The road was pitch dark as Maverick Foster rushed home with his bag slung over his shoulder. He’d gotten a letter from Grace—sounded like the baby was coming—so he took leave from the army and hopped on the first train back.
When the train pulled in at the county station around midnight, Maverick’s eyelid started twitching. He didn’t wait. Figured walking through the night would get him home faster to see Grace and the kids.
From a distance, he spotted the lights on in his yard. The twitching in his eyelid got worse, and his pace picked up. Just as he was about to knock, he heard Claire Heinz pleading.
“Mom, Grace can’t take it anymore. Please, we need to take her to the hospital.”
Linda Cook’s sharp voice followed right after, laced with impatience. “It’s her third child already. What’s she whining about? When I had Michael, I was in labor for three days. And Grace’s just getting started, barely one day in!”
Albert Foster interrupted, “Louie’s wife, go wake Louie, tell him to—”
Before he got the rest out, Maverick kicked the front gate wide open with a loud crash.
Everyone in the room turned at the sound, staring at him in shock.
His parents froze. Linda looked guilty. Claire seemed relieved. William and Edward's tear-streaked faces lit up with joy.
“You’re back! Hurry! Grace’s been in labor all day—nothing yet!” Claire rushed over, frantic.
Maverick didn’t wait. He bolted into the house. Grace was unconscious on the heated brick bed.
He grabbed a blanket, rushed outside, and started looking for the wooden cart. Claire ran out behind him.
“I’ve got it! You go carry her out!”
“Thanks, Claire,” he said quickly, then ran back to carry Grace out.
Noticing his boys nearby, he took William’s cloth bag, told them, “You two stay here, lock up the house, don’t open the door.”
They nodded, seriousness on their little faces. “We got it, Dad.”
William pulled Edward along back into their room and locked the door tight.
“Hey, you just—” Mrs. Foster began, startled he hadn’t even glanced at her.
Maverick didn’t spare her a look. He just pushed the cart out the gate.
“He must’ve heard everything,” Albert said, sighing at the broken gate on the ground.
“Well, it’s not my fault she’s having complications,” Mrs. Foster snapped, defensiveness masking her unease.
“This time’s not gonna blow over easy. Wait till he comes back,” Albert muttered, tapping his pipe and heading inside.
Only Linda Cook was left in the courtyard, pale and rattled. The look Maverick gave her before leaving had shaken her badly. Without a word, she ran to her room, hugging Michael tight. She was already planning on heading back to her parents’ place to lay low.
William and Edward crouched by their window, eyes narrowed as they glared across the yard toward their uncle’s house, just waiting for their dad to come back.
---And here’s when the lead girl comes in---
Sophia Foster came to in a space so tight, it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Earlier, while visiting home for the New Year, her aunt had asked her to watch the grain store for a bit. She lay back in the rocking chair scrolling through videos when, out of nowhere, a meteor crashed down from the sky—and everything went black.
No time to think about that now. Lack of oxygen made her instinctively inch forward. Something was pressing down on her head—someone’s foot?
She shoved hard with her legs, bumping the foot away, and instantly more air filled her lungs. She kept pushing forward with all the strength she could muster. Finally, she could breathe free. With that relief, her eyes fluttered shut again as exhaustion dragged her into unconsciousness.Lydia had no idea that three years had slipped by while she was unconscious. When she finally woke up, the first thing she heard was a boy sobbing, followed by another boy yelling, “You messed with my sister, I’m beating you up!”
The kid on the ground was crying out in pain, too weak to even fight back.
Their ruckus brought an old woman rushing into the yard. Spotting the two grandsons, she grabbed a broom and swung it at the one doing the hitting.
But the boy dodged smoothly, and the broom ended up smacking the one already on the ground. “Ouch, Grandma! Why’d you hit me?”
“Oh, Michael, my sweet boy, are you okay? Let Grandma see.”
Before Lydia could figure out what was going on, the boy who had been hitting scooped her up and took her into a room, quickly shutting the door behind them.
“Lydia, does your head still hurt? Let me fix it,” he said, gently blowing at her forehead.
That only made things worse — her head throbbed at the breeze. “Ow, that hurts.”
Edward froze. Had he just heard her speak? She hadn’t said a single word since birth, didn’t even cry. She’d always been quiet, and someone had to feed her every meal.
“Lydia... you can talk?”
She crouched down, holding her head, fragments of the past three years flashing in her mind.
Turns out, the last time she’d “woken up” was still inside her mom’s belly. It was her twin Naomi’s feet that kicked her out — except Naomi was already gone by then. The doctor said Lydia had stayed inside too long and lacked oxygen, which damaged her brain.
If her dad hadn’t rushed home and taken her to the hospital, she probably wouldn't have made it.
Grace had to watch one daughter pass and the other come into the world with brain damage. She blamed Louie’s whole family, especially Michael. If he hadn’t knocked her down, she wouldn’t have gone into labor prematurely or had such a hard delivery.
She told Maverick what Michael had done. Furious, he beat Louie half to death when they got home and demanded to split from the family.
Mrs. Foster objected, of course. Maverick sent 30 yuan a month from the army, and she wasn’t about to lose that. So she put her foot down. If he dared push for separation, she’d tell the army he wasn’t supporting his parents.
Maverick didn’t back off — he went nuclear. Said if they didn’t split, he’d quit the army and stay home. As long as he was there, Louie’d never walk again because Maverick would keep putting him back in bed.
That hit Mrs. Foster where it hurt. She needed Louie to look after her in her old age.
Two days of hell later, Mr. Foster called in the village chief. They divvied up the family. Louie would care for the old folks. The other three sons had to chip in 5 yuan a year each and 100 jin of grain, with other supplies given as they saw fit.
Maverick, 28, was third in line. He and Charles were twins. Alexander worked in town.
Lydia’s mom, Grace, was 25. Her oldest brother William was 9, Edward was 7, and she — known now as Lydia — had just turned 3.
“Lydia, does it still hurt? Want me to go beat up Michael again?” Edward asked, eyes full of worry as she leaned her aching head against him.
“My head hurts,” she murmured, slumping into his arms.
“I’ll take you to see Dr. Grant,” he said, lifting her onto his back to head out.
“Edward! What happened to Lydia?” Grace came rushing from the fields. Seeing Edward with Lydia on his back, she quickly took the girl into her arms.
“Michael pushed her down. She hit her head,” Edward said, filling her in on what he’d just witnessed.
