Blurb：
When Kian Richmond returns to his wealthy birth family, his adoptive mother makes a desperate journey to see him. Eleanor Richmond's polished gratitude masks deep-seated prejudice, offering only a crystal glass as token payment for raising her son. Kian's chilling indifference cuts deeper than his mother's insults - dismissing the glass as "just an old mouthwash cup" worth more than they'd ever seen. Years later, rumors swirl about the Richmond heir searching endlessly for the family he discarded, holding that same crystal glass like a sacred relic. This emotional saga explores the brutal clash between poverty and privilege, the scars of abandonment, and the haunting power of maternal love that transcends social boundaries. Perfect for readers who crave rich family dramas with complex characters like Kian Richmond and Eleanor Richmond, where a single crystal glass becomes the symbol of everything lost and everything worth fighting to reclaim.Content：
The day Kian Richmond was welcomed back by his birth family, my mother took a Greyhound overnight to see him.When Mrs. Richmond offered to thank us for raising him, Mom, terrified of the gesture, only took a single crystal glass from a side table.
As we were leaving, I overheard Mrs. Richmond speaking to her housekeeper.
“It makes my blood boil, thinking of my son going hungry, living in some leaky tenement.
“People like that belong in the gutter, picking through trash.”
With my eyes burning, I found Kian to return the glass, but he just shrugged, a picture of indifference.
“Keep it,” he said, his voice cool. “Even if it’s just one of my mother’s old mouthwash cups, it’s worth more than you’ve ever seen.”
I said nothing. When we got home, I packed a bag, and we disappeared.
Years later, I heard a story. That the heir to the Richmond fortune spent five years searching for a poor family, holding a single crystal glass like a prayer.
1
It had been three months since Kian had returned to the Richmond family, and he hadn’t contacted us once. Mom, sick with worry, dragged me onto a bus that smelled of stale air and desperation.
After a day and a night of rattling highways, we arrived at the Richmond estate. The sunset bled across the sky, setting the sprawling stone manor ablaze with golden light. When a uniformed maid opened the massive oak door, her eyes swept over us, cataloging our worn jeans and my mother’s faded coat in a single, dismissive glance.
I clutched the frayed hem of my shirt, my knuckles white, and looked away.
Eleanor Richmond, Kian’s mother, swept out to greet us. She was a woman sculpted from grace and money, with a laugh like the tinkling of a crystal wind chime.
“We owe you such a debt of gratitude for taking care of Kian all these years,” she said, her smile perfectly polished. “I’ve been meaning to call, but things have just been a whirlwind.”
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