1 I was adopted by my parents from Greenwood Children’s Home. They treated me so well that every night before sleep, I would pray to God, begging Him never to let them send me back. Later, when Mom got pregnant, I hid under my blanket and cried all night, quietly packing the tiny suitcase I had brought with me. But they didn’t send me away. Instead, they loved me even more. The day my little brother was born, Mom held my hand and gently stroked my hair: “It was our big sister who brought us our sweet baby boy.” Dad lifted me high above his head, spinning me around with a booming laugh: “Hope is our little lucky charm, our most precious angel!” I finally stopped living in constant fear. I truly believed I had become a permanent part of this family. Until that day, when my brother broke my beloved astronaut model. In a flash of anger, I shoved him away. He stumbled and landed hard on his bottom. After a shocked silence of two seconds, he burst into a loud, wailing cry. Mom panicked instantly. She pushed me aside roughly, scooping my brother into her arms and desperately checking him for any scratches. Dad rushed over, grabbing my shoulders and pinning me hard against the wall, his eyes a terrifying, bloodshot red: “Did we raise you all these years just so you could bully your brother? Believe it or not, I will take you right back to—” “Charles!” Under Mom’s frantic interruption, Dad’s words cut off. But the damage was done. I understood. The kids at Greenwood had been right all along. For kids like us, once a biological sibling arrives, we always end up being sent back. I had been so foolish to think I was special. I bit my lip and stayed silent, watching Mom and Dad coax my crying brother as they headed out the door. The click of the front door closing was quiet, but it fell on my chest like a heavy stone, crushing me. I thought I would cry, but my eyes were bone dry. I stood in the middle of the quiet living room for a long time before retreating to my bedroom and dragging my small, faded suitcase from under the bed. Five years ago, I had arrived at this house with this exact suitcase. I was so small back then, too young to remember the details of the children’s home. I only remembered Mom kneeling in front of me, her beautiful eyes shining as she asked: “Would you like to come home with me, sweetie?” I had nodded, and she smiled. It was the warmest smile I had ever seen. But just now, there hadn’t been a single trace of warmth in her eyes. As she led my brother out, she hadn’t even glanced back at me. Neither had Dad. I knew they were planning to send me back. Instead of waiting for them to say the words, it was better if I just left on my own. At least that way, I wouldn’t lose all my dignity. I could tell the kids at the home, “They didn’t kick me out. I chose to come back.” Even if they probably wouldn’t believe me. I wiped the dust from the suitcase, pulled open the slightly rusted zipper, and began packing. First, I packed a few clothes: my favorite pink dress, the sweater Mom had knitted for me last winter, and the slightly frayed red wool scarf. I folded them neatly and placed them inside. I didn’t dare take too much, terrified they would think I was greedy. Then, my toys. I hesitated for a long time before picking only two: a worn-out gray stuffed rabbit, and a cheap plastic star necklace. Mom had given me the stuffed rabbit on my very first night in this house. She had whispered, “Keep him close, and you won’t be scared anymore.” Its ears were crooked and the stitching was coming apart, but it was my first gift, and I couldn’t leave it behind. The star necklace was a souvenir Dad had brought back from a business trip, with my name carefully engraved on the back. Finally, I took a framed family photo. It was taken shortly after I arrived. In the picture, Mom and Dad were holding me right in the middle, and my smile was so wide my eyes were squinted shut. I wrapped the frame gently in the knitted sweater, burying it in the center of the suitcase. That way, whenever I missed them, I could sneak a look. Once everything was packed, I zipped the suitcase closed. It felt heavier than it had five years ago, but I could still lift it if I tried. Outside, the night had settled in completely. I sat on top of my suitcase, quietly waiting for them. If they returned and told me they were sending me away, I would say, “That’s okay, I’m already packed.” What if they asked me to stay? If they did, I would slide the suitcase back under the bed and pretend none of this had ever happened. Seven o’clock, eight o’clock, nine o’clock. They still weren’t back. Were they intentionally staying away to give me time to pack up and slip away? Maybe I should just be sensible and take the hint. At five past nine, I stood up and took one last look at my bedroom. My half-finished homework was still spread across the desk. My bed was made with the blanket Mom had freshly dried in the sun yesterday, and I could still smell the faint, warm scent of summer in the fabric. On the windowsill sat the small succulent Mom and I had planted together. We had made a pact to watch it bloom. Sadly, I wouldn’t be around to see it. I pulled the door shut behind me, dragged the suitcase across the quiet living room, and stepped out of the apartment. A blast of freezing night wind hit me, making me shiver. I wrapped my red scarf tighter around my neck and dragged my suitcase into the dark street. The neighborhood was mostly empty. Occasionally, a late-night commuter would hurry past, but no one paid any attention to a little girl dragging a suitcase. The yellow glow of the streetlights stretched my shadow and the outline of my suitcase long across the concrete. Truthfully, I had forgotten the exact route to the children’s home. I only had a vague memory that it was somewhere to the west, so I kept walking in that direction. By the time I reached the fourth intersection, my arms were aching so badly I could barely lift them. The crossing was wide. Right in the middle of the road, the wheel of my suitcase got wedged in a deep pothole. I tugged with all my strength, but it wouldn’t budge. I had to kneel down on the asphalt to lift it free. Right then, a blinding flash of high beams illuminated the road from my right, so bright I had to squeeze my eyes shut. I heard the screech of tires on asphalt, followed by a violent impact. It didn’t hurt. Really, it didn’t hurt at all. I just felt myself floating upward, weightless, like a loose feather caught in a breeze. Below me, my suitcase lay split open on the road, my carefully packed treasures scattering across the dark street. I drifted down, my vision turning hazy as a sharp ringing filled my ears. A rush of footsteps approached, and muffled voices started shouting, but they sounded distant, as if I were listening to them from behind a thick sheet of glass. 2 When my awareness returned, I found myself hovering in the chilly air. Looking down, a crowd had gathered on the street below. In the center of the circle lay a small girl wearing a red scarf, surrounded by scattered clothes and toys. Her eyes were closed. She looked very peaceful. When I caught a glimpse of her face, my heart stopped. It was me. The red and blue lights of the ambulance cast a surreal, flashing glow over the onlookers’ faces. The paramedics knelt beside the girl, trying desperately to revive her, but after a moment, they shook their heads solemnly. They pulled out a clean white sheet and gently covered the small body. A corner of the white fabric quickly bloomed with a dark, wet red, like a lone rose opening in the snow. The truth finally settled over me. I was dead. Maybe it was for the best. This way, the kids at the children’s home wouldn’t have the chance to mock me for being sent back. The crowd slowly thinned out. The police arrived, taking photos and stringing yellow tape across the intersection. My split suitcase was gathered up and placed in the trunk of a squad car. But where was I supposed to go now? I had no idea. I only knew that before I left this world, I wanted to see Mom and Dad one last time. The night wind blew, but I didn’t feel cold. I simply drifted along with the current. As I floated back toward the intersection, a familiar black sedan caught my eye. It was Dad’s car, slowly navigating around the flashing emergency vehicles. I chased after it like a drowning person reaching for a branch, passing effortlessly through the glass window to sit in the back seat next to my brother. The cabin was warm, the heater humming softly. “There were so many people gathered back there,” Mom’s voice drifted from the front passenger seat. “Did something happen?” Dad glanced into the rearview mirror: “Looks like a bad accident. The ambulance and police are both there.” My little brother, Toby, sat beside me, completely absorbed in a brand-new toy car. Its colorful lights flashed, casting a bright, cheerful glow over his face. “The amusement park was so much fun!” Toby chirped, looking up with bright, excited eyes. “Mom, can we go back again next weekend?” Mom turned back to give him a warm smile: “Of course, sweetie. We’ll go again soon.” “And I want cotton candy next time!” Toby kicked his legs happily. “We’ll get whatever you want,” Dad chuckled, watching him through the mirror. “Did you have a good day, buddy?” “The best day ever!” The atmosphere inside the car was light and joyful. Mom scrolled through the photos she had taken on her phone, laughing softly at the pictures. Dad hummed along to a soft tune playing on the radio. Toby continued to play with his toy. I watched the three of them, a heavy ache blooming in my chest. It seemed they were perfectly happy without me. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Mom said, reaching into a shopping bag and pulling out a glossy rectangular box. “I need to put this away.” My eyes widened. It was a brand-new astronaut model, identical to the one Toby had shattered. “We had to go to three different toy stores, but I’m so glad we found the very last one,” Mom said, checking the box carefully. “It looks exactly like the one Hope had, right?” Dad glanced over: “It’s a perfect match. She’s going to love it.” “You really shouldn’t have raised your voice at her like that,” Mom chided gently. “She’s just a child. Toby broke her favorite toy; of course she was going to get upset.” “I know, I lost my temper,” Dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was my fault. I’ll make it up to her.” Mom packed the model back into the bag: “Hope is probably still sulking in her room. When we get home, you take the new toy in and apologize.” “I will,” Dad said softly. “Did you get the strawberry cake?” “Yes, from her favorite bakery down the street.” Mom turned around to look at the back seat, her eyes shining with warmth. “And I got her those star-shaped hairpins she’s been begging for.” Toby held up his toy car: “Does sissy get a present too?” “Of course she does,” Mom laughed. “Everyone gets a treat.” I stared at the pristine astronaut model in the box, then at the anticipation on Mom’s face and the quiet regret in Dad’s eyes. In that instant, I understood everything. They weren’t trying to abandon me. They hadn’t stayed out late to force me out of the house. They had spent hours driving from store to store just to find a replacement for my broken toy. They had bought my favorite strawberry cake and the star hairpins. They had even planned out exactly how they would apologize to me. They really, truly loved me. But it was already too late.
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