They Faked Death, I Sold Their Assets

Chapter 4 Days of Peace

The day I was discharged from the hospital, the weather was beautiful. Helen carefully supported me the entire way back to our small riverside courtyard house.

The moment we returned, she forced me into bed to rest while she tied on an apron and disappeared into the tiny kitchen for nearly an hour. Eventually, she carried over a bowl of chicken soup.

The broth was golden and fragrant, cooled carefully to the perfect temperature before she held it toward me.

Looking at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the fresh burn marks scattered across her hands, my chest tightened painfully.

"Mom," I whispered softly, "thank you."

"Don't say things like that." She smiled warmly. "Drink it before it gets cold. The doctor said you need to nourish your body properly."

After finishing the soup, I finally felt slightly more alive.

"Mom," I said quietly, "I contacted some old friends and picked up a few freelance programming jobs. I can work remotely from home. It should be enough for our living expenses."

Helen nodded without asking how much money we could actually make. Instead, she quietly walked to the cabinet and took out an old cloth bag.

Inside were embroidery hoops, silver needles, colorful silk threads, and several neatly folded pieces of white satin.

"My grandmother used to do custom embroidery work in Silkdale," she said softly while gently stroking the fabric. "I learned from her when I was young. I was actually pretty talented back then."

A faint bitterness flashed across her eyes. "But after I married Derek, he said embroidery was servant's work and beneath someone of our status. He never allowed me to touch it again."

She threaded a needle with red silk. Her movements looked slightly rusty at first, but the skill hidden in her fingers soon returned naturally. In less than twenty minutes, a vivid red plum blossom bloomed across the white satin beneath her hands.

I stared at it in amazement. "It's beautiful."

Helen smiled shyly, almost embarrassed by the praise. "I'm still out of practice," she murmured. "I'll improve after a little more practice."

The next day, she brought the embroidered handkerchief to a souvenir shop in Heritage Town.

On the third day, a shop owner finally bought it for two hundred dollars after praising it nonstop for nearly half an hour.

When Helen came home clutching the money tightly in her hands, they trembled so hard she could barely hold the bills steady.

Not because it was a large amount. But because this was the first money she had earned entirely through her own abilities in more than thirty years.

"Anna…" Her eyes reddened instantly. "I can finally earn money myself now."

I hugged her tightly, my heart aching with both tenderness and sadness.

And so our days slowly settled into peace. Every morning, I sat in front of my computer writing code and handling freelance projects. Meanwhile, Helen immersed herself completely in embroidery.

Not only did her old skills return quickly, but they became even better than before. She no longer embroidered traditional patterns symbolizing wealth and status.

Instead, she stitched the misty rain of Riverland, the stone bridges of Heritage Town, the osmanthus tree growing in our courtyard, and every tiny detail of the life surrounding us now.

Her work gradually became well known throughout Heritage Town, and before long, custom orders started arriving one after another. Little by little, our tiny courtyard finally began to feel alive again.

One evening, Helen and I sat beneath the osmanthus tree enjoying the cool night breeze while the sweet floral scent drifted softly through the air.

She was working quietly beneath the lamplight when she suddenly stopped stitching. Then she looked up at the square patch of night sky framed by the rooftops above us.

"Anna," she asked softly, "where do you think those two are now?"

My fingers paused lightly against my cup.

"If they found out we didn't stay behind and foolishly pay off their debts," Helen continued quietly, "and instead canceled their registrations, took the money, and disappeared…"

A faint smile slowly appeared on her lips. "What kind of expressions do you think they'd have on their faces?"