Chapter3
The three stood there, staring at each other through the iron gate. Big eyes. stared into big eyes. The moment felt oddly surreal.
Dora raised a brow politely. “Would it be alright if we talked inside?”
Chris snapped out of it and quickly opened the gate, ushering her in.
Dora stepped inside and took a quick look around.
The apartment was small. The wallpaper had yellowed, peeling in places. But it was obvious the family took pride in their space–everything was neat and clean. In one corner, a small table held a few lilies in a glass bottle, their soft fragrance floating gently in the air.
The place had a warm, lived–in feel. Still, she found it hard to imagine how six people could fit into such a tiny home.
“Please, have a seat. Let me get you some water,” Chris said, a little stiffly as she handed over a glass of water.
Even just standing there, Dora carried the unmistakable presence of someone raised among wealth and privilege. She didn’t need to say a word–the way
way she held herself said it all.
She accepted the glass with both hands and smiled politely. “Thank you. You can just call me Dora.”
She took a sip. The water had a faint metallic taste–probably from rusty pipes. It wasn’t something she was used to, but she showed no discomfort. When she set the glass down, it barely made a sound.
She looked perfectly at ease–as if she belonged there.
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“I’m guessing Linda already filled you in on everything?” she asked.
Chris and Alberto exchanged a puzzled look before turning back to her and shaking their heads.
Right after lunch, a group of men in black suits had shown up, saying the daughter they’d raised for seventeen years–Linda–was actually the Hendrix family’s biological child.
Before they could even ask questions, Linda had left with them without so much as a goodbye. She hadn’t called or texted since.
They were still reeling from the shock. when Dora showed up at their
door
When she met their bewildered gazes, Dora pressed her lips together. This wasn’t at all the situation she had anticipated.
She gave a simple explanation. “Basically, I was switched at birth with Linda. She’s actually the Hendrix family’s daughter, and I. I’m your biological daughter.”
Alberto and Chris had considered tha
possibility before. But now, standing face–to–face with the daughter they had truly given birth to- poised, elegant, a product of seventeen years in high society–they suddenly felt awkward and unsure of themselves.
The silence in the small apartment stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Sensing the tension, Dora decided to break it herself.
“I’ve already reviewed the Acosta family background. I have a general idea of who’s who. Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”
It didn’t feel like a family reunion. It felt more like a business meeting, just like I’ve reviewed your proposal. Any further questions or requests from your side?”
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“Do you like anything in particular to cat?” Chris asked nervously, unconsciously wiping her sweaty palms on her pants. “I can run to the market and pick something up. I’ll make whatever you want.”
“I’m not picky.” Dora replied with a soft smile. She lifted the water glass and took another sip. The water had a faint metallic taste, but she figured she’d get used to it eventually.
Chris licked her lips, stood up, and glanced at Alberto. “I’ll head to the market. You call Keith and the others–tell them to come back right away.”
“Got it.” Alberto watched her leave in a near–panic, then picked up his phone and gave Dora a sheepish look. “I’ll just make a quick call.”
“Go ahead.” Dora stood as well, her gaze sweeping across the space. “Mind if I take a look around?”
Alberto’s lips twitched. He nodded. “No, go ahead.”
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she wandered through the apartment.
It was a simple home: three bedrooms, a small living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom. Every room was small, but the layout and furnishings made it easy to tell who each space belonged to.
The master bedroom clearly belonged to the parents. A modest full–size bed and a two–door wooden wardrobe stood against the wall–old- fashioned, likely from the 80s or 90s, with no design sense to speak of.
The second bedroom was shared by the sister and Linda. Their single beds were arranged head–to–head in an L–shape, with a shared wardrobe nearby. Storage boxes crammed under the beds made the already tight space feel even more cramped.
It was obvious Linda had left in a rush–and with zero sentiment. Her
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belongings were still there, untouched.
Not surprising. Now that she had returned to the Hendrix family, everything here must’ve seemed like junk. Seventeen years of hand–me- downs suddenly meant nothing.
