Chapter 112
Lucinda left the research institute as the sun was sinking low in the west.
She hailed a cab and gave an address—a private pharmacy in the south part of the city.
She'd taken over the place three years ago. The storefront was small, tucked away in an alley in the old district. The sign was so faded the paint was peeling off, and even GPS had trouble finding it.
But everything inside? She'd prepared it all herself.
She pushed the door open. The scent of medicinal herbs hit her immediately.
The old man behind the counter looked up. Seeing her, his eyes lit up briefly before he lowered his head again, continuing to grind herbs in his mortar. He muttered, "Well, well. Rare guest. Thought you'd forgotten about this place."
"Two boxes of Vital Core Tonic." Lucinda walked to the counter and tapped her fingers twice on the glass surface. "Freshly made. No old stock."
The old man grunted, bent down, and pulled two boxes from under the counter. He set them on the surface with a thud. "Just finished yesterday. That formula of yours—off by even a degree and it's ruined. I watched it for six hours straight. My eyes are shot."
Lucinda opened one of the lids and leaned in to smell it.
The herbal scent was sharp and clean, carrying a faint bittersweet note. It was the smell she knew.
She closed the lid, pulled a card from her pocket, and slapped it on the counter. "Charge it."
"Charge what?" The old man waved his hand and pushed the card back. "You've let me live here rent-free for three years, utilities included. You think I'm charging you for two boxes? Take them. Go on."
Lucinda looked at him for a moment, then didn't insist. She pocketed the card, picked up the two boxes, and turned to leave.
At the door, she paused. Without looking back, she said, "Next month, I'm getting you a new herb grinder. Electric. Save your eyes."
The old man froze, then laughed and cursed. "You brat! If you think I'm old, just say it!"
Lucinda's lips curved slightly. She pushed the door open and left.
The Douglas Estate.
Valencia sat in the living room flipping through a fashion magazine. Hearing the door, she immediately looked up.
Seeing Lucinda walk in, her eyes lit up. She set the magazine down and hurried over. "Cindy! You're back? Are you tired? I had the kitchen make chicken soup—it's still warm—"
"Mom." Lucinda pulled the two boxes from her pocket and pressed them into Valencia's hands. "For you and Dad. One dose a day, after meals."
Valencia looked down at the boxes in her hands. Engraved on the lids in small letters: "Vital Core Tonic."
She froze, then looked up at Lucinda. Her eyes suddenly reddened.
"You… you made this yourself?"
"Yeah." Lucinda headed toward the stairs without stopping. "It's for regulating qi and blood. You're both getting older. It'll be good for you."
Her tone was casual, but Valencia's fingers tightened around the boxes. Tears spilled over.
She hurried after her, grabbing Lucinda's hand, her voice trembling. "Cindy… you… you're so good to us… I… I don't even know what to say…"
Wesley came out of the study just in time to see the scene.
He walked over quickly, glanced down at the boxes in his wife's hands, then looked up at Lucinda. The light in his eyes was as soft as water. "Cindy, what is this?"
"Vital Core Tonic." Lucinda, caught between the two of them, looked a bit uncomfortable. "It's nothing valuable. I just threw it together—"
"Just threw it together?" Valencia cut her off, tears still on her face but a smile forming on her lips. "Do you know how many people beg for even one Vital Core Tonic and can't get it? Mr. Barney Lancaster came by last time and said he got a box for Mr. Hayden Lancaster. After three months, half of Mr. Hayden's white hair turned black. You're always like this—you never say anything, but you do everything…"
She kept talking, tears streaming down again, refusing to let go of Lucinda's hand.
Wesley stood beside them, his eyes reddening too.
He put his arm around his wife's shoulder and looked at Lucinda, his voice solemn. "Cindy, thank you. We're so happy."
Lucinda stood there, looking at the two faces before her—both filled with emotion. Something in a corner of her heart felt like it had been gently bumped.
She'd spent twenty years with the Wipere family. She'd made medicine for Gemma. For Grandma. For everyone in the Wipere household.
But no one had ever said "thank you."
Gemma only found her annoying—complained she was "always hovering around," accused her of "putting on an act."
And now, her biological parents were moved to tears over two boxes of medicine she'd casually prepared.
Her fingers twitched slightly. In the end, she didn't pull her hand away from Valencia's grip.
"…Let's eat." Her voice was softer than usual. "I'm hungry."
"Yes, yes, let's eat!" Valencia quickly wiped her tears and pulled her toward the dining room.
In the dining room, the long table was covered with dishes.
Lucinda glanced over the spread. Everything was prepared to her taste.
The roast beef was cut thick and even, drizzled with rich barbecue sauce, glistening and inviting. The honey-glazed salmon had a crispy surface, lemon slices arranged beside it to cut the richness. The prawns were butterflied perfectly, butter and minced garlic melted together, the aroma wafting straight into her nose.
She'd barely sat down when Valencia deftly speared a piece of beef for her, and Wesley brought her a bowl of creamy mushroom soup.
Both of them looked at her, eyes practically overflowing with anticipation.
"Taste it quickly. It won't be as good once it cools."
Lucinda took a bite of the beef.
The sauce was perfectly balanced—salty and sweet. The meat was so tender it barely needed chewing. It was exactly the way she liked it.
She chewed slowly, and suddenly her eyes felt warm.
Not from sadness.
It was a feeling she couldn't quite name.
Like a boat that had drifted for a long time finally reaching shore.
"Is it good?" Valencia asked carefully.
"…It's good."
Valencia's eyes reddened again, but this time she was smiling.
She reached over and speared another piece of beef for Lucinda, chattering away about this and that. Wesley chimed in from time to time. The atmosphere in the dining room was warm and cozy.
In the corner, Dahlia sat in her usual spot, a bowl of porridge and a few light side dishes in front of her.
No one looked at her.
No one served her food.
Her gaze fell on the glistening spare rib in Lucinda's bowl, then shifted to Valencia's face—written all over with joy. Her fingers gripped her utensils tightly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She lowered her head and scooped a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.
The porridge was warm, but swallowing it felt like something was lodged in her throat. It tasted bitter and dry.