Pain flared across her cheek. Heat spread where her mother's palm had struck. The world narrowed to that single point—the sting, the burn, the pulse of blood under her skin.
Feng Suyin inhaled sharply. Biting back the wave of emotions threatening to spill. Tears. Rage. Something that felt like grief. She met her mother's gaze. Unwavering. Refusing to let the sting of her cheek break her.
She wasn't anything to this family. Never had been. They spoke to her like they'd done her a favor by giving her their name. You're lucky we took you in. Be grateful. Know your place.
How many times had she wished for motherly love? How many nights as a child had she lain awake, wondering what it would feel like to be held by the woman who signed her adoption papers? How many times did she wish she wasn't adopted—that she was truly their flesh and blood?
