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My Family Sold Me for Their favourite daughter
Novelix
Completed
Seven years after her family sells her to traffickers, Mara Whitmore discovers their deaths were staged—and her suffering was supposed to teach her a lesson. Her husband expects obedience. Her mother expects gratitude. Their beloved adopted daughter expects Mara to disappear again. But the woman they bring home is hiding injuries they refuse to see and a diagnosis she’s terrified to reveal. When another accusation threatens to send her back, their carefully controlled punishment becomes a nightmare they can’t undo. This time, Mara’s escape won’t lead her home. It will lead her away from them.
Chapters (3)
第1章
Seven years after my family sold me, my dead mother came to bring me home.
She stood outside the trailer in a cream cashmere coat, studying the daughter who could no longer stand without leaning against a wall.
“You needed to learn, Mara.”
I watched her mouth move. The words made sense separately. Together, they meant nothing.
“You thought being our biological daughter entitled you to everything. You pushed Blythe down those stairs. She lost her baby. We had to do something.”
Behind her, my husband stepped out of a black Escalade with my adopted sister tucked against his side.
“We staged the accident,” Mom continued. “The debts, the collectors. All of it. After what you've been through, I doubt you'll bully your sister again.”
Grant smiled at me. “No screaming? Good. You finally understand how a Mercer wife should behave.”
The man beside the trailer pulled down the bandanna covering his face.
Reid. My brother.
He had worn it the night he delivered me to this place, too.
“It's over, Mare. You've learned your lesson. Behave yourself, and you're still a Whitmore.”
That name made me flinch.
The men here used to say it when they wanted to laugh. Whitmore money couldn't save me. My family was dead. Nobody was coming.
I had tried to run three times. Now I walked with a limp and could see out of only one eye. Five pregnancies had ended in hemorrhages. Eventually, I had stopped counting the strangers.
Grant reached for me.
I dropped to my knees and fumbled with the buttons of my shirt.
“I won't run. Please don't test me again. I'll do whatever you want.”
His hand stopped in the air.
Reid crouched quickly. “Hey. Nobody's testing you. We're taking you home.”
His voice was gentle. That frightened me more.
The men had gentle days, too. Sometimes they brought food and made jokes before deciding I had smiled at the wrong moment.
“I don't have a home,” I whispered. “Please don't hit me.”
Grant gave a strained laugh. “Mara, stop. Those people were hired. They knew better than to actually hurt you.”
I bowed my head farther.
He waited for the woman who had once thrown his clothes onto the lawn after catching him with Blythe. That woman would have demanded answers. She would have fought.
I knew what fighting cost.
Mom sighed. “Take her back. We'll see how long the performance lasts.”
At the SUV, Blythe wrinkled her nose.
“Not next to me. We don't know what she could have.”
Reid hesitated, then opened the rear cargo area.
“Just for the drive. Blythe's sensitive to smells.”
I climbed in before he could change his mind. It was carpeted. Warm. Nobody locked a chain around my ankle.
For the first time in years, I nearly cried from gratitude.
Through the back seat, I heard Reid ask whether the storage room was really necessary now.
“She seems quiet enough.”
“Stick to the plan,” Mom said. “We didn't go through all this just to let her start again.”
第2章
The Whitmore estate outside Charleston looked exactly as I remembered.
White columns. Live oaks. The gravel drive where my parents and my husband had watched a masked man drag me into a van.
They hadn't been dead then, either.
Mom told the housekeeper to wash me. Afterward, Reid brought two dresses to the little room off the laundry.
I fell to my knees.
“I'm bleeding. Could it wait until tomorrow?”
He stared. “What?”
For seven years, a bath had meant somebody expected to use me that night.
“Mara. I'm your brother.”
Grant appeared in the doorway. “Is this supposed to make us feel guilty?”
He caught my wrist. I didn't pull away.
“I can do it,” I said quickly. “I'll be good. Please don't put me in the water again.”
Something changed in his face.
“Enough. You can sleep with me tonight.” His voice softened, as though he were offering a prize. “You always wanted a baby. We can talk about that.”
“The doctor said I can't have any more.”
Grant looked at me.
“After the fifth miscarriage. There was too much damage.”
His expression darkened, and panic hit me so hard I couldn't breathe.
“But maybe she's wrong. Maybe if we keep trying. Please don't send me away because of it.”
Blythe slipped her hand around Grant's arm.
“She's doing it again. Making everything about herself. She said I'd never have your baby, remember?”
His grip tightened.
“If you hadn't pushed her down the stairs, none of this would have happened. We'll get you examined tomorrow. Until then, stop bringing it up.”
I couldn't remember pushing her. I remembered finding them together. I remembered Blythe backing toward the stairs while I stood several feet away.
But here, as in the mountains, the safest answer was yes.
Reid helped me up. “Get dressed. You're not anybody's servant. I'll find out what happened out there.”
That night Mom brought two mugs of warm milk.
The dress needed safety pins at the waist. Once, it had fit me perfectly.
“Drink,” she said. “You're skin and bones.”
I took tiny sips, then asked what she wanted me to do.
Her eyes shone. “I'm your mother. Does there have to be a reason?”
Then she handed me the second mug.
“Take this to your sister. It's time you two made up.”
Blythe opened her bedroom door and recoiled.
“You touched that? God, Mara. You smell. I'm not catching something because you want to play maid.”
She struck the mug out of my hands.
Milk and glass scattered across the floor.
第3章
I dropped down to clean it.
“I'm sorry. I'll fix it.”
Grant and Reid came running. Grant saw Blythe crying and didn't bother asking me what had happened.
“Already? You've barely been home a day. Do you want to go back?”
I grabbed the glass faster.
“No. Please. I won't cause trouble.”
Then they noticed the blood in the milk. My bare feet. The pieces in my hands.
Blythe backed away. “See? She's unstable. Keep her away from me.”
Grant lifted me. I struggled until he put me down, then knelt again.
“It doesn't need a doctor. I can wash it off. I don't cost much.”
Neither man spoke.
In the downstairs bathroom, Grant cleaned the cuts. He rolled up my sleeve and went still at the scars beneath it.
“You can tell us when someone hurts you,” he said. “We're your family.”
I watched the cotton turn pink.
For years, I had waited for my family to rescue me. Only now did I understand that the people I had been waiting for were the reason nobody came.
At the clinic the next morning, Reid insisted I sit beside him. I stayed near the back door until he gave up.
Blythe's appointment ended first.
She was pregnant.
Grant laughed. Reid hugged her. They discussed due dates and nursery colors while I sat with my hands folded in my lap.
Nobody had been happy about my pregnancies. A growing belly had only given the men another reason to hurt me.
When the nurse called my name, Grant waved me on.
“Go ahead. We need to stay with Blythe.”
Dr. Bennett examined me in private. Her expression changed when she saw my body. It changed again when she reviewed my bloodwork.
“Mara, these results are very concerning. You need a hospital assessment today. I believe you have advanced leukemia.”
I caught her hand before she could reach for the phone.
“Don't tell them.”
“We can speak privately. You're safe in this room.”
I couldn't make her understand. Safe rooms didn't stay safe once a door opened.
“If they think I'm useless, they'll send me back. Please. Don't tell them.”
She asked whether I wanted a social worker. Whether anyone had threatened me. I shook my head at every question. Fear had made honesty feel more dangerous than dying.
She gave me an urgent referral and a number I could call alone. She did not share my diagnosis without my permission.
Outside, Grant asked if it was anything serious.
“Her results are private,” she said. “She needs follow-up care.”
He barely listened.
“See?” He smoothed my hair. “You've just had a rough adjustment. We've got all the time in the world to make it up to you.”