Chapter 302

The red thread bracelet grew warm against her wrist.

Evelyn Carter stared at it for a long moment, her fingertips brushing the faded knot.

"Why are you wearing that again?" Andrew Anderson emerged from the kitchen with a teacup, his gaze dropping to her wrist.

"Mom said it brings good luck."

"Good," Andrew nodded. "You were always sick as a child. This seemed to help."

"Dad, where did you buy this?"

"That was over twenty years ago. Who remembers?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody wears these anymore. Gold and silver are trendy now."

Evelyn lowered her lashes. "Does Emily have one?"

"She wasn't even born then!" Andrew suddenly remembered something. "Oh, check these bankbooks for me."

Four passbooks lay spread on the coffee table.

Evelyn verified each one. "Twenty-eight thousand and six hundred in total."

"See? I knew I remembered right." He pulled out three. "Converted to pounds, this should cover your studies abroad."

"Dad—"

"Don't argue. Consider it an investment." His voice dropped. "Why did you need the household register?"

"Visa application."

His expression relaxed. "I thought..." He trailed off, then retrieved the booklet from the bedroom. "Return it immediately after."

"Understood."

The deep red cover felt cold against her fingertips.

When the bedroom door clicked shut, she drew a deep breath.

The rustle of paper echoed sharply in the silence.

Andrew Anderson: Type O.

Grace Anderson: Type O.

Evelyn Carter: Type O.

Emily Anderson: Type O.

Her eyes lingered on the blood type column.

"Evelyn! Dinner!" Grace's voice pierced through the door.

Evelyn closed the booklet, her palms damp.

At the table, Andrew asked abruptly, "The education section still lists high school. Will that be a problem?"

"No." She picked at her greens. "The visa mainly checks residency details."

Grace handed her a bowl of soup. "You seem distracted."

"Just thinking about the hospital."

Andrew snorted. "Did you run into that Hamilton boy again? I saw him downstairs today and sent him packing."

Her spoon clinked against the bowl.

"What was he doing here?"

"What else?" Andrew slammed his chopsticks down. "I warned him to stay away!"

Evelyn sipped her soup, steam blurring her vision.

Type O was a recessive gene.

The fact circled relentlessly in her mind.

After dinner, she stood on the balcony, letting the night air cool her skin.

The breeze stirred the red thread bracelet—a silent accusation.