Chapter 3: The Daughter They Left Behind

Without realizing it, I drifted to my parents’ place.

The old house looked the same—white picket fence, rose bushes by the porch. It was both comforting and cruel.

That house. Familiar, yet so far away.

Through the windows, I could see lights on, laughter echoing from the living room.

Drawn by some invisible force, I drifted inside and saw Vanessa throwing a tantrum on the sofa.

She was sprawled out, arms crossed, pouting like a teenager. The TV played quietly in the background.

“You said we’d go on vacation tomorrow! I already planned everything!”

Her voice was high and insistent, like she’d never heard the word no.

Vanessa was a year older than me, but at home she always acted like a spoiled child.

She kicked her feet, demanding attention. Mom and Dad just smiled, indulgent.

Dad grinned, ruffling her hair. “I just mixed up the dates. Tomorrow I have to sign a new contract with the Miller Group, and I’ll stop by to see your sister. I’ll take you on vacation the day after.”

Mom shook her head, but her lips curled with a smile. “That’s right, Vanessa, the contract can’t wait. Don’t throw a fit, okay?”

She reached over, patting Vanessa’s hand. Vanessa pouted, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

Aaron looked up from his paperwork. “I’ll sign the contract. You two take Vanessa on vacation.”

He barely glanced up, already thinking about work. But even he couldn’t resist Vanessa’s charm for long.

“Yes, yes, vacation!”

Vanessa kicked her legs, throwing a tantrum, acting all cute.

She stuck out her tongue, then giggled, the tension gone in an instant.

Honestly? I envied her.

She’d never had to grow up, never had to be strong. I wondered what that felt like.

After being kidnapped for ten years, when had I ever been able to act spoiled like that?

Not once. Not even when I was little.

Even after coming home, how could I dare?

I kept my head down, tried not to draw attention. Spoiled kids got sent away.

Maybe, in my fuzzy memories, I’d been able to act that way when I was five.

There were flashes—birthday parties, piggyback rides, warm hugs. But they faded. Fast.

“But…”

Vanessa’s voice cut through my memories, sharp and insistent.

Dad hesitated. “We should go see Charlotte. It’s been years.”

He glanced at Mom, uncertain. I wondered if he even remembered what I looked like.

Vanessa’s face darkened. She crossed her arms and huffed, “Fine, go. After all, she’s your real daughter.”

She turned away. Pretending not to care.

Dad got anxious, coaxing her like a child. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that if we never visit, the Miller family might think we don’t care and look down on us.”

He spoke softly, trying to smooth things over. Image was everything.

Mom chimed in, “Yes, the two families are connected by marriage. We have to show we care. How about this: tomorrow, I’ll go on vacation with you, and your dad will sign the contract.”

She smiled, hoping to make everyone happy. Vanessa brightened, her mood shifting instantly.

Vanessa finally smiled, happily munching on snacks.

She popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth, grinning. The crisis was over.

The family was cheerful again.

Laughter filled the room. For a moment, they looked like a perfect family, untouched by tragedy.

I hovered silently in midair, not moving for a long time.

But I was invisible. Powerless.

Suddenly, Mom glanced in my direction, though of course she couldn’t see me.

She shivered, rubbing her arms. A shadow flickered across her face.

But Mom kept rubbing her chest.

Her voice was soft, uncertain. The others barely noticed.

“Mom, are you okay?”

Aaron looked up, concern flickering in his eyes for just a moment.

Dad and Vanessa looked at her, too.

They paused, waiting for her to speak.

Mom waved it off. “I’m fine. I can’t explain it—just a little anxious. Maybe I’m getting old.”

She tried to laugh, but the sound was thin. Vanessa rolled her eyes. Aaron shrugged.

The whole family laughed.

They moved on quickly, brushing off her worry like it was nothing.

Vanessa quickly said she was still young and beautiful, making Mom laugh even more.

She leaned in, giving Mom a quick hug. The room warmed again.

She stared into the distance, lost in thought. I wondered if she felt me there.

Late at night, she seemed unable to sleep, tossing and turning and waking Dad.

The house was dark. Only the sound of her restless movements.

Dad grumbled, “What are you doing? I have to get up early tomorrow.”

He pulled the covers over his head, trying to block her out.

Mom was frustrated, too. “I don’t know. I just feel restless.”

She sat up, hugging her knees. The moonlight painted her face in pale blue.

Dad thought for a moment. “Are you worried about the contract? We’ve worked with the Miller family for years—it’ll be fine.”

His voice was gentle, trying to reassure her. Business was his comfort zone.

Mom grabbed her hair. “It’s not the contract. I can’t explain it.”

She sounded lost. Adrift.

Dad frowned. “If it’s not the contract, what is it? Charlotte? Did her last call scare you?”

He sounded almost annoyed, like I was a problem he’d forgotten to solve.

Mom paused, rubbing her chest again.

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Dad chuckled. “What’s with that look? Since when do you care so much about Charlotte? She’s doing great, married to Mason and all.”

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. I wondered if he believed it.

Mom seemed thoughtful, sighing deeply. “I think Charlotte’s not doing well. Last time she visited, her wrists were covered in cuts.”

Her voice broke. She looked away.

Dad fell silent.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Mom went on, “She keeps asking for a divorce, begging us for help. I think Mason treats her badly.”

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. I waited, hoping for something—anything.

Dad said nothing.

He rolled over, turning his back. The conversation was over.

I hovered by the bed, my dead heart still trembling.

I wanted to scream, to shake them, to make them see. But all I could do was watch.

Mom. You knew?

I whispered it into the darkness, hoping she could hear me.

Then why couldn’t you help me?

The question echoed, unanswered, as the night stretched on.

Mom answered, “But there’s nothing we can do. We can’t let Vanessa marry him instead. Vanessa’s never suffered—she couldn’t handle Mason’s abuse. Charlotte’s been through ten years of hardship. She’s mentally tougher. She can take a few beatings—it’s not like it’ll kill her.”

Her words were soft, almost apologetic. I felt the last pieces of my heart crumble. In their eyes, I was always the strong one. The one who could survive anything. Even this.