Chapter 1: The First Glimpse of the Truth
When I was 20, a wealthy couple found me and claimed that I was their biological daughter.
They showered me with care, buying me luxury cars, mansions, and expensive brands.
They even learned sign language to communicate with me, as I was deaf.
But later, when I got a cochlear implant to surprise them, I overheard their conversation:
“She would drop the parents who raised her for twenty years just for money. What an ungrateful wretch!”
My mother spoke with annoyance.
My father tried to calm her down: “It’s alright. We’ll endure for now. As long as we get her kidney for Xena…”
“Soon, our daughter will be able to live a healthy, happy life.”
I realized then that even my parents thought of me as an ungrateful person.
They didn’t want me back for my sake; they only wanted me as a donor for the fake daughter they had raised.
Heartbroken and disillusioned, I chose to leave behind the wealth and luxury, but they regretted it.
I never expected that after restoring my hearing, the first words I would hear from my parents would be the cruel
truth.
My head was buzzing, the explosive sound ringing in my ears.
I could barely hear anything else.
At some point, I lost my footing and fell down the stairs.
“Ah!” I screamed instinctively.
My parents rushed out of the study, my mother frowning impatiently:
“Why are you so clumsy? Falling down the stairs just because your ears don’t work? It’s not like you’re blind!”
“Such a hassle!”
My father patted her shoulder soothingly, signaling her to hold back.
I lowered my head in disappointment. My mother had once learned sign language just for me, saying it didn’t
matter that I couldn’t hear.
Chapter 1: The First Glimpse of the Truth
When did she start to dislike me so much?
She helped me up, changing to a concerned expression, and signed:
“Are you okay? The stairs are really dangerous. You need to be more careful next time.”
“My foot hurts.”
I saw a fleeting flash of disgust in my mother’s eyes, and I shrank back timidly.
She instructed the maid, “Bring the first–aid kit.”
My knee and ankle were scraped up.
My mother frowned, impatiently grabbing the alcohol, while the maid reminded her:
‘Alcohol will sting, maybe iodine would be better. It won’t hurt as much.”
‘I’m using alcohol on purpose. How can she compare to Xena?”
Yeah, she’s nothing like Miss Xena. It’s like comparing the clouds in the sky to the mud on the ground.” The maid
chimed in.
My mother nodded in agreement.
I knew Xena was Xena Hall. We were switched at birth.
I had heard this name growing up. Once, after my drunken adoptive mother beat me, she pulled out a cherished
photo and said:
‘My daughter’s name is Xena Hall. She’s the daughter of a rich family. You, you little bitch, will only ever live in a
place like this!”
Kena Hall was such a beautiful name–prosperous and flourishing.
My name was taken from the neighbor’s dog, named Coco.
Apparently, the dog was the neighbor’s favorite, and they found the name on TV.
My adoptive parents and uncle had a falling out over something, and they deliberately named me to spite him.
Hearing their conversation, I bitterly bit my lip, thinking, of course, how could I compare to Xena?
Growing up, I was constantly beaten and scolded by my adoptive parents.
I thought that being found by my real parents meant I would be loved.
But I realized it was just a beautiful bubble, one that could pop at any moment.
When Love Whispers
