Chapter 4
Her parents immediately barged in, ransacking her belongings without hesitation.
Jordan stood to the side, watching as they roughly stripped her bed and shook out her clothes.
“Here it is!” Her mother pulled a gleaming necklace from beneath Jordan’s pillow, her face livid.
SLAP!
A vicious blow struck Jordan’s face.
“You shameless thief! Stealing your own sister’s necklace!” her mother shrieked. “How did I give birth to such garbage?”
Vanessa’s eyes welled with tears. “Jordan, if you liked the necklace, you could have just asked. Why would you steal
it?”
“I didn’t steal it!” Jordan’s voice trembled.
“The evidence is right here, and you still deny it?” The neighbors pointed accusingly. “Stealing at such a young
age-she needs discipline!”
Her father’s face darkened ominously. “We’ll definitely discipline her. We’re sending her to the county correction facility right now! They’ve got that new juvenile work program that’ll straighten her out!”
“Good! That’s proper parenting!” The neighbors applauded.
Jordan stood in the center of the angry mob, looking at their self-righteous faces, feeling a bone-deep chill.
“Maxwell, I really didn’t steal it!” Jordan clutched desperately at Maxwell’s sleeve, her voice shaking. “Please believe me just this once…”
Maxwell looked down at her, his eyes filled with undisguised disappointment. “With all the evidence against you,
how can I possibly believe you?”
Detached her fingers from his sleeve one by one. Though not rough, the gesture crushed her last hope.
“Besides, as a future military wife, you should be setting an example.”
Jordan’s hand fell limply to her side.
Military wife?
How ironic. He wouldn’t even give her basic trust, yet he still expected to claim her with that title.
Chapter 4
She stopped struggling, allowing her parents and the neighbors to escort her to the county correction facility.
Behind her, she heard Vanessa tearfully asking, “Max, do you think Jordan will hate me…?”
And Maxwell’s gentle response: “Don’t worry. She brought this on herself.”
The three days in the county correction facility were hellish.
Jordan worked twelve-hour shifts of hard labor, subsisting on moldy bread.
At night, she curled up on the damp concrete floor, her wounds too painful for sleep.
On the fourth morning, the iron gate finally opened.
Jordan dragged her aching body toward the exit, each step like walking on knives.
“Jordan Hayes?” A familiar voice called out.
She looked up to see Mr. Lee, her high school homeroom teacher, staring at her in shock.
“What are you doing here?”
Jordan opened her mouth but couldn’t produce a sound.
Her throat felt blocked, unable to formulate even a plausible excuse.
Mr. Lee glanced at the county correction facility entrance, then at her deathly pale face, seeming to understand
something.
But he didn’t press further, only sighing, “Registration for the new semester is coming up soon. Have you bought your train ticket yet?”
Registration?
Jordan felt disoriented for a moment.
The three days of relentless suffering had almost made her forget she still had college to attend.
Shook her head.
“I happen to have an extra ticket here.” Mr. Lee pulled an envelope from his bag. “I’ll mail it to your house later.”
Jordan’s eyes welled up, and she bowed deeply. “Thank you, sir.”
When she finally dragged her exhausted body back home, she spotted the mailman at the housing complex entrance, with Maxwell signing for something.
As she approached, Maxwell had just opened the envelope.
It was Mr. Lee’s train ticket.
Seeing her approach, Maxwell held up the ticket with a stern expression.
“What do you need a ticket for?”
