me cook.

Together, we packed a three-tier bento box full of Evelyn’s favorites. And as a special treat, I insisted on steaming a whole crab—my personal favorite.

I daydreamed about how happy she would be as Grandma walked me to the research facility gates.

Standing outside, Grandma pointed through the glass doors. That was the very first time I saw my biological mother in person.

She was just as poised and stunning as I had imagined. She wore stylish heels and radiated intellectual grace.

I silently rehearsed the words I had practiced a hundred times.

To prepare for seeing her, I had even taken a bath and scrubbed myself clean beforehand.

I thought that if Mom smelled the delicious food and my fresh, sweet scent, she wouldn't be able to bear leaving me behind.

I carried the lunchbox forward, raised it high with both hands, and looked up at her.

"Mommy, I made lunch for you! I hope you like it!"

The moment the word Mommy left my lips, the gentle curve of Evelyn's face turned into pure disgust, as if she had just stepped in filth.

"Who let you in here? Can't you read the signs? This is a restricted lab!"

Every bit of excitement in my tiny heart shattered into dust.

I stood there frozen, clutching the box, trembling.

Evelyn snatched the box and pried off the layers. When she saw her favorite dishes, her sharp features softened slightly. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest.

I craved that hug. I craved a gentle pat on the head. Even just hearing her call me sweetie would have been enough.

Then, she opened the bottom compartment and saw the steamed crab.

With a furious snarl, she violently swiped the entire lunchbox onto the floor.

Her face twisted with pure hatred. Terrified, I reached out to grab her pants leg, crying.

Evelyn kicked me hard, knocking my little body straight to the tile floor.

"I thought you might have an ounce of decency, but you’re just like your disgusting father!"

"You know that bastard loved seafood! You brought this crab here on purpose to disgust me, didn't you?!"

"I’m already stressed, and you came here specifically to torment me!"

"I regret not strangling you in your crib the day you were born!"

She jabbed her finger at my face, screaming, then turned to the security guards:

"Keep your eyes open! If this little parasite ever shows up again, throw her off the property!"

I never forgot the hatred in her eyes that day.

I never forgot the suffocating darkness that swallowed me—not even on the day I died was it that black.

I don't even remember how I got home. All I remember was walking down the street, slapping my own face over and over again.

Grandma tried to hold my hands, sobbing, but couldn't stop me.

I hated myself. Why was I so stupid? Why did I have to pack that stupid crab?

If I hadn't packed the crab, would she have loved me?

I was too young to understand: even if she had eaten every bite, she would never have accepted me as her daughter.

I walked home like a ghost, her final words ringing in my ears:

I regret not strangling you in your crib!

After that, I obsessively practiced cooking, desperate to get it right. But before I could ever cook for her again, the radiation leak happened.

And now, here was Mia, serving her clam chowder. Seafood soup.

Yet Evelyn ate it all with a tender, loving smile.

And the "Restricted" signs didn't stop this high schooler from walking right into the lab.

I finally understood the insurmountable wall between us:

I was Richard's blood. Mia was not.