Mom picked up the ring, glanced at it, and
tossed it in the evidence box.
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My heart twisted up. She didn’t even remember.
That ring was a gift from my mom, the day she found me in that awful village where I was trafficked.
I’d never forget the way she looked at me when she put it on my finger. Her eyes were filled with love and hope. She said, “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. No matter where you go, or who you become, if you have this ring, I’ll know you. I’ll always remember your smile, your voice.”
But now my mom doesn’t even recognize me, much less the ring.
Because the ring had broken five years ago, on the first day after Sarah died.
That was the day Mom hit me for the first time. She pointed at me, eyes red, and screamed, “If
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it wasn’t for your sister dragging you home, you
would have never been in this house!”
“And you! You payed her back by killing her!
You’re a murderer!”
Mom stomped on the ring.
The family love that I wanted was like that
shattered ring, crushed and broken.
I wished all this was a bad dream. That I could
wake up, and everything would go back to
normal.
Chapter 3
After work, Mom came home.
Like she always did, the first thing she did was
dust off Sarah’s picture.
Then she’d start talking to it.
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11:10
It was a routine, five years in the making.
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Soon enough, Dad was home from the hospital
too.
There were three sets of plates on the table:
one for Dad, one for Mom, and one empty, in
front of Sarah’s picture.
While eating, Mom showed Dad a picture of the
pill bottle.
“Look into this at the hospital and see who
filled it, could be a lead in this case.”
The second Dad saw it, his eyebrows shot up. I
thought he might realize that the bottle was
mine.
But a second later, he shook his head. “It’s just
basic pain killers. Not gonna tell us anything.”
I knew. He didn’t recognize it.
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((
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But, my dad knew the first time I got stomach
pains.
That was the first year after Sarah’s death.
I was on the floor, the pain tearing me apart, and I was barely breathing.
When I begged him to take me to the hospital, I accidentally vomited blood, and it splattered all over the cake Dad had gotten for Sarah’s birthday.
That’s the day Dad went crazy and started punching and kicking me.
His voice was ice–cold, no emotion. “You think
I’m gonna feel sorry for you? You’re wrong! This just makes me hate you more!”
After that, I lost my place at the table. They never set out a plate or utensils for me again.
<
They said that Sarah’s killer shouldn’t sit at
their table.
To survive, I started eating the leftovers they
threw in the trash.
Finally, Dad finished and threw all the scraps
into the garbage. That’s when he remembered
- me.
“I just saw Nora’s text today,” he said. “Running away is bad enough, but lying about
being kidnapped?”
“She’s too old to be doing this, she’s not a
tenth of her sister’s level!”
Mom was blank, wiping down Sarah’s picture
frame with a cloth.
“She sent me one too,” she said. “Who knows
what game she is playing? Saying ‘help‘ like it’s
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“If I knew she was this way, I would’ve left her
in that mountain village, she deserved to be trafficked.”
I stared, wide–eyed, I couldn’t believe a coroner would say something like that.
If they hadn’t been crying that day when they finally brought me back, I might have wondered if they had done it on purpose.
Even to this day, a little part of me still wanted
to believe they were just confused.
But they proved me wrong.
I had been so wrong.
I smiled, a sad smile. I wished I had never been brought back.
They’d still be that happy family if I hadn’t.
<
I would have been glad to stay in that mountain
village and chop firewood.
I’d rather have never met them at all.
Chapter 4
The silence was broken by the ring of a phone.
Mom answered, sounding annoyed. “You decide
to call now?”
But the voice on the other side of the line
stopped her in her tracks.
It was a relative calling. “The college entrance
exam scores came out. Our boy got into a good
school, what about your Nora? She always
worked so hard in school, did she get in
anywhere?”
Hearing my name made my parents faces go
dark.
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“She doesn’t have the brains for it. She’s not half of her sister’s intelligence. She’ll probably
be a failure, so you know, don’t make too big a deal of it!”
The caller tried to say something, but Mom
hung up, face like thunder.
“It’s a joke. She’s as dumb as a rock, she could
never get into college.”
That call ruined Mom’s mood, she hugged
Sarah’s picture frame and stalked off to her
room.
Dad went out on the balcony to smoke, looking lost in thought.
I closed my eyes, letting tears roll down my
face. Pain and despair washed over me like a
wave.
Mom was right. Something was wrong with my
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11:10
brain, from the head injury.
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The year of the high school entrance exam, the house caught fire. Fire and smoke filled every room.
I rushed inside, and I brought my unconscious mother out, while breathing in the dangerous smoke.
But she didn’t care. Once she was safe, she pushed me away.
“You saved me, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one who killed Sarah!”
That’s when I understood, nothing I did could
ever erase the fact that I was a killer in Mom’s
eyes.
After that, I was left with severe side effects.
At first, I had headaches and nausea, but soon,
<
I realized it was messing with my memory and
my ability to think.
I asked Mom and Dad to take me to the hospital, but Mom threw down her chopsticks and yelled at me. “What does it have to do with me that you don’t feel well? You aren’t a child, deal with it, or will it kill you?”
I tried to explain, but my Dad cut me off. “You think we owe you something? Trying to get us
to pay for your fake illness?”