"She’s a busy one," Margaret interrupted again, her voice full of pride but devoid of concern.
"She works at a garment factory during the day and as a server at the weekend street fair in the evenings. Our whole family relies on her."
I froze—Rachel’s health clearly couldn’t handle such a load.
"Two jobs? Rachel, you already look unwell. Why don’t you come home and rest for a while?"
"She’s just naturally frail. Don’t worry about her," Margaret replied flatly.
Margaret peeled me an orange. "Your brother’s about to start middle school. You think tuition and tutoring fees are free? Your father and I can’t dig gold out of our tiny patch of land. If Rachel doesn’t go out to earn money, the whole family will be starving."
At her words, Rachel lowered her head and twisted her fingers.
I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her dry, thin hands covered in cracks.
"But—"
"No buts."
This time it was Robert who spoke, puffing on his pipe until the corner was thick with smoke.
"You think everyone’s as lucky as you, getting adopted by rich people? Rachel’s not a kid anymore. I raised her this far—shouldn’t she make some money for her parents?"
He glanced at Rachel, his tone casual.