Chapter 680

Jane watched silently as Haittie was led away by the police officer, then gently opened her hand and released the tiny ant she had been holding. Moments later, all eyes turned as Haittie, who had been walking calmly at first, suddenly began to twitch and writhe. Her plump body jerked and twisted, at first resembling a monkey scratching itself in wild desperation. Then, with a strangled cry, she dropped to the filthy pavement, rolling over and furiously rubbing her back against the ground. "It itches! It's so itchy! Aah—make it stop! So itchy!" Jane watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction, her delicate little eyebrows lifting in subtle triumph. Mina didn’t need more than a glance at Jane’s smug expression to know she had something to do with it. Clearly, the light punishment from the officer hadn’t been enough for her. She leaned in and nudged Jane gently. “What did you do to her?” “Not much,” Jane replied in her sweet, innocent voice, her cherubic face the picture of pure mischief. “I just put some of Grandpa’s itching powder inside the ant and had it crawl onto her.” Here's a refined version of your passage with improved flow, tone consistency, and subtle emotional cues: Auntie Dora had always known Jane was resourceful. She, too, had been quietly frustrated by the leniency of Haittie’s punishment—but the law was the law, and her hands were tied. Now, watching Haittie squirm and shriek, Dora felt a small, guilty sense of vindication. Composing herself quickly, she stepped forward with a warm smile. “Jane, Mina, Harold—thank you for coming to see me. Please, come inside and have a seat.” Jane followed her sister and Harold into Auntie Dora’s room, her steps light, her expression serene. The room was cramped and sparsely furnished. It wasn’t just Auntie Dora and Haittie living there—two sets of metal bunk beds, each neatly made with faded bedding, took up most of the limited space. In the tiny ten-square-meter room, only two worn wooden desks remained, pushed tightly into the corners. The air was stuffy, carrying a faint scent of detergent and something older, like dust and metal. A single window let in a narrow stream of sunlight, casting long shadows across the floor. The hum of the city outside felt distant here, muffled by thick, yellowing curtains that barely moved in the stillness. Auntie Dora smoothed her hair self-consciously, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Jane, I’m afraid it’s not much, but this is my bed. Please, have a seat. I’ll get you some water." Before she could turn away, Jane gently caught her hand. "Auntie Dora, please don’t trouble yourself. We actually came to talk to you about something important." "That’s right," Mina added quickly, leaning forward with a spark of urgency in her voice. "We know a girl… and we think she might be your daughter." Jane nearly clapped a hand over her sister’s mouth—but it was too late. Mina had already blurted it out without thinking. In truth, aside from age and gender, they had no solid evidence that Abigail was Auntie Dora’s missing daughter. In a city teeming with millions, what were the odds of such a coincidence? Jane’s stomach twisted at the thought. What if Abigail isn’t related to her at all? The hope in Auntie Dora’s eyes was already shining too brightly. If it all turned out to be a false alarm, how devastating would the disappointment be? “Mina, is that true? Who is she? Where is she? Can I see her?” Auntie Dora asked, her voice trembling with excitement. With the secret already out, Jane had no choice but to explain. She calmly laid out everything they knew about Abigail—how her age matched, and how a few details aligned. But she added cautiously, “Auntie, we don’t have any concrete evidence. What Mina said earlier was just a guess, really.” Auntie Dora’s eyes lit up with unwavering hope. “Even if it’s only a slim chance, it’s worth chasing,” she said, her voice resolute. “I have to know. Even a one-in-a-million possibility is enough for me.” Upon hearing that Abigail was a child star, Auntie Dora’s curiosity was piqued. She immediately began searching for information online. Jane glanced over, noticing how Auntie Dora’s eyes were fixed intently on her phone screen. She was watching a clip from the movie Abigail had filmed with Brother Jordan, her face a mixture of hope and wonder as she took in every frame. Here’s a rephrased version of the scene that adds emotional depth and captures the shift in Dora's hope: On the screen, Abigail's character was being bullied at school, her clothes torn as she struggled. The moment the fabric ripped, a shadow seemed to fall over Auntie Dora. Her eyes, once bright with hope, dimmed as she watched. She turned slowly to Jane and Mina, her voice now heavy with the weight of disappointment. “Jane, Mina... she can’t be my daughter. My girl... she had a red birthmark on her arm.” Jane rewatched the clip. Sure enough, when Abigail's sleeve was torn, her arm was smooth and unmarked no birthmark in sight. "Oh..." Mina's shoulders slumped in disappointment. She had hoped that if Abigail were Dora's daughter, it would solve both their problems at once. But as expected, life rarely offers such perfect coincidences. Dora knelt down, her gaze tender yet solemn as she gently ruffled the girls' hair. "Jane, Mina, Harold... I'm already so grateful you tried to help me find my daughter." She took a deep breath. "I'll be leaving the capital tomorrow. My child was taken in Bannon that's where I'll start searching again." Jane, Mina, and Harold exchanged glances. There was nothing more they could say. Jane held Auntie Dora's hand, her adorable face filled with earnestness as she said, "Auntie Dora, please take care of yourself. If you ever need our help, just give us a call." "Alright," Auntie Dora replied, her voice tinged with reluctance as she gently patted Jane and Mina's heads. If it weren’t for her overwhelming need to find her daughter, Auntie Dora truly wouldn’t have wanted to leave Jane and Mina. She would have gladly spent her entire life working for the Wallace family. No other employers could ever compare to the kindness they had shown her. As they stepped out of Auntie Dora’s old apartment building, Jane paused for a moment and glanced back at the weathered structure. She shook her head gently, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. Mina, swinging Jane’s hand playfully as they walked and kicking pebbles along the path, noticed the sigh and tilted her head with curiosity. "Jane, what’s wrong? Do you already miss Auntie Dora?" Jane furrowed her small brows thoughtfully. "I do miss her, but it’s more than that. I just feel like... life isn’t easy for anyone. Everyone has their own battles to fight." Compared to others, she truly felt as though she were living in a jar of honey, sheltered from the harshness of the world. The melancholic mood stayed with her until they reached home—where Jane’s eyes landed on Frederick’s tall, imposing figure standing at the front gate. Her heart skipped a beat. *Oh no.* On her way back from the film set, she had been so consumed by Abigail’s situation that she had completely forgotten to tell Frederick. In that moment, she could already picture his wounded expression, the hurt of feeling abandoned. A dull ache throbbed in her temples.