Chapter 3

At that time, in City B, a petite girl was still driving an electric car on the road, delivering goods to customers.

Yes. That girl was Rosabella Brown. Although she was heartbroken from being abandoned, she still had to live, still had to work, and move on, she couldn't stay sad forever. She had dropped out of college four months ago to pursue her passion for writing comics and designing fashion, so now she had to do all kinds of jobs to earn money.

Rosabella was only twenty-three years old this year, with a pretty, delicate face, clear, innocent eyes, and small lips that always had a warm smile.

No matter how difficult the situation was, she was always optimistic and strong, moving forward.

The work was very tiring, but her face was always bright, and she happily bowed to everyone she met.

After delivering the goods, she went back to the post office to arrange, pack, ship, and receive the goods.

 In the afternoon, she got off work at five o'clock and worked an extra night at a restaurant until ten o'clock at night. 

She had to work so much because her family had to pay the bank interest every month and her father had not been able to do heavy work for the past two years, so she became the main source of income for the family. 

Late at night, Rosabella was tired and dragged herself down the dark alley, her hands constantly punching her sore shoulders. 

A girl suddenly appeared right in front of her and said loudly, startling her: 

"Rosabella, give me two hundred pocket money." 

Her face was gloomy, her limbs ached, her body was tired, and her younger sister kept asking for money, this really made her angry, but she still tried to restrain herself and said gently: 

"I just gave it to you last week." 

The other girl still refused to give up and replied, "You're complaining about a few dollars. If you don't have any, I'll ask my father for money." 

 Rosabella loved her father, she knew that because he couldn't walk, he would always blame himself, and if Cynthia asked for money, he would worry even more. 

So she closed her eyes and sadly took out the only two hundred dollars left in her wallet and gave it to her sister. 

So from now until the end of the month, she wouldn't know what to eat because that was the little money she had left. 

"Okay, here, two hundred, spend it wisely, I don't earn money easily." 

The girl still held her head high, glared at Rosabella, and then left. 

She was Cynthia Brown, Rosabella's younger sister. 

She was the only daughter of the Brown family, so she was spoiled. 

Rosabella was just an adopted child. Her adoptive father was a firefighter who was seriously injured and nearly died two years ago while saving a family in a big fire. 

Her biological father was also a firefighter who died while on duty to save people. Because of the promise that whoever sacrificed first would help raise the other's child, her current foster father took her in and has been taking care of her since she was two years old until now. 

Her foster mother and Cynthia still don't like her, so they find every way to torture and beat her.

Grandpa and Dad loved Rosabella very much.

Rosabella bowed her head to the ground, her face gloomy, counting each step, her heart filled with many thoughts.

The familiar warm voice of a middle-aged man rang out, she quickly brightened up.

"Rosabella, you're back."

That man was her adoptive father, Dawson Brown, over forty years old, his body thin and weak, his face showing many worries, his eyes sad, his face full of wrinkles, his legs numb and no longer feeling like sitting in a wheelchair.

He ran his hand along the wheel and walked closer to her.

Rosabella hurriedly walked over, knelt next to him, took his calloused, wrinkled hand, and gently asked:

"Why don't you go back to your room and rest? It's starting to get cold."

Suddenly, a tear gently fell on her hand, her father's eyes were red and wet, and his eyelashes were filled with tears.

 Dad had always been strong and confident, but since he lost his ability to walk, he became self-conscious and weak, especially when he felt sorry for his daughter who had to walk home alone late at night. 

His lips trembled and he stammered: 

"I'm sorry." 

Somehow, when she tried to hold back her tears, they fell more. Rosabella suddenly stood up, turned around, gently wiped her tears, and tried to force a smile on her lips: 

"What are you talking about? I'm not in trouble. As long as our family is happy, that's enough." 

Too tired. Too much pressure. Work and love affairs made her feel like she was about to collapse. But if she was weak now, what would happen to her father? 

Perhaps her fate had already been decided, and she still had to repay the Brown family for raising her. She gently pushed the wheelchair back and said softly:

"Okay, Dad, it's late, let's go to bed. Next time, just go to bed, don't wait for me."

As soon as she stepped out of her father's room, she was startled to see her adoptive mother Lawrence standing in front of her, stunned.

She politely bowed: "Hello, Mom."

Lawrence was over forty this year, but her face looked older than her age, her eyebrows were thick and her eyes looked at Rosabella with hatred.

She didn't like Rosabella at all before. Dawson Brown had to persuade her for a long time before agreeing to adopt her.

She opened her eyes wide and said with contempt: "Where have you been that you're just coming back at this hour, you bastard?"

She was just a foster mother and always tried to torture and beat her.

Rosabella's childhood was always gloomy, so now she was always haunted, a little afraid when meeting her.

Therefore, she always chose to ignore and live in silence.

 Because every time she said something, she always found a reason to hit her, especially after her father fell ill. 

Rosabella was angry, her body kept shaking, she also wanted to respond to what she had just said, but what to say now, she was still her mother. 

Even though she didn't give birth to her, she had the merit of raising her. 

Her hands clenched, her lips pressed tightly together, she tried to take a deep breath to stay as calm as possible, slowly walking step by step. 

A hand grabbed her hand and pulled her back, causing her to fall. 

A slap landed straight on her face. 

The fingerprints of all five fingers were imprinted on her cheek. 

Five red marks on her fair skin. 

Tears rolled down, seeping through the painful wounds. 

But the pain in her flesh was nothing compared to the deep pain in her heart.