On my fifth day back home, I came across a thread on a popular internet forum. What is your single greatest regret in this life? The top comment made my chest tighten, the words blurring before my eyes. “My absolute greatest regret is bringing back the daughter who was kidnapped ten years ago.” The replies below were a storm of outrage and insults, but the original poster remained detached, replying to them one by one. “The year she went missing, I fell into a severe, crippling depression. It was only after we adopted another little girl that I finally pulled myself together and our lives went back to normal.” “I never could have imagined that ten years later, she would suddenly be found.” “Now, my depression is flaring up again. My adopted daughter is terrified we don’t want her anymore, and our home is in complete chaos.” “Honestly? It would have been better if she had never come back.” I stared at the familiar profile picture. My hands began to shake so violently I could barely tap on it. Her latest post was a photo of two hands resting together, each wrist tied with a delicate red string. The caption read: “Blessed protection strings from the retreat upstate. One for me, and one for my sweet baby girl.” The hand on the left bore the exact fading surgical scar I knew was on my mother’s wrist. The hand on the right featured a fresh lavender manicure—the exact one my adopted sister, Lena, had proudly shown off yesterday. I swallowed my tears, forcing myself to breathe. Don’t blame Mom, I told myself. You’ve been gone for too long. It’s natural for things to feel strange. After all, when Lena had subtly suggested yesterday that maybe I should stay in a school dormitory, my mother had immediately shut it down: “No, we have plenty of room at home.” Hearing those words, I had truly believed she still loved me, that she still wanted me near. But later that night, I accidentally overheard my mother comforting a crying Lena in her room. “We still haven’t found a matching kidney donor for you, have we sweetie? She has to stay here. She needs to take the medicine the doctor prescribed and build up her strength.” Lena’s voice was a mix of shock and desperate hope. “But will she even agree to it?” My mother’s voice softened into a gentle, soothing tone I hadn’t heard her use with me once. “She’s so desperate to belong in this family. She’ll agree to anything.” But Mom… I already died in those deep woods. My organs are useless. And of the seven days the Ferryman granted me to return to this world, I only have two left. … When I first found the post, I was standing in the kitchen, brewing the herbal tea prescribed for my mother’s insomnia. The water in the pot was bubbling, sending up thick plumes of steam that stung my eyes and turned my face damp. I swiped down the screen, my fingers growing ice-cold as I read further. “You can judge me all you want, but I genuinely cannot stand the sight of her.” “She looks completely different. The way she carries herself, the way she speaks… she doesn’t feel like the little girl I lost at all.” “My husband tells me to try harder, but every time I see her flinching and shrinking away, I can’t help but compare her to my adopted daughter. Lena is so much more graceful, so much sweeter.” “Ten years ago, when I was cutting myself and swallowing pills, wanting nothing more than to die, it was Lena who saved me. She pulled me out of that hell.” “Now that Julia is back, Lena has become so insecure. She cries herself to sleep, terrified we’re going to send her back to the foster home.” “Every time Julia looks at me, it’s like she’s ripping open a scab I spent a decade trying to heal. My insomnia came back the very first night she walked through the door.” “If she had never returned, we wouldn’t have had to dig up the past. We could have just kept moving forward.” I locked my phone and leaned heavily against the kitchen wall, trying to steady my racing heart. My mind drifted back to the dark, quiet riverbank where I had met the Ferryman. “Your resentment is too heavy,” he had told me, his voice echoing from beneath a dark cowl. “Your death was too brutal. If I do not let you return home once to lay your lingering attachments to rest, you will never cross over. You will become a wandering, vengeful spirit. I will give you seven days. Go home, see what you must, but do not tarry when your time is up.” In the blink of an eye, my broken, mangled body had been restored to its unbroken state. With a single step, I had crossed the vast, treacherous mountain range that had trapped me for ten long years, appearing right outside a police precinct in Portland. I had fallen to my knees, weeping and whispering thanks to the empty air, before stumbling into the station to find my way back to my family. But my return wasn’t the beautiful, tearful reunion I had imagined during those freezing nights in the shed. I thought my mother would hold me tight, crying into my hair, refusing to let go of my hand. But when she first saw me, her tear-filled eyes held more estrangement and panic than warmth. When I instinctively took a step toward her, she recoiled, stepping back to shield a pale, fragile girl who stood behind her. I was kidnapped at four years old. Now, ten years later, my voice was raspy, my accent thick and unrefined, shaped by the isolated mountain folk who had kept me captive. My mother’s brow had furrowed with clear displeasure. “You really need to work on how you talk. It’s hard to understand you. Try to listen to how Lena speaks, otherwise people are going to make fun of you.” At our first dinner, my mother placed a piece of pot roast onto my plate, and my throat tightened. The elegant woman in front of me slowly began to align with the faded, beautiful mother of my childhood memories. Over the last ten years, whenever I had been starving to the point of delirium, eating dirt just to trick my stomach, the grit in my mouth would taste like my mother’s cooking. The harsh screams of my captors would fade, replaced by her sweet voice whispering: “Eat up, Julia-bear. You need to eat plenty to grow big and strong.” Now, actually sitting at her table, I didn’t dare look up. I just shoveled the food into my mouth, swallowing down my tears, terrified they would see me cry. But I had barely taken three bites before my mother abruptly put down her fork and announced she was finished. I froze, looking at her with wide, anxious eyes, wondering if she was sick, or if I had somehow ruined dinner. My father, Robert, cleared his throat and murmured gently, “Julia, try to chew quietly. Don’t stuff your mouth so full; it’s bad manners. Your mother has always been very sensitive about table etiquette. It ruins her appetite. Look at Lena—see how gracefully she eats?” The food in my throat felt like a lump of dry wool, impossible to swallow, painful to spit out. In the mountains, I ate crouched by a dirt stove, surrounded by scavenging dogs and chickens. No one cared about manners. I only knew that if I didn’t eat fast, the food would be taken away, and I would starve for another day. I didn’t know how to use the gas range. I didn’t know how the modern shower worked, and the sudden, loud flush of the smart toilet had terrified me so badly I had leaped back in fear. The next morning, when I was crouching on the tile floor of the bathroom, using a plastic basin to scrub my clothes by hand, my mother stood in the doorway, watching me with a heavy sigh. Desperate to prove I could be useful, I held up the wet fabric, offering her a timid, pleading smile. “Mom, look… I washed it really clean. See?” A soft, mocking giggle cut through the air. Lena pointed at the damp, crumpled silk in my hands. “Julia, that’s Mom’s designer blouse. It’s dry-clean only. You’ve completely ruined the fabric by scrubbing it like that. She can never wear it again.” I stood there in the bathroom, dripping wet, my face burning with shame. My mother didn’t scold me. She just sighed, turned away, and walked into the living room. But her silence felt worse than any blow. Through the cracked door, I watched Lena wrap her arms around my mother’s waist, whispering something that finally made my mother laugh. Ten years was simply too long. My mother had a new daughter, and I was just a ghost from the past, standing frozen in the dark, waiting for a backward glance that would never come. Lena was incredibly talented. She played the piano, took ballet, played chess, and painted. Whenever Lena was in the room, my mother’s face lit up. But whenever she looked at me, her eyes were clouded with an overwhelming, suffocating anxiety. Eventually, I stopped trying to force myself into her space. Once I figured out how to use the gas stove, I quietly took over the daily task of brewing her herbal insomnia tea. It was the one thing I knew I could do perfectly. I watched the flame, strained the herbs, and brought the mug to her bedside when it was at the perfect temperature. Only during those quiet moments would my mother look directly at me without flinching. She would take the mug and whisper a soft, “Thank you.” On my very first night back, my father had pulled me aside in the hallway, his voice hushed and solemn. “When you went missing, your mother almost didn’t survive the grief, Julia. She blamed herself constantly for letting you out of her sight.” “She’s not cold to you because she doesn’t love you. She just… doesn’t know how to reach you right now. She’s fragile, and she’s sick. Be patient with her. Give it a few days, and things will get better.” I wiped my eyes. The forum post had been made five days ago—the day I first arrived. I had been clumsy and strange. It was only natural that she found me difficult to accept. Remembering how she had defended my right to stay at home when Lena suggested boarding school, the cold ache in my chest softened slightly. Maybe my father was right. Maybe she just needed time. I carried the freshly brewed tea to her bedroom door. But just as I raised my hand to knock, the sound of voices from inside stopped me. “Mom,” Lena was saying, her voice laced with sweet concern. “Aren’t you having trouble sleeping again because there’s someone else in the house? Julia’s habits are so different from ours. It must be so uncomfortable for her to live here anyway.” My mother’s voice was gentle, but there was an underlying firmness. “Lena, don’t mention boarding school again. Julia must stay in this house.” A brief silence followed, and then Lena’s voice cracked, sounding thick with tears. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was wrong. Julia is your flesh and blood, and she finally made it home. Of course she should live with you and Dad. I… I should be the one to pack my things and leave.” My mother let out a soft, amused laugh, full of affection. “You silly, sensitive girl. I raised you from a toddler. You are my daughter. No one is ever going to make you leave this house.” Then, she let out a long, exhausted sigh. “But you’re right. It is incredibly awkward living with Julia. She speaks in this tiny, mousy whisper, she flinches at everything, and she watches us from the corners of her eyes like she’s trying to steal something. It’s exhausting just being in the same room with her.” Lena sounded genuinely confused. “Then why won’t you let her go to boarding school? Is Dad forcing you to keep her here?” I stood frozen in the dim hallway, my hands trembling against the hot ceramic mug. Then came my mother’s calm, loving response. “We still haven’t found a matching kidney donor for your transplant, and the doctors are worried about waiting much longer.” “Julia has the exact same rare blood type as you.” “But she’s so terribly malnourished right now. I’m afraid her organs won’t be strong enough for the procedure.” “That’s why I have to keep her here. I need to make sure she’s fed well, takes her vitamins, and builds up her strength before we proceed.” “If she lived at a school, I wouldn’t be able to monitor her diet or make sure she drinks her tonics.” Lena gasped, her voice trembling with excitement. “But… what if she doesn’t want to do it?” My mother’s tone was quiet, but entirely dismissive of the thought. “Oh, sweetheart, you always worry too much about others.” “Julia is back now, and family is supposed to support one another. She’s the older sister; it’s only right that she helps you.” “As soon as her health is where it needs to be, we’ll schedule the surgery. You won’t have to suffer anymore.” Standing in the dark hallway, my tears fell silently, splashing onto the floorboards. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, desperate not to make a sound. Over the past five days, my mother had insisted on cooking every single meal. Following my father’s advice, I had painstakingly copied Lena’s movements—chewing slowly, keeping my mouth closed, making sure my utensils never clinked against the plate. Because of that, my mother hadn’t walked away from the table again. She had continuously piled food onto my plate, watching me intently until every bite was gone. Even when my stomach turned and I felt sick, I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. I had forced it all down. For ten years, I had never once eaten until I was full. The little girl who used to cry and beg her mother to feed her had learned how to chop firewood, stoke coal, and perform endless, backbreaking labor just to survive. When my captors were in a good mood, I was thrown scraps. When they were angry, I was met with fists and heavy wooden boots. During my first year in the mountains, because I wouldn’t stop crying for my mother, the man of the house had backhanded me so violently that my left eardrum ruptured. I had been completely deaf in that ear ever since. When I was five, I accidentally let a pot of water boil dry. The man kicked me squarely in the chest, fracturing my rib. No one ever took me to a doctor. The bone eventually fused back together on its own, leaving a permanent, jagged protrusion beneath my skin. They used to laugh and say I was tough as a weed. Hard to kill. When their son, Billy, decided to set my hair on fire for fun, laughing as I screamed and plunged my head into the freezing river, they had simply clapped and cheered. When Billy grew older and began pulling at my clothes, they never stopped him. Instead, his mother would laugh and pat him on the back. “That’s my boy! Teach her early. We bought her to be your wife, so you might as well get her broken in. If she can’t give us a boy, we’ll just sell her to the loggers down south and make our money back.” They assumed I had finally accepted my fate. Even when Billy’s father decided his son was being too gentle, throwing the boy aside to pin me to the dirt floor himself to “show him how it was done,” I hadn’t made a single sound. But in secret, I stripped corn husk after corn husk, hauled heavy sacks of beans for neighboring farms, and hid away every spare coin I could find. Whenever Billy brought home his schoolbooks, I would wait until everyone was asleep, crawl out of my shed, and teach myself to read under the pale moonlight. Finally, a month ago, I found my moment. When they left the padlock unlocked, I ran. I ran through the dense, thorny woods until I reached the highway, eventually hitchhiking into the small town of Pine Ridge. I saw a sheriff’s deputy standing outside a diner and sprinted to him, grabbing his uniform. “Please… I was kidnapped. My name is Julia… my parents live in Portland, Oregon. Their address is—” Before I could finish the sentence, a heavy, calloused hand clamped onto my collar. “Apologies, Deputy,” Billy’s father said, offering a tight, sheepish smile. “My daughter’s got a screw loose. Always running off and making up stories.” The sound of his voice drained the blood from my face. When they dragged me back to the wooden shed, Billy was practically shaking with rage. “Dad! Just break her legs! She can’t run if she can’t walk!” But his mother’s face was cold, almost bored, as she handed her husband a rusted kitchen knife. “She remembers her name and where she came from. Breaking her legs won’t keep her quiet. We need to make sure she can never speak again.” They threw me onto the wooden worktable, pinning my arms and legs. I fought with everything I had, but my small, starved frame was no match for them. When the cold metal sliced through the root of my mouth, a choked, gargling scream was cut short. Hot blood filled my throat, spilling into my windpipe and spraying across the dirty table. The man tossed the knife aside, and a bloody piece of flesh fell to the dirt floor. “Sew it up,” he muttered. “Don’t let her bleed out before we can use her.” The woman quickly threaded a thick, black needle, piercing the raw, mutilated stump in my mouth. My body arched off the table in agony, my eyes rolling back into my head until everything went dark. During the burning fever that followed, I had a hallucination. I saw my mother wandering through a crowded shopping mall, her face pale and frantic as she searched for me. I tried to scream “Mom! I’m here!” but my mouth only filled with blood. No sound came out. And then, in the fever, I saw myself. I was lying on the dirt floor of the shed, completely cold and still. Billy’s father was kicking my side, swearing loudly. “We beat her for ten years and she never died, and now a little cut kills her? Worthless piece of trash. We lost money on this one.” To hide the evidence, they dragged my body to the back of the barn and chopped me into pieces. Some parts were tossed to the pigs; the rest were thrown deep into the ravines for the coyotes. It was only because the Ferryman took pity on my weeping spirit that he gave me seven days of life to return home. He had patched my shattered soul together, smoothed over the rot, and let me walk back to my family. I had tasted hot food, slept in a clean bed, and wore soft clothes. I had heard my mother speak my name again. I truly believed she was trying to make up for the ten years we had lost. But now I knew. Every warm meal she had lovingly forced me to finish was just to fatten up a kidney for Lena. I didn’t sleep that night, my mind a chaotic, dizzying fog. The next morning, I was pulled from my daze when my mother announced she was taking me to the mall to buy some new clothes. The last time we had gone shopping together, I was four years old. At the boutique, my mother handed me off to a personal shopper, her eyes never leaving Lena, who was browsing the racks. Only after Lena had selected several outfits did my mother finally look at me. She handed her black credit card to the cashier, paying for everything the stylist had picked out for me without a second glance. While my mother was in the restroom, Lena stepped closer to me, her voice dripping with a soft, forced sweetness. “Julia, Mom never brings me to this boutique. She always says it’s too expensive. She spent a massive amount of money on you today.” I looked down at my hands. Faint, dark red lines were beginning to crawl up my skin beneath my sleeves—the first signs of my temporary body fracturing. I looked up, staring directly into Lena’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice flat and rasping. “I’m leaving soon. I’m not going to take any of their money.” Lena’s expression shifted, a flicker of panic crossing her face. She glanced quickly over my shoulder, and then, before I could react, she threw herself backward, crashing hard onto the polished tile floor. “Lena!” My mother’s sharp, panicked voice rang out from behind me. She rushed past me, throwing herself onto the floor to cradle Lena in her arms. “Where are you hurt? Sweetheart, talk to me!” “I’m okay, Mom… don’t blame Julia,” Lena whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. “She didn’t mean to. I just… I couldn’t stand up straight…” Before she could even finish the lie, my mother stood up and slapped me hard across the face. The force of the blow spun my head around. “I thought you were just quiet and traumatized,” my mother hissed, her eyes wild with rage. “But you’re malicious! Lena is my daughter. If you hate me for what happened, take it out on me! Don’t dare touch her!” She helped Lena to her feet, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, and walked out of the store. Once again, I was left standing alone in the middle of a crowded mall. Just like I had been ten years ago. When my father finally came to pick me up hours later, he noticed the dark red swelling on my cheek. He paused, his expression tightening. “Lena is very sick, Julia, and your mother is constantly on edge about her health. You’re the older sister. You have to learn to be the bigger person and understand.” I looked out the window at the unfamiliar city streets, remaining silent. The moment we walked through the front door, we found my mother sitting rigidly on the living room sofa, her gaze locked onto me. “Julia, I’m not going to play games with you,” she said, her voice cold and hollow. “Lena needs a kidney transplant to survive. If it weren’t for her, I would have taken my own life years ago. If you want me to be your mother, you will give her your kidney. And you will stop treating her like an enemy.” I stared at her, the silence stretching between us for what felt like an eternity before I finally spoke. “My kidneys are already ruined. I can’t give them to her.” The living room went dead silent. My father’s face darkened instantly. “Julia, if you’re unwilling to help your sister, just say so. Don’t tell such a disgusting, selfish lie.” My mother’s reaction was far worse. She lunged forward, grabbing my wrist so tightly her perfectly manicured nails sliced into my skin. “I know you hate me for letting you get lost! If you want revenge, hurt me! Do not take it out on Lena!” “We aren’t waiting anymore. We’re going to the hospital right now!” She dragged me out the door, and my father silently grabbed his keys to drive us. On the way to the clinic, my mother dialed a number, her voice tight but composed. “The donor is ready. Prepare the operating room as quickly as possible.” I looked down at my hand. The faint red lines along my wrist had deepened into a dark, bruised violet. My fingers were beginning to lock up. The back of my mouth was growing numb. As the nurses began prepping me in the sterile pre-op room, I looked up at my mother, who was standing by the door. “Mom,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Can I have one of those red strings around your wrist?” My mother quickly covered her wrist with her hand, looking away. “After the surgery is over, I’ll buy you a real gold bracelet. Those red strings are cheap and worthless.” I stared at her, refusing to blink, trying to imprint the image of her face into my memory. “Mom… can you just hold me? Just once?” Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t move. “The pre-op area has to stay sterile, Julia. I’ll hold you when the surgery is finished.” They wheeled me into the surgical holding bay, and my mother’s face disappeared behind the heavy double doors. The dark violet lines began to spiderweb across my chest, and a sudden, agonizing pain ripped through every nerve in my body. In my fading consciousness, a memory flashed—my mother, ten years ago, running frantically through the mall, crying out my name over and over. I tried to scream, “Mom! I’m here! I’m right here!” But my tongue was gone. No sound came out. I ran toward her in the dark, reaching out to grasp the edge of her coat. But just as my fingers were about to touch her, she turned, reaching down to pull a pale, sickly little girl into her arms. “Mommy found you, Lena. You’re safe now.” In the holding bay, a nurse entered with a metal tray. “Julia? It’s time to head to the operating room…” A bloodcurdling scream suddenly shattered the quiet of the surgical wing. My mother’s heart stopped. An overwhelming, suffocating dread seized her chest, and she pushed past the nurses, running blindly toward the holding bay.
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