Chapter 6

“I, Maliyah, am not your mother,” I declared. “You, Jamie, are no longer my son. As you once said, your surname is Ojn, and mine is Shen. From now on, we have no relationship.”

After expressing my sentiments, I rose and stood at the doorway, ordering Jamie to leave. “Don’t return. We don’t welcome uninvited guests.”

Jamie’s fingers trembled; his fists clenched. He remained motionless. Seeing this, I returned to the living room, seized his collar with one hand, his luggage with the other, and dragged him outside.

“Mom! Wait, my leg… my leg hurts!” Ignoring his cries, I pushed him through the gate.

As I tossed his luggage after him, Brock emerged from behind the large banyan tree, his face grave. His voice trembled slightly. “Maliyah, Jamie has had nightmares every day. He misses you. He needs you. Can’t you let him stay a few days?”

“No,” I replied without hesitation. Jamie then noticed Haylee, discreetly watching from the kitchen. With resentment, he pointed at her and asked in a hoarse voice, “Why can she, an outsider, stay, but not I? I was clearly your son…”

I looked down at him with boredom. “What makes you think you’re comparable to my precious Haylee? Haylee can live here as long as she likes.” As for you, how many times must I say it? Jamie, I’ll say it one last time,” I spoke slowly and clearly. “I don’t want you anymore. Since you chose to follow your father, you are no longer my child, Maliyah.”

Jamie stared, dumbfounded. Tears, which he’d considered shameful since age seven, welled in his eyes.

After a long silence, a disappointed Brock, having helped Jamie to his feet, muttered, “Maliyah, why are you so heartless towards the child?”

In response, the mansion gate slammed shut.

Late that night, a fierce storm raged. Amidst the lightning and thunder, Brock’s car remained parked on the muddy path beside the banyan tree. Grandma, flashlight in hand and umbrella raised, attempted to bring Jamie a blanket, but I gently escorted her back to her room.

The next morning, the usually calm Brock anxiously knocked, urging me to check on Jamie. He had a high fever, vomited, felt dizzy, and was seriously ill. My grandmother, hard of hearing, didn’t hear the knocking. I had placed earplugs on Haylee and myself, and slept through it all.

Waking at noon, I found Brock’s car gone. Contentedly humming, I lingered in my grandmother’s melon shed with Haylee. Taking her to school, she carried fruit she’d picked, happily sharing it with her dorm mates. The city girls chattered excitedly. “Is this a blueberry? It’s so big, much sweeter than supermarket ones!” “That’s right,” another said, “Maliyah used to be an agricultural science doctoral student. This Oldsilver blueberry only grows at her great-grandmother’s house.”