They Replaced Me... Until the Government Wanted Me

Chapter 23

The year I turned thirty-seven, I married Ryan Collins.

Being older, Ryan didn’t want me to risk childbirth, so we adopted a newborn daughter.

On her third birthday, I threw her a party. After the last guests left, I turned to go back inside—only to spot Ethan Parker and Lucas Parker standing in the shadows beneath a distant tree.

This year, I was forty, and they were nearing fifty.

Ethan was in a wheelchair, which surprised me enough to make me pause. They must have been standing there for a long time, too hesitant to approach. When they noticed my gaze, their eyes lit up with hope.

Lucas immediately pushed the wheelchair toward me, his steps urgent. Only then did I notice the items in their hands.

With careful reverence, Lucas held out a gift box.

"This is for your daughter. I hope... I hope she likes it."

His voice trembled with unmistakable humility and unease.

After a long hesitation, I finally reached out and took it.

Ethan’s eyes brightened, and he quickly extended a bouquet toward me.

"It’s been so long, but... I never got to congratulate you."

I wasn’t sure what he meant—whether it was the ten-year medical research I’d completed, my marriage, or my daughter. But I didn’t ask. Instead, I took the flowers with polite detachment.

"Thank you."

Lucas still held a gift bag. His hands shook as he pulled out a bright red scarf.

When he offered it to me, he couldn’t bring himself to meet my eyes.

"I’m sorry... it’s long overdue."

A memory surfaced—Lucas sitting by the window late at night, painstakingly knitting a scarf for me. Back then, I had envied a classmate whose mother had made one for her.

My own mother never had the time, and Ethan was too rough-handed for delicate work. So Lucas had secretly sought out one of his admirers—someone who knew how to knit—and begged her to teach him.

To me, that scarf had never been just a scarf.

And now, it wasn’t something that could be repaid with another.

Still, I smiled and accepted it without refusal.

By the end, my arms were full.

They finally left.

I turned and walked toward the house, stopping at the front gate. Then, without ceremony, I bent down and placed everything on the ground outside.

My brothers had never given me so much at once before.

This time, I didn’t want any of it.

As I straightened, I glanced back—just in time to see Ethan and Lucas freeze in the distance, their eyes darting toward me.

They saw the discarded gifts.

Their expressions twisted with grief before they quickly looked away.

That night, I received a call from the hospital.

Ethan was dying.

They asked if I wanted to see him one last time.