Chapter 6: Grandmother

The Coleman family lived in dilapidated shacks outside the city, a stark contrast to the Xander family's opulent lifestyle. The air hung heavy with the stench of rotting vegetables and garbage, intensified by the summer heat. The smell was suffocating, but Sierra's expression remained unchanged. She had lived there for fifteen years; she was accustomed to it. Besides, prison had smelled far worse. She wasn't sure if the Colemans still resided there. The Xander family had provided them with a substantial sum—more than enough to live comfortably for life. However, her foster parents had changed their phone numbers, making contact impossible. Coming here was a gamble, but luck seemed to be on her side. As she entered the alley, she heard her foster father, James Coleman, shouting in frustration.

"Crying again? That's all you ever do! What, are you at a funeral or something? No wonder I keep losing money—it's your bad luck rubbing off on me!"

The sound of something crashing to the floor followed, along with a woman's pleading voice. Sierra halted. This scene was all too familiar. For as long as she could remember, these sounds had echoed through the house. Later, when the abuse turned toward her, escape had been her only desire. Lost in thought, she heard a bang. The front door swung open, and a drunken man stumbled out, cursing and spitting on the ground.

"Useless bitch… rotten luck… damn money-sucking—"

His rambling ceased abruptly upon seeing Sierra. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes. Recognizing her, his dull gaze ignited with excitement.

"Sierra Coleman? My daughter! You came back to see me!"

James grinned, reaching for her arm. Sierra deftly evaded him. His expression darkened, but he checked his anger. Forcing a smile, he changed his approach.

"Come inside! Your mother's here too!"

"Yulia! Yulia! Our daughter's home! Come out here!"

Almost immediately, a woman with a swollen, bruised face appeared in the doorway—Yulia Lewis, Sierra's foster mother.

"Sierra…" Yulia whispered, reaching for her hand. Sierra again avoided her touch. An awkward silence followed. James scowled and shoved Yulia aside.

"Stupid woman, can't you see Sierra's a Xander now? You think just anyone can touch her?"

Then, smiling, he turned back to Sierra.

"But Sierra, you've got a good heart. You still came back to see us. Unlike that ungrateful brat—gave birth to her, but she never once looked back!"

He cursed Denise under his breath.

"They say the one who raises you matters more than the one who births you. Guess that's the truth, huh? Don't you think so, Sierra?"

Sierra saw his eagerness. She knew what he wanted. Curling her lips into a mocking smile, she said,

"Mr. Coleman, I don't have any money."

James' false kindness vanished instantly. His voice rose in anger.

"A Xander family daughter saying she has no money? You ungrateful little thing! I raised you for fifteen years—hell, even a dog would've learned some loyalty by now!"

Kicking over a stool, he grabbed her collar.

"I don't care—you're giving me money today. If you don't, I'll strip you naked and throw you onto the street! The Xander family wouldn't want that kind of humiliation, would they?"

Sierra's face remained impassive.

"You could throw me onto the street naked, and they still wouldn't care. The Xander family already cut ties with me. Didn't you hear?"

James' grip loosened. His curses ceased abruptly. He'd clearly heard. His irritation intensified. He'd assumed Sierra was there for money, but she had none. Frustrated, he raised his hand to strike her—something he'd done countless times before.

"You useless piece of—"

Before he could connect, Sierra grabbed his wrist. Cold amusement flickered in her eyes.

"Try it."

James froze. For the first time, he truly saw her. She was taller than he remembered, almost his height. She wasn't a defenseless little girl anymore.

"You think I spent three years in prison for nothing?"

Sierra rolled up her sleeve, revealing a long, jagged scar. James gulped. It finally dawned on him: she'd done time. A chill ran down his spine. He yanked his arm free and spat.

"Tch. Bad luck."

Then, shoving past Sierra, he stormed off—almost running away. Only then did Yulia hesitantly approach. She looked at Sierra with a mix of wariness and hope.

"Sierra… are you okay? Let me see."

She reached for Sierra's hand again. Sierra dodged it. Hurt and something like guilt flickered across Yulia's face, but Sierra didn't care.

"Where's Grandmother?" she asked.

Yulia hesitated.

"S-she's inside…"

Sierra didn't wait. She pushed open the door to the innermost room. The stench nearly overwhelmed her. Even after everything, the foulness made her stomach churn. Then she saw her grandmother—a frail figure on the bed, skin and bones, barely more than a skeleton wrapped in paper-thin skin. Sierra's eyes burned.

"Grandmother."

She rushed forward. The room was tiny, airless, and suffocatingly hot. No fan. No air conditioning. Her grandmother had been left in this suffocating, filthy space. The frail woman stirred, lifting a trembling hand.

"Sierra… Sierra…"

"Grandmother!" Sierra quickly grasped her hand. It was so thin, nothing but bones.

"You're finally back," her grandmother whispered. She tried to touch Sierra's face but hesitated, glancing at her dirt-streaked fingers.

"Let me see your leg," Sierra said softly.

Three years ago, her grandmother had needed surgery. Avascular necrosis of the femur—rare, but treatable. She had begged Bradley for help, and he had agreed—but only if she took the fall for Denise. She reached to lift the blanket—

But her grandmother grabbed her hand.

"There's nothing to see. I'm fine," she said weakly. "I'm just old. I don't like moving around much anymore." Then, her gaze softened. "Sierra… tell me the truth. Did anyone bully you in there?"

Sierra's heart clenched. Two days. Of all the people she'd met, her grandmother was the first to ask. She wanted to say yes, that she had been bullied terribly. But instead, she smiled.

"No one bullied me."

"Really?"

"Really," Sierra lied smoothly. "You know me, Grandmother. I was always well-behaved. The prison guards took good care of me."

Her grandmother studied her face, then sighed in relief.

"That's good. That's all I needed to hear."

"Grandmother, come with me," Sierra whispered. "I have money now. I can take care of you. In three months, I'll be completely free. Move in with me then, okay?"

She had no family left. Except for her. Her grandmother didn't answer. She just patted Sierra's hand gently.

"As long as you're doing well, I'm happy. I've been so worried about you. But now… I can finally be at ease."

Her voice sounded off. Her hand was burning hot. Sierra's expression changed.

"Grandmother?"

"I'm fine… just a little tired…"

But Sierra had already lifted the blanket—and what she saw made her blood run cold.