Annie had expected the Samson family’s car to be expensive. She had not expected it to be so quiet. The vehicle glided along the highway, its leather seats softer than the mattress she had slept on that morning. The air-conditioning was perfectly adjusted, and a small screen displayed information she had no interest in reading. Annie sat beside the window, her chin resting on her hand. Across from her, the young man who had accompanied William and Eleanor kept stealing glances at her. She caught him for the fourth time. “Do you need something?” He immediately looked away. “No.” “Then stop looking at me.” “Sorry.” Annie narrowed her eyes. “You apologize too quickly. That makes you suspicious.” The young man blinked before laughing. “I’m Nicholas Samson.” “Congratulations.” He stared at her. Annie turned back toward the window, and Eleanor covered a smile with her hand. Nicholas was William’s nephew and the family’s unofficial troublemaker. At twenty-four, he worked in the Samson Group’s public relations department, although he had been known to spend more time avoiding his responsibilities than completing them. He had expected Annie to be shy. Perhaps overwhelmed. Instead, she had insulted him within five minutes of meeting him. He liked her already. “So,” Nicholas said, leaning slightly forward, “you really grew up in the countryside?” “Yes.” “Did you raise chickens?” “Some.” “Have you ever ridden a horse?” “Yes.” “Have you ever—” “Are you conducting an interview?” Nicholas shut his mouth. Annie nodded approvingly. “Good. You learn quickly.” William, seated in the front, glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Despite himself, a faint smile touched his face. Eleanor noticed. She had not seen that expression on her husband’s face in a long time. But the moment William looked at Annie, his smile disappeared, replaced by a mixture of guilt and longing. Annie noticed that, too. She pretended not to. The car continued through the city until the buildings became larger, the roads cleaner, and the houses increasingly extravagant. Annie watched through the window as tall gates opened to reveal enormous properties surrounded by gardens. When the car finally turned through a set of iron gates, Annie straightened. The Samson residence stood at the end of a long driveway. It was not merely a house. It was a mansion with cream-colored walls, wide windows, elegant columns, and a garden that looked as though an entire team of gardeners had been hired to keep every leaf in place. A fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, its water sparkling under the afternoon sun. Annie stared. “Is this a hotel?” Nicholas smiled. “No.” “A government building?” “No.” “Then why is it so large?” “Because my uncle likes space.” Annie looked at William. William cleared his throat. “Your mother wanted a large garden.” Eleanor nodded. “I thought you might like it.” Annie looked at the perfectly trimmed hedges. “I prefer gardens that don’t look afraid of being touched.” Nicholas burst out laughing. William sighed. Eleanor, however, smiled. “She can change whatever she likes.” Annie turned toward her. “Really?” “Of course.” “Even if I plant vegetables in the middle of the lawn?” William looked at his wife. Eleanor paused. “Perhaps not the middle of the lawn.” Annie smiled. “Then we’ll negotiate.” The car stopped at the entrance. Before anyone could open the door, several people were already waiting outside. The housekeeper stood at the front with two maids behind her. Beside them were three members of the Samson family. Annie stepped out of the car and immediately felt every pair of eyes turn toward her. She hated being stared at. It reminded her of the time she had accidentally broken the town’s largest clay water jar and everyone had gathered to watch her explain herself. This was worse. At least the jar had deserved it. Eleanor came around the car and approached her carefully. “Annie, these are members of our household.” The older woman in front bowed slightly. “My name is Margaret Lewis. I’ve been the Samson family’s housekeeper for twenty-six years.” Margaret had a composed face and silver hair neatly pinned at the back of her head. She was strict about household rules, but she had a soft heart that she rarely showed. “Welcome home, Miss Annie,” she said. Annie shifted her bag onto her shoulder. “Thank you. But if you call me Miss Annie every day, I might start feeling like I’m in trouble.” Margaret’s serious expression softened. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The woman beside her stepped forward next. “I’m Emily.” Emily Samson was the eldest daughter, twenty-eight years old, elegant and gentle in appearance. Unlike the rest of the family, she did not look at Annie as though she were a fragile piece of history. She looked at her as though she were a person. Emily smiled. “I’m happy you’re here.” Annie studied her. “Are you always this polite?” Nicholas coughed. Emily laughed softly. “Not always.” “Good. I was beginning to feel like everyone here had been trained.” “Some of us were,” Nicholas muttered. A sharp voice came from behind them. “Not everyone is interested in making strangers comfortable.” The atmosphere changed. Annie turned. A young woman stood at the top of the steps, wearing a fitted cream dress and holding a phone in one hand. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, and her expression was carefully controlled. She was beautiful, but there was no warmth in her eyes. Eleanor’s smile faded. “Linda.” Linda Samson was the second daughter, twenty-five years old. She worked in the Samson Group’s legal department and had built her reputation on discipline, intelligence, and emotional distance. She had grown up hearing about the missing youngest sister. For years, Annie had been a memory. A tragedy. A name that made their mother cry. Now that girl had returned, and Linda did not know what place she was supposed to occupy. Linda’s gaze moved over Annie’s simple clothes and worn sneakers. “So this is her.” Annie looked down at herself, then back at Linda. “Disappointed?” Linda raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t need to.” Emily’s expression tightened. Nicholas looked delighted but wisely kept quiet. William’s voice became firm. “Linda, that’s enough.” Linda looked at him. “I only said hello.” “No,” Annie replied. “You inspected me.” Linda’s jaw tightened. Eleanor stepped forward. “Annie, you must be tired. Let’s go inside.” Annie continued looking at Linda for another second before shrugging. “Fine. I’m hungry anyway.” Margaret immediately turned toward the staff. “Prepare lunch.” Annie stopped walking. “Lunch?” “Yes, Miss Annie.” “What are we having?” Margaret hesitated. “Whatever you prefer.” Annie’s eyes brightened. She turned to Eleanor. “I like your house.” Nicholas laughed again. Even Emily smiled. Only Linda remained silent. The dining room was large enough to accommodate twenty people, though only six seats had been prepared. Annie sat beside Eleanor, who kept placing food on her plate. “Try this,” Eleanor said. “It’s one of the dishes you used to like when you were little.” Annie stared at the food. “How would you know what I liked? I was a baby.” Eleanor’s hand stopped. The question was innocent, but it struck a painful place. “We had notes,” she answered quietly. “And I remembered everything I could.” Annie looked at her mother. For a moment, she felt guilty. Then she picked up her fork. “It looks good.” Eleanor smiled. “That’s good.” Annie took a bite. Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Nicholas leaned forward. “Is it bad?” Annie shook her head. “This is excellent.” Margaret, who stood nearby, looked relieved. Annie took another bite, then pointed her fork at the chef who was waiting discreetly near the door. “Tell the person who made this that I approve.” The chef bowed. “Thank you, Miss Annie.” “And tell him not to change the recipe.” “Yes, Miss Annie.” Annie nodded and returned to her meal. William watched her quietly. He had missed her first steps, her first words, her first day at school, and every birthday that followed. Now he was watching her praise a chef over lunch, and the ordinary moment felt more precious than anything he owned. Eleanor noticed the way he looked at Annie. She reached beneath the table and held his hand. William squeezed her fingers. Across the table, Linda noticed. Her eyes lowered to her plate. “So,” she said, “how long do you plan to stay?” The room fell quiet. Annie slowly put down her fork. “I just arrived.” “I’m asking because you might have other arrangements.” Linda’s tone was calm, but the meaning was clear. Annie leaned back in her chair. “Are you worried I’ll take your room?” “No.” “Your clothes?” “No.” “Your parents?” Eleanor looked up sharply. Linda’s expression changed. Annie smiled without warmth. “Then relax. I’m not interested in taking anything from you.” “That’s not what I meant.” “Good. Because I’m not interested in explaining myself every time you speak either.” William placed his glass on the table. “Annie.” She looked at him. “What? She asked a question. I answered.” Linda pushed her chair back. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She stood and walked out of the dining room. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Annie picked up her fork again. “Does she always leave when she loses an argument?” Nicholas lowered his head, trying not to laugh. Emily sighed. “Annie.” “What? I’m asking.” Eleanor gently touched Annie’s arm. “Linda needs time.” Annie looked toward the doorway. “So do I.” Her voice was quieter this time. Eleanor’s expression softened. “I know.” Later that afternoon, Margaret showed Annie to her new bedroom. The room was spacious, with tall windows overlooking the garden. A large bed stood in the center, covered with white sheets and lavender pillows. A wardrobe filled one wall, and a small desk sat near the window. Annie walked inside slowly. “This is mine?” “Yes.” She opened the wardrobe. Inside were rows of new clothes, all carefully selected. Annie stared. “Who bought these?” “Your mother.” Annie pulled out a dress and examined it. “It’s beautiful.” “She wanted you to have everything you needed.” Annie returned the dress to its place. She did not know what to do with kindness that came from someone she barely remembered. Margaret noticed her hesitation. “You don’t have to wear anything you dislike.” Annie glanced at her. “Good. Because some of these clothes look like they would suffocate me.” Margaret almost smiled. “I’ll inform Mrs. Samson.” After Margaret left, Annie sat on the edge of the bed. Her phone vibrated. A message from Auntie Mei appeared on the screen. Have you arrived safely? Annie smiled and typed a reply. Yes. The house is ridiculously big. I might get lost and demand compensation. A second message arrived. Be respectful. Annie rolled her eyes. I am always respectful. She paused, then added: Most of the time. Auntie Mei responded with a laughing emoji. Annie’s smile slowly faded as she looked around the unfamiliar room. The Samson family had welcomed her. Her mother had cried for her. Her father looked as though he wanted to apologize for eighteen years at once. But none of them knew her. Not really. They knew the baby they had lost. They did not know the girl who hated waking up early, loved good food, avoided unnecessary chores, and could argue with a chicken for ten minutes without losing interest. Annie lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s see how long this family can survive me.” Downstairs, Eleanor stood outside the bedroom door, holding a small photograph. It showed Annie as a newborn, wrapped in a pink blanket. Eleanor had carried it for eighteen years. Now, for the first time, she was standing only a few steps away from the daughter in the picture. She pressed the photograph against her chest. And behind her, Linda watched from the end of the hallway. Neither woman spoke. But both understood that Annie’s return had changed the Samson family forever.

The Samson Residence