Chapter 2

She bought out the pitiful blood tie between us. She bought out her last shred of maternal responsibility, along with all my unrealistic fantasies about her.

She turned and walked back into the warm light, returning to the "daughter" in the princess dress.

The heavy oak door shut, separating two entirely different worlds.

The rain kept falling, bone-chillingly cold.

I let go. The ruined cupcake slipped from my fingers, hitting the ground and quickly dissolving into the mud.

I turned around. Dragging my soaked body, I walked away, step by step, leaving behind the brilliant lights that did not belong to me.

The city was so vast, yet there wasn't a single square inch for me.

The magnificent iron gates shut behind me, locking away my very last hope of having a home.

Officer Carter found me later.

He took me to a temporary breakroom at the police precinct, giving me dry clothes and a hot meal.

He communicated with me using clumsy hand gestures and wrote on a notepad: "Don't worry. You're safe now."

There was genuine concern in his eyes. This warmth felt infinitely more real than the icy blades my own mother had stabbed into my heart.

Through written notes, I shared fragmented memories with him.

I wrote about the dark rooms, the beatings, and the silent world I had been forced into.

But I hid what Helen had said at the gate. That ruined cupcake became a festering scar deep in my soul.

The police eventually contacted David, my dad.

He rushed over, looking exhausted, with deep wrinkles around his eyes.

When he saw me, his expression was incredibly complicated.

He hugged me. His arms were stiff, lacking the pure, unconditional comfort Officer Carter had shown me.

"I'm just glad you're back... glad you're back," he muttered. Yet, his gaze kept drifting toward the window, as if he were preoccupied with something else.

I was brought back to the mansion.

But I wasn't returned to my old room. Instead, I was placed in a north-facing guest room on the second floor.

It was clean, but as cold and sterile as a hotel room.

The girl in the pink princess gown was Chloe. She was the daughter of Helen's late best friend.

Supposedly, her parents had died in an accident, so my family adopted her. She was now their "legal" adoptive daughter.

She was two years younger than me, sweet, and incredibly charming. She always called them "Dad" and "Mom" with a honeyed voice, keeping them wrapped around her finger.

She put on an act of overwhelming warmth when she saw me. "Maya! You're finally home! I missed you so much!"

She signed the words, a flawless, innocent smile plastered on her face.

But the moment the adults turned their backs, her smile vanished instantly.

She "generously" gifted me clothes, but they were all gaudy, ill-fitting outfits.

"You'll look great in these, Maya. Your old clothes are so raggedy."

Helen smiled warmly beside her. "Chloe is so thoughtful. She knows how to look after Maya."

But when I put those clothes on, looking ridiculous, I caught the smug gleam flashing in Chloe's eyes.

On the surface, the house maintained a fragile peace.

David tried to be nice. He bought me a new phone, took me to doctors to check my ears, and arranged therapy for my PTSD. But his kindness was always guarded, wrapped in a careful awkwardness.

As for Helen, she treated me like thin air. Unless absolutely necessary, she never looked at me or spoke to me. It was as if my very existence was an insult to her.

The real turning point came on a Sunday evening.

A guest came over—Sarah, Helen's long-time friend.

They were chatting in the living room. Their voices weren't loud, but I happened to be coming down the stairs, standing in the shadows.

Sarah sighed. "...It's a miracle you got her back. How did you survive all these years?"

Helen's voice carried a carefully manufactured sadness. "Oh, don't ask. I cried myself to sleep every night. Thank God Chloe was here to comfort us. It's just..."