Chapter 2: The Birthday Gift
3298words
I lay in bed, staring at the familiar crack in the ceiling, feeling strangely calm. Today is the turning point of my life, the last day of Emma Modest as an orphan. Tomorrow, when the sun rises again, I will become a completely new person.
On the nightstand sat a birthday card that Michael had quietly placed there yesterday. The cover featured an exquisite watercolor painting of a young girl standing by the sea, facing the boundless ocean. Inside, in his familiar handwriting, it read: "Dear Emma, Happy 18th birthday. May your future be as vast and limitless as this ocean. Forever yours, Michael."
"Forever yours"—if he truly loved me, why did he abandon me? If he really cared about my future, why did he revoke the trust fund that should have been mine? Adults' "love" always comes with conditions, always given when they feel it's appropriate, and taken away when they feel uncomfortable.
I got up, washed up, and put on my best outfit—a navy blue dress that Michael had given me as a Christmas gift last year. The fabric was excellent, the cut elegant, making me look more mature when I wore it. I examined myself carefully in the mirror, adjusting my makeup and expression. Tonight I needed to present a perfect image: beautiful but not frivolous, mature but not sophisticated, grateful yet with an appropriate measure of sadness.
At breakfast, the entire dining hall was celebrating for me. The other children sang birthday songs, Ms. Susanna brought out a small cake, and even the usually stern old cook gave me a kind smile. This warm scene reminded me of when I first arrived here six years ago, how desperately I had wanted to be accepted and loved.
But now all of this seems so fake. Their concern for me has an expiration date, just like all good things. Tomorrow I'll come of age, becoming their burden, a problem that needs to be "dealt with."
"Emma looks especially beautiful today." Fourteen-year-old Lily looked at me admiringly, "Are you having dinner with Mr. Branford tonight?"
"Yes," I answered with a smile, "he said he's giving me a special birthday surprise."
If you knew what kind of "surprise" I'm preparing for him, would you still envy me like this?
The morning hours passed slowly. I attended several classes as usual, behaving just like normal—listening attentively, participating actively, occasionally making small jokes. No one could detect anything unusual from my expression, which is one of the most important skills I've cultivated over these years: perfect disguise.
After lunch, Michael called me to his office. He looked more tired than yesterday, with dark circles under his eyes, occasionally pausing to take deep breaths while speaking. Obviously, last night's board conference call hadn't brought good news.
"Emma, today is your big day." He forced a smile, but I could see the heaviness in his heart. "How do you feel? Excited?"
"A little," I answered softly, "but also a bit scared. Turning eighteen means I have to leave this place, right?"
His expression changed slightly, clearly not expecting me to bring up this question so directly. "Emma, we'll discuss this topic in detail tonight. Now I want to confirm the arrangements for this evening."
"You mentioned there would be a special surprise?" I tilted my head looking at him, my eyes revealing the curiosity and anticipation typical of a young girl.
"Yes, I have prepared something for you." He walked to the safe, entered the password and opened it. He took out an exquisite jewelry box from inside, "This is my late wife Elena's pearl necklace. She always said that if we had a daughter, she hoped to pass this necklace to her."
He opened the jewelry box, inside lay a lustrous pearl necklace, each pearl flawless, shimmering in the sunlight. This was a true family heirloom, quite valuable, but more important was the emotional significance it represented.
"Mr. Michael..." My voice trembled, genuine tears welling in my eyes. This wasn't an act, but a real emotional response. His willingness to give me his late wife's keepsake meant that in his heart, I truly was as important as a daughter to him.
"Come, let me put it on for you." He said gently, walking behind me.
When his fingers lightly brushed across my neck as he fastened the necklace for me, I could barely control my emotions. His touch was so gentle, so careful, as if he were handling the most precious treasure in the world. At that moment, I almost changed my mind. Almost.
"Elaina would have adored you," he whispered. "You both have the same pure heart."
Pure heart. Would he still say that if he knew what I was thinking right now?
"Mr. Branford, this is too valuable, I can't..." I turned to face him, allowing tears to naturally fall.
"You can, and you should accept it." He gently caressed my cheek, wiping away my tears. "Emma, whatever happens, I want you to remember that you will always be the most special child in my heart."
Whatever happens—that's interesting. Has he decided to tell me about the trust fund?
In the afternoon, I spent my time on final preparations. I re-read Michael's medical records—documents I had long since memorized by heart. He had a mild heart condition, and doctors had advised him to avoid strenuous exercise and emotional excitement. His medications included nitroglycerin tablets for emergency treatment during angina attacks.
I also researched symptoms of heart attacks and first aid methods. I needed to know when to stop, when to call for help, and how to make the entire process appear completely accidental.
In the evening, I changed into my dinner attire—a deep blue dress paired with a pearl necklace that made me look both elegant and innocent. In front of the mirror, I practiced various expressions: surprise, sadness, fear, despair. Each emotion needed to be just right, neither overacted nor appearing too calm.
At seven o'clock sharp, I knocked on the door of Michael's office.
"Come in," his voice came from inside.
The moment I pushed open the door, I was stunned by the sight before me. The entire office was decorated with candlelight, making it seem like a dream. The desk was covered with a white tablecloth, set with exquisite porcelain and silver cutlery. The red wine gleamed enticingly in the candlelight, and the fragrance of fresh flowers permeated the air.
"Wow..." I covered my mouth, my eyes revealing genuine surprise. Even knowing this would be his last dinner, I had to admit that he had really put his heart into it.
"Do you like it?" Michael, dressed in his best suit with his hair meticulously combed, looked as if he was about to attend some important formal occasion. "I wanted to make your eighteenth birthday especially memorable."
"This is the most beautiful birthday dinner I've ever seen." I walked toward him and stood on tiptoes to gently kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Michael."
When my lips touched his skin, I felt his body tremble slightly. What did this simple kiss mean to him? Was it a daughter's gratitude toward her father, or something else?
"Come, sit down." He pulled out the chair for me, acting like a perfect gentleman. "Tonight's menu is your favorite: French onion soup, roasted lamb chops with rosemary, and chocolate soufflé for dessert."
These were indeed all my favorite foods, and I hadn't expected him to remember so clearly. For six years, he had observed me, gotten to know me, just as I had observed and gotten to know him. Perhaps in some way, there really was a special connection between us.
But a connection does not equal love, and understanding does not equal acceptance.
The first half of dinner went very pleasantly. We talked about my performance at school, my favorite books, and some vague aspirations for the future. Michael always spoke so gently and patiently, as if he had all the time in the world to be with me. The red wine brought a faint blush to his cheeks and made him appear more relaxed.
"Emma, do you know?" He put down his wine glass and looked into my eyes, "These six years have been the happiest time of my life. Watching you grow from an injured little girl into the excellent young woman you are now is my greatest pride."
"Then won't you be reluctant to let me leave?" I asked softly, with a probing tone in my voice.
His expression instantly became complicated. "Emma, about that... we do need to discuss some practical matters."
Here it comes. I prepared myself mentally.
"What matters?" I widened my eyes, pretending to be innocent.
Michael took a deep breath, as if organizing his thoughts. "You know the current economic situation is difficult. The impact of this financial crisis is much more severe than we anticipated. The orphanage's funding... has encountered some problems."
"What kind of problems?" My voice began to show concern.
"The board has decided to drastically cut expenses. We may need to close some programs and reduce staff." He avoided my gaze, "More importantly, some previously promised... arrangements may need to be reconsidered."
My heart began to race, but I remained outwardly calm. "What arrangements are you referring to?"
"Emma, I had set up a trust fund for you." He finally looked directly into my eyes, "But now... considering various factors, I think we may need to suspend this plan."
"Suspend?" My voice trembled, "You mean... you mean I can't go to college?"
"No, of course not." He hurriedly explained, "I'll help you apply for scholarships and look for other funding sources. You're so exceptional, there will certainly be other opportunities."
"But you promised..." Tears began to well up in my eyes, "You said you would take care of me, that you would ensure I had a bright future."
"I know, I know this is disappointing." He stood up, wanting to comfort me, "But sometimes life changes, and we must learn to adapt."
"Adapt?" I stood up too, my voice starting to rise, "What do you want me to adapt to? Adapt to being abandoned? Adapt to becoming homeless again?"
"Emma, calm down a little..."
"Calm down?" My emotions began to spiral out of control, partly an act, but there was also genuine anger in it. "You know what I went through in my previous home, you know what this place means to me, you know how important that money is for my future. But now you're telling me to 'adapt'?"
Michael's face began to turn pale, he pressed his chest, his breathing became rapid. "Emma, please don't do this... my heart..."
"Your heart?" I sneered, "What about my heart? What about my feelings? What about the trust and dependence I've had in you for these six years?"
"This is not the outcome I wanted..." his voice grew weak, "I'm suffering too..."
"Suffering?" I stepped closer to him, my voice becoming sharper, "Do you know what real suffering is? Suffering is being raped by your stepfather at twelve, suffering is watching your mother sell everything for drugs, suffering is praying every day in that damn trailer that someone would rescue you!"
"Emma, stop..." Michael clutched his chest, his face turning even paler, "I need... I need my medication..."
But I didn't stop. This was the crucial moment, I couldn't give him a chance to take those damn medications.
"You saved me, gave me hope, made me believe there are still good people in the world, and genuine care." My tears began to surge, this time they were real, "But now you're telling me it was all fake? You're telling me that when I become a burden, I'm to be discarded?"
"It's not like that..." he reached for the medicine bottle on the table, but his hand was shaking badly.
"Then what is it like?" I grabbed his wrist, preventing him from taking the medicine, "Why are you revoking the trust fund? Is it because you noticed my feelings for you? Because you're afraid of what others might say?"
"What feelings?" Terror flashed in his eyes, "Emma, what are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about." I gazed into his eyes, "I love you, Michael. Not the way a daughter loves a father, but the way a woman loves a man. I know it's wrong, I know it terrifies you, but it's the truth."
"My goodness..." his body began to tremble, "Emma, you cannot say such things...this isn't right..."
"Why isn't it right?" I gripped his hand tightly, "Because I'm an orphan? Because I'm younger than you? Or because you're afraid of losing your precious reputation?"
"Because...because I am your guardian...because this goes against..." his breathing became more labored, "Emma, let me go...let me get my medicine..."
"No." My voice turned cold, "You will hear me out. Do you know why I love you? Because you were the first person who truly saw me. In this world, only you have made me feel warmth and safety. But now you want to abandon me, just like everyone else has done."
"I'm not abandoning you..." his voice grew weaker, "I just...I'm just afraid..."
"Afraid of what? Afraid of falling in love with me?" I moved closer to his face, "You've already fallen in love with me, haven't you? That's why you're running away, why you're revoking the trust fund, why you dare not look me in the eyes."
"Stop...please stop..."his face had turned a terrifying ashen color, "My heart...I need help..."
"What you need isn't medicine," I gently stroked his cheek, "What you need is honesty. Admit it, admit that you love me too."
"I..." complex emotions flowed in his eyes - pain, fear, and something I had always longed to see, "I..."
In that moment, I saw the answer I wanted. In his eyes, in his expression, in his trembling breath, I saw his love for me. Not fatherly love, but a man's love for a woman.
But now it was too late.
Michael suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching his chest tightly. Cold sweat broke out on his face, his breathing became extremely difficult. "Emma...help me...call an ambulance..."
I looked at him, a strange calmness welling up inside me. "I love you, Michael. I will always love you."
"Emma..." he reached out his hand trying to grab me, but his strength was fading, "don't... don't let me die..."
"You won't die," I said gently, "You're just sleeping. Sleeping forever."
I watched him fall to the ground, his body convulsing, his eyes filled with fear and unwillingness. But I didn't move, didn't call for help, didn't try to assist him. I just stood there, quietly watching this man I once loved slowly lose his life.
"I will miss you," I whispered, "I will miss your smile, your voice, the warmth you gave me. But I won't miss your fear, your retreat, your abandonment."
A few minutes later, it was all over. Michael Branford lay on the floor of his office, his eyes closed forever. His facial expression was peaceful, as if he were just sleeping.
I knelt beside him, gazing at this face I deeply loved. Strangely, what welled up in my heart at this moment wasn't pure sorrow or relief, but a complex emotion that left me confused. Sorrow, yes, for losing the only person in this world who had truly cared about me. But at the same time, there was an almost joyful satisfaction—he finally belonged to me completely, never to escape again, never to refuse again, never to betray again.
Tears fell involuntarily, dropping onto his pale cheeks. I gently stroked his hair, with the same tenderness he had shown when comforting me countless times before.
"Now you won't be afraid anymore," I whispered, "You no longer need to struggle with morality and responsibility, no longer need to wrestle between love and fear."
I bent down and, for the first and last time, kissed his lips. It was a gentle kiss, carrying all the emotions accumulated over six years—gratitude, attachment, love, and pain. His lips had already lost their warmth, but they were still as soft as I remembered.
"I love you, Michael," I whispered in his ear, "now you know, and this secret will forever belong to only the two of us."
I checked his pulse, confirming that he was indeed dead. Then I straightened my clothes and hair, wiped away my tears, and prepared to begin my performance.
I waited a full ten minutes to calm myself down, then let out a heart-wrenching scream: "Help! Someone help! Mr. Branford has collapsed!"
Footsteps soon echoed through the hallway. Mrs. Susanna was the first to rush into the office, followed closely by the chef and several older children.
"Oh my God!" Susanna knelt beside Michael, checking his condition, "Call an ambulance, quick!"
"I don't know what happened!" I cried, "We were having dinner, and then he suddenly said his chest hurt, and then he collapsed! I tried to help him, but..."
"You did well, Emma." Susanna tried to comfort me, but her voice was also trembling, "This is not your fault."
The ambulance arrived quickly, but it was too late. The medical staff confirmed Michael's death, preliminarily diagnosing it as acute myocardial infarction. The police also arrived at the scene to conduct a routine investigation.
"What were you talking about?" the officer asked me.
"He was telling me about future arrangements," I sobbed in response, "About college and... and other things. He seemed a bit nervous because of the orphanage's financial problems. And then he suddenly..."
"Did he have a history of heart disease?"
"Yes, he had been taking medication," Susanna answered, "Recently due to the economic crisis, he was under a lot of pressure."
Everything went very smoothly. No one suspected it was anything other than an accident. A middle-aged man with a history of heart disease dying from a sudden heart attack under tremendous pressure was completely reasonable.
When the scene was cleaned up and the body taken away, I sat alone in the library, still wearing that pearl necklace on my hand. Moonlight poured through the window onto my face, and I felt an emptiness I had never experienced before.
Michael was dead. The only person in this world who had truly loved me was dead. And I had killed him.
But I don't regret it. He chose to betray me, chose to abandon me, chose to plunge me back into despair. I just made my move before he did.
Now, the real game is just beginning. According to legal procedures, Michael's family will arrive in a few days to handle the aftermath. His brother Richard Branford is an investment banker on Wall Street, and his sister Catherine Winston is a famous philanthropist. They will come here, they will meet me, and they will learn about Michael's special affection for me.
And I, as Michael's most beloved "daughter," the last person to be with him, will become the focus of their attention.
I caressed the pearl necklace around my neck, remembering Michael's words: "Elena would have liked you."
Yes, I believe she would. Because soon, I will become a member of her family.
In the darkness, I smiled. Not the sweet smile of a young girl, but the smile of a predator.
Emma Modest's life as an orphan was over.
A new life was about to begin.
