I was three when they took me from the amusement park. The grief turned my parents’ hair white overnight, or so they said. Five years later, they found me. They wept, clutching the girl I’d become—malnourished, bruised, and silenced by trauma. I had selective mutism, a cage of silence built from years of abuse. But the daughter they’d adopted in my absence, Chloe, didn’t like the ghost who’d returned. When our parents weren’t around, she’d whisper it in my ear. “Mute freak. Get out of my house.” “I’ll make them hate you,” she promised, her voice a sweet poison. “I’m their only daughter now.” And she was right. The way my parents looked at me began to change, to curdle. The bedtime stories stopped. The special meals, the weekend trips to the park, the therapy sessions—they all faded away. The patient lessons, trying to coax my voice back from the darkness, ceased. Chloe told them I’d cheated to get first place in my class, just to humiliate her. They believed her. I was forced to make a public apology for my “cheating” in front of the entire school. I lost my only friend. Chloe told them I stole her money. They believed her. They cut off my allowance for a year. My body, already ravaged by years of starvation, began to fail. This time, Chloe said I was jealous of her beautiful singing voice and had tried to poison her with boiling water to ruin her throat. Their eyes burned with rage. My mother pinned me down, my father pried my jaw open, and they poured the scalding water from the kettle down my throat. “You’re a silent little monster, so you have to silence your sister, too? You’re worse than an animal! Apologize to her!” A scream was trapped in my throat, a silent, searing agony that came out as a choked, rasping gasp. A cold wave of despair washed over me. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk and pressed the tip to my own throat. 1 SLAP— The sting blossomed across my cheek, hot and sharp. My hand jerked, and the point of the scissors sliced my palm open. Blood welled, dark and thick. “Pathetic,” my mother spat, her eyes dripping with contempt. “Always the same cheap tricks. You have no class.” My father scoffed. “Did you really think hurting yourself would make us feel sorry for you? That we’d fall for that? It’s laughable.” No, I wanted to scream. Rory wasn’t trying to trick you this time. Unable to speak, I could only shake my head frantically. During those five lost years, whenever the son of my captors did something wrong, he would refuse to eat. He’d starve himself, cry for hours, and eventually, they would break. They always gave in. I was naive; I thought that trick worked on all parents. So, the first time Chloe accused me of cheating, I’d climbed onto the balcony ledge, holding a notepad where I’d scrawled, I DIDN’T CHEAT, over and over. But my parents didn’t see me. They only saw Chloe. “Shh, don’t cry, sweetie. It’s your sister’s fault. She’s shameless, cheating to steal your spot.” Chloe didn’t have to do anything but shed a few perfect tears. As my parents rushed to comfort her, my mother turned, bumping into me accidentally. I tumbled backward. The wind on the third-floor balcony rushed past my ears, a final roar before impact. The sound of my own bones snapping was sickeningly clear. The next day, they made me walk onto the stage at the school assembly, my leg in a cast, and deliver that public apology. The shame and the pain drilled through me, a million tiny needles piercing my heart. That’s when I finally understood. Hurting yourself to prove your innocence only works if you are loved. For a child like me, there was only obedience. I clutched my bleeding palm, the blood seeping through my fingers and dripping onto the hardwood floor, each drop a tiny, crimson starburst. Just like every other time Chloe had framed me, I lowered my head and knelt. I’m sorry. I was wrong, I wrote on a piece of paper, again and again. My parents seemed pleased when I was compliant. A small pool of blood was gathering on the floor beneath my hand. My mother’s eyes widened, and she took an instinctive step toward me. Chloe immediately grabbed her arm. “Mom, that’s probably stage blood from the drama club. It’s impossible to clean out of the floorboards. Don’t get too close.” She then walked over to me, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Rory, you know I’ll always forgive you, no matter what you do to me. Why do you have to create these elaborate lies to scare Mom and Dad?” She stepped on the paper I was writing on, grinding it into the blood, silencing my last chance to explain. “Do you want them to hate me that much? Do you want them to kick me out? What did I ever do to you that makes you despise me so much?” My eyes widened in disbelief. Why was she saying these things? I wasn’t using fake blood. I never wanted her to leave. Why was she lying? The words were logjammed in my throat, but not a single sound could escape. When my mother looked at me again, her expression was pure disgust. “Aurora! When did you become so vile? Let me tell you something. From now on, I don’t care if you’re bleeding. I don’t care if you’re dying. Don’t you dare do it in this house. You’ll stain the floors.” “Clean this mess up. You’re disgusting.” With that, she turned back to Chloe, her face melting into a mask of pure adoration. She wrapped her arms around her. “Don’t say such silly things, sweetie. You’re my precious baby. No one is ever going to send you away.” Her voice softened. “And from now on, you stay away from her. I don’t want her to have another chance to hurt you. When you said your throat hurt earlier, my heart just broke.” My own heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, crushing the air from my lungs. I had never hated my silence more than in that moment. I couldn’t even say a single word in my own defense. The cleaning powder stung the gash in my palm, a chemical fire searing my flesh. For a fleeting, insane moment, I had a thought— Maybe if I scrub clean enough, Mom will love Rory again. Just a little. But I knew better. That was a fantasy. I scrubbed until the powder caked into the wound, until the metallic scent of blood was gone from the floor. As I looked up, my eyes caught the calendar on the wall, and a dull ache spread through my chest. Today was Rory’s birthday. It would also be my last. “Aurora, your organs are failing at an alarming rate,” the doctor had told me yesterday, his voice gentle but firm. “You have a month. At most.” The death sentence was handed to me on a crisp piece of paper. The autumn air felt unnaturally cold as I walked out of the clinic, the paper crumpled in my fist. During those five years, I’d rarely had a full meal. When I finally came home, Chloe accused me of stealing, and my parents cut off my allowance. I survived that first month back by drinking the free soup from the school cafeteria. But my body had paid the price. It had finally given up. My mind had been a blank slate since the diagnosis. That’s why I’d forgotten this morning. I’d forgotten the routine my parents insisted on—testing the water on the back of my hand, over and over, to gauge the temperature before serving Chloe anything. I’d just handed her the cup. “AHH!” Her shriek had filled the house. The shattering ceramic, the hot splash against my leg, and my mother’s slap had all happened in the same instant. “You vicious little brat! If you ever hurt Chloe again, you can get out!” I glanced toward the living room now. My parents were excitedly discussing the party they were planning for Chloe after her singing competition tonight. I blinked hard, forcing back the tide of tears. Just get through today, I told myself. After my birthday, I’ll leave. I don’t want to make them unhappy anymore. During the years I was gone, I’d watch my captors’ son celebrate his birthday with a jealous ache. Every year, on my own birthday, I’d squat in the dirt yard and build myself a cake out of mud and sand. “Happy birthday, Rory.” “I wish I could go home to Mommy and Daddy and never leave them again.” Then I’d blow, and the sand would fly into my eyes, mixing with my tears and trickling into my mouth, gritty and bitter. “Our Chloe is going to be the most beautiful princess tonight. Let’s go buy her a few more dresses.” My parents were leaving. My heart clenched. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to my mother, tugging on her sleeve. I held up a note: 【Mom, Dad, do you remember what today is?】 My mother paused, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot!” A warmth spread through my chest. She remembered. She still remembered. “It’s the anniversary of the day we brought Chloe home! It’s her special day!”
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