A decade after my abduction, my parents exhausted every resource searching for me. To cope with their grief, they adopted a young girl named Mara. The day I was rescued and brought home, our house overflowed with my childhood photos. Only Mara huddled in the corner, voice trembling as she asked: “Now that she’s back… are you going to send me away?” That night, Dad reprimanded her sharply for the first time. Mom held me sobbing, vowing to make amends for all those years of suffering. But when I tried integrating into the family, I accidentally broke one of Mara’s hair clips. Suddenly, Mom flew into a rage and slapped me. “How can you be so cruel? Are you trying to kill your sister?” “She was there for us in our darkest moments! How dare you hurt her?” “If I had known you were this kind of person, I would never have brought you back!” She tossed all my clothes off the balcony, then pulled Mara inside and locked the door behind them. I stood in the pouring rain, staring at the door I’d fantasized about for so long. Whatever family bond I’d imagined shattered completely in that moment.
Cold rain pelted my face, mixing with the stinging slap mark on my cheek. I lifted my hand to knock, but it fell limply back to my side. From inside, Mom’s soft, comforting voice drifted out: “Don’t cry, Mara. Mommy’s here.” “No one’s going to hurt you. Daddy brought that hair clip all the way from Europe just for you.” “It breaks my heart that it got ruined.” I was only wearing a thin nightgown. The rain soaked through to my skin instantly, and the cold seeped into my bones. I curled up in the corner by the door, trying to leach some warmth from the icy wall. My head grew heavy. My eyelids felt like weights. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. I summoned every last bit of strength to lift my head and reach toward him. My lips moved. I whispered weakly, “Dad…” He saw me. His steps hesitated for a second, then he walked around me with a scowling expression. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. Glancing back at me, he said: “Your mother’s upset. Just stay out here and think about what you did. Don’t make her any angrier.” “Mara’s not feeling well. Don’t fright her.” The door slammed shut in my face. My outstretched hand froze mid-air. Then slowly, I pulled it back and hugged my freezing knees to my chest. Before I slipped fully into unconsciousness, I heard Mara’s laughter from inside. When I opened my eyes again, the harsh white of a hospital room greeted me. A nurse walked in. When she saw I was awake, she picked up the nearby phone. “Hello, is this Stella Lane’s family? She’s awake now. Her fever has broken.” Mom’s voice came through the phone: “Got it. We’re tied up right now. We’ll swing by later.” The nurse hung up and poured me a cup of water, muttering under her breath: “What kind of parents are these? Their kid’s fever hit 104 degrees, and they can’t even bother to come?” I gripped the cup. Warmth slowly returned to my fingertips, but my heart plummeted to my stomach. They were busy. Busy comforting Mara, who’d suffered such a terrible injustice over a hair clip. And me? Their biological daughter who’d been kidnapped for ten years and was now hospitalized with a high fever? I was just an inconvenience. I threw off the blanket and got out of bed. I made my way to the billing desk alone. I only had a hundred dollars in my pocket—money a police officer had given me. I pushed it through the window. “Ma’am, I don’t have enough money. Can I pay the rest later? I promise I’ll pay it back.” The woman at the window looked up at me and pushed the money back. “Forget it, kid. Keep the money and buy yourself something to eat.” I walked out of the hospital. Sunlight hit me, but it offered no warmth. I didn’t know where to go. The place they called home no longer had room for me.
I wandered the streets aimlessly until nightfall. My stomach growled with hunger. That’s when I remembered the hundred dollars in my pocket. I went into a convenience store and bought a loaf of bread and a bottle of water. I squatted on the steps outside the store, nibbling slowly on the dry, crusty bread. A black car pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Mom’s face. “Get in! Haven’t you embarrassed us enough already?” I clutched the bread in my hand and silently climbed into the back seat. Mom hit the gas. The car lurched forward violently. She stared at me through the rearview mirror with icy eyes. “Stella Lane, you really have some nerve, don’t you?” “Running away from home now? Do you have any idea what the neighbors are saying behind our backs?” “They’re accusing us of abusing you!” I looked down and said nothing. Mom’s voice sharpened. “And you’re still eating? Your sister was so worried she couldn’t even touch her food!” “We spent all day looking for you, and what were you doing? Having a grand old time out here by yourself!” I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I looked up and met her gaze. “You locked me out. I had a fever. Dad saw me too.” “But he didn’t care.” Mom slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a stop. She whipped around, eyes bloodshot, and screamed at me: “How dare you talk back? You broke her hair clip and now you’re throwing a fit like we’re the bad guys?” “We raised Mara for ten years. She’s our whole world!” “You broke her things and you think you’re justified? She was with us through the hardest ten years of our lives.” “And you? What have you ever done for this family?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. She was right. What had I done for this family? All I’d done was drain their finances. And Mara? She was the medicine that healed their pain. Now that I—the real source of their suffering—had returned, of course they found me repulsive. The car started moving again. It drove all the way back to the neighborhood I both recognized and felt like a stranger in. The lights were on at home. Dad and Mara sat on the couch watching TV. When they heard the door open, Mara immediately jumped off the couch and threw herself into Mom’s arms. “Mom, you’re finally back. I missed you so much. Did you find her?” She looked up and saw me standing at the door. She shrank back timidly behind Mom. Dad walked over. With a stern expression, he pulled me inside. He pointed to a beautifully wrapped cake box on the coffee table and said: “Go apologize to your sister. She won first place in her piano competition today.” I looked at Mara’s tear-streaked face and suddenly found it absurdly funny. So that was it. I’d been locked outside in the rain and developed a fever because I’d ruined their celebration. I looked at Dad firmly. “I didn’t do anything wrong. She pushed me first.” Dad’s face turned pale. He raised his hand as if to hit me. Mara grabbed his arm just in time, crying and shaking her head as she pleaded: “Dad, don’t! It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have fought with her over things.” Mom pulled Mara into her arms and shot me a venomous glare. “Look what you’ve done to your sister! You’re nothing but trouble!” “This family was fine until you came back and ruined everything!” She shoved me into a corner. “Stand here and think about what you’ve done! You don’t eat until you figure it out!” Then she pulled Mara along, and the three of them—a happy family—cut the cake together. They lit candles and sang a celebration song, even though it wasn’t anyone’s birthday. Mara made a wish under their adoring stares, a blissful smile on her face. I stood in the corner watching them, my stomach churning with pain. For ten years, I’d endured unimaginable horrors. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of coming home. But I never imagined that home wouldn’t be mine anymore.
That night, I stood in the corner until midnight. My legs went numb and lost all feeling. They ate their cake, watched TV, and went to their rooms to sleep. Not one of them glanced my way again. The living room light clicked off. I felt my way back to the room they’d assigned me—a tiny storage closet converted into a bedroom. It was crammed with junk. There was only a narrow cot inside. I lay on the bed, listening to laughter coming from the next room. It was Mom reading Mara a bedtime story. “And so, the prince found Cinderella.” Mara’s voice was drowsy. “Mom, what about her? Is she a princess too?” Mom was silent for a moment. Then she sighed softly. “No, she’s not. She’s just a lost child.” “She’ll find her own way and leave soon enough.” “You’re our only princess, Mara. No one can take that away from you.” I buried my head in the musty blanket. So that’s what I was to them. A temporary visitor who’d leave any day now. The next morning, I woke to the sound of arguing in the living room. I quietly cracked the door open. Mom was holding a report card, her face dark with anger. “Mara, what is this? Why did your grades drop so much this month?” Mara hung her head, wringing her fingers pitifully. “It’s all her fault. Ever since she came back, you two stopped caring about me.” Dad immediately stepped in front of Mara, frowning at Mom. “Why are you yelling at her? Mara’s been stressed lately. She’ll do better next time.” He turned toward my room, his voice growing cold. “This is all Stella’s fault. If she hadn’t come back, none of this would’ve happened.” Mom slammed the report card on the table, her chest heaving. “No! For Mara’s future, we can’t let her stay here anymore.” “I’m calling someone today. We’re sending her away. Back to where she belongs.” My whole body went rigid. My heart skipped a beat. Send me away? Where were they planning to send me? Back to the traffickers? Dad hesitated. “That’s… not really appropriate, is it? She is our biological daughter, after all.” Mom sneered. “Biological? What has she done besides cause trouble since she got back?” “Did you forget what the doctor said? Mara can’t handle emotional stress.” “Are we really going to sacrifice our Mara’s life for this useless waste of space?” Dad said nothing. I leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor. My whole body felt frozen. So Mara had a heart condition. So my existence was a threat to her life. No wonder. No wonder they treated me so cruelly. Everything made sense now. At noon, Mom cooked a whole table of dishes—all of Mara’s favorites. For the first time, she served me a piece of braised pork. “Stella, eat more.” I stared at the greasy meat in my bowl. My stomach turned. Dad joined in. “You probably didn’t get to eat well out there. Now that you’re home, things will be better.” I lifted my eyes and watched their little performance. It made me sick. They’d already arranged to get rid of me. Now they were putting on one last show of warmth? Mara sat across from me, eating her meal while shooting me smug, taunting looks. After the meal, Mom brought over a bowl of soup and placed it in front of me herself. “Stella, I made this chicken soup especially for you. Drink it while it’s hot. It’ll help you recover.” The bowl had a few red dates and goji berries floating in it. It looked nourishing. But I caught a faint, strange medicinal smell. My heart sank.
I held the bowl of soup. My fingers turned white from gripping it so hard. Mom urged me, “Why aren’t you drinking? It won’t taste good once it gets cold.” Mara added fuel to the fire. “Does she not appreciate it? Mom spent so long making it.” I lifted my eyes slowly, scanning the faces of all three of them. Dad was looking down at a newspaper—but he was holding it upside down. Mom’s smile was stiff. Mara had a smug little grin on her face. Suddenly, I understood. This soup was their parting gift to me. They weren’t planning to send me away. They were planning to make me disappear permanently. I picked up the spoon and scooped up some soup. Under their expectant stares, I slowly brought it to my lips. Then I tilted my hand. The entire bowl of soup spilled onto the floor. “Oops. My hand slipped.” I said casually, then looked up at Mom. Mom’s face went deathly pale. Then rage exploded across it. She lunged at me, hand raised to strike. “You little bitch! You did that on purpose!” I didn’t flinch. I just stared at her coldly and asked, word by word: “What did you put in the soup?” Mom froze mid-motion. Panic flashed through her eyes. Dad threw down his newspaper and stood up, yelling at me: “What are you talking about? Your mother made that soup out of the kindness of her heart!” I let out a cold laugh. I bent down and dabbed a bit of the spilled soup from the floor, bringing it to my nose. “Sleeping pills, right? A very large dose.” I’d seen this trick before with the traffickers. That’s how they dealt with children who didn’t obey. They’d put them to “sleep.” Or they’d never wake up again. Mom and Dad’s faces changed completely. Mara’s smug expression vanished too. She shrank back behind Dad, looking scared. I straightened up, my gaze sweeping over their horrified faces. “You’re not my real parents, are you?” Mom and Dad’s expressions froze. Shock filled their eyes. I kept going, my voice calm but clear. “I was old enough to remember things when I was taken.” “I remember my real parents. And they weren’t like you.” I pulled out a crumpled photograph from my pocket. I’d found it in an old box in the storage room. It was a family photo. The little girl in it wore a silver locket around her neck. “I remember this locket. It had my name engraved on it.” “My name is Stella. Not Stella Lane.” I looked up, my gaze burning into theirs. “Who are you people? Why did you bring me back?” “Were you afraid the police would find me and I’d expose your secrets?” Mom’s lips began to tremble. She couldn’t say a word. Sweat beaded on Dad’s forehead. He forced himself to stay calm and yelled: “You’ve lost your mind! We’re your biological parents! That fever must’ve fried your brain!” I ignored his outburst. Instead, I turned my gaze toward a wooden box in the corner. It was my old toy box from when I was little. I remembered it clearly. “If you’re really my parents, then why don’t you open that box?” “Inside, there’s proof of my real birthmark. And photos of me with my real family.” As soon as I finished speaking, the entire living room fell deathly silent. Mom and Dad stared at the box. I walked toward it, step by step. “Too scared? Then I’ll do it for you.” Just as my hand was about to touch the box, Mom suddenly screamed. “Don’t touch it! Don’t you dare touch it!” She rushed over and shoved me to the ground. Then she grabbed Dad’s hand, trembling. “Honey! She remembers! She remembers everything!” Dad lunged at me, snatched the photo from my hand, and tore it to shreds. Then he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the dark storage room. “You’re staying in here! And you’re not going anywhere!” The door slammed shut. I heard the lock click into place.
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