I didn’t watch it at first, too nervous about how I’d come across, but Rachel called me immediately after it premiered. Adeline, holy you need to watch this. You’re incredible. I finally watched it that night with David. Seeing myself on screen was strange, but Sarah had edited it beautifully. She’d woven my story together with four other women entrepreneurs and somehow made us all look powerful and human at the same time.
The segment about family struck a chord. Sarah had included my quote about building success without them, then cut to shots of my team at work, my employees laughing in meetings, and the scholarship fund announcement I’d made public the week before. The narrative was clear. Adeline Chen didn’t need her birth family because she built her own family from scratch.
The response was overwhelming. My company’s website crashed from traffic. I got interview requests from major publications. Three venture capital firms reached out about expansion funding. The scholarship fund received donations from strangers wanting to help, and my phone started ringing again. Massachusetts numbers I didn’t recognize. I ignored them all.
But Tyler found me on LinkedIn. Congrats on trashing your family on national TV. His message read, “Real classy. Hope the attention was worth it.” I didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. Two months later, David got reassignment orders. We were moving to Virginia to the Pentagon.
His career was taking off just like mine. We sold the Newport Beach House at a significant profit and started looking for property in Alexandria. Life moved forward the way it always does. The documentary became old news. My company kept growing. I hired my 50th employee. Forbes did a write up on fastest growing womenowned tech firms and we made the list.
The scholarship fund awarded its first round of funding to five incredible students who reminded me of my younger self. I was happy, actually genuinely happy. Then my phone rang on a random Tuesday afternoon. Unknown number. Massachusetts area code. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
Adeline Chen, a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize. Speaking. This is Diane Morrison from Massachusetts General Hospital. I’m calling regarding Patricia Patterson. She’s listed you as her daughter and emergency contact. My blood went cold. What happened? She was admitted this morning with a heart attack. She’s stable now, but she’s been asking for you.
Are you able to come? I sat down slowly. Is it serious? Heart attacks are always serious, Miss Chen. But she’s receiving good care. She’s asking for family. I thanked her and hung up. David found me sitting in my office staring at nothing. Adeline, what’s wrong? My mom had a heart attack, I said. She’s in the hospital. She’s asking for me.
David’s expression was complicated. What do you want to do? That was the question. What did I want to do? Part of me, the part that still remembered being a little girl who just wanted her mother’s love, wanted to drop everything and fly across the country. But the bigger part, the part that had survived rejection and built a life worth living, hesitated.
I don’t know, I admitted. You don’t owe them anything, David said gently after what they did. But I also know you, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least check in. He was right. I made the call. Dad answered on the second ring. Adeline. His voice was rough, strained. Thank God.
Your mother, she’s I know the hospital called. How is she stable? They’re keeping her for observation. He hesitated. Adeline, can you come, please? I closed my eyes. I’ll fly out tomorrow. Thank you, he said softly. I booked a redeye flight. David wanted to come, but I told him to stay. This was something I needed to handle alone. The hospital was cold and impersonal, smelling like antiseptic and bad coffee.
I found my mom’s room on the cardiac floor. Dad was sitting in a chair beside her bed looking older than I remembered. Mom was asleep monitors beeping steadily beside her. Dad stood when he saw me. Adeline, you came. Of course I came, I said. She’s still my mother. The words felt strange in my mouth.
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