Chapter 3

The first day I went missing was a wonderfully peaceful evening for my parents.

When Helen got home from work and pushed the door open, she wasn't greeted by my timid, "Welcome home, Helen." There was no steam or smell of food from the kitchen. Only cold, quiet emptiness.

She paused, her mouth opening out of habit to yell, "Where the hell did you run off to, you brat? Why isn't dinner ready?!"

But looking at the silent, exceptionally clean apartment, she swallowed her words.

A strange sensation washed over her. The place hadn't been this quiet in years.

There was no sound of my pencil scratching against paper as I did my homework. No sound of me scraping the chair quietly, terrified of making her angry. And certainly no sound of Buster's paws padding across the floor.

It was... truly peaceful.

She shook her head, dismissing the weird feeling, and muttered to herself. "Fine. Starve then. Let's see when you decide to crawl back."

She walked into the kitchen, boiled some water, and made herself a plate of pasta.

With a warm meal in her stomach, she sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Watching a loud reality show, she realized this was the most relaxing, comfortable evening she had enjoyed in years.

Later that night, John came home.

Not seeing me when he took off his shoes, he frowned. "Where's the kid?"

"Who knows," Helen replied, her eyes glued to the screen. "Probably out playing. No dinner tonight."

"Hmph. Good. Starving for a night won't kill her. Saves us some food."

John didn't care at all. He went to the kitchen and drank some leftover pasta water.

That night, they slept better than they had in years.

The next day, I still wasn't home.

When Helen woke up and saw my empty little bed, a tiny flicker of anxiety crossed her mind.

But she quickly convinced herself that she was just annoyed because there was no one to make breakfast.

John was already dressed. Seeing her standing there staring at the bed, he snapped impatiently.

"What are you standing there for? Make breakfast already! I'm going to be late for work!"

That tiny flicker of anxiety was instantly crushed by her husband's shout and the rush of the morning.

All day, neither of them made a single call.

It wasn't until that evening that Martha, John's mother, called.

Her loud, grating voice boomed through the phone. After beating around the bush with some gossip, she finally got to the point.

"The neighbors said they didn't see the girl all of yesterday, and she didn't show up for school today. Where is she?"

Helen’s heart skipped a beat. She stuttered into the receiver, "She... she's probably staying over at a friend's house."

"Staying over? She’s a girl, and her heart is already wild!"

Martha’s voice turned incredibly sharp and demanding.

"I say, it’s better that she’s not there! Less of an eyesore. You two can finally breathe. Don't waste time—focus on what matters and get to work on giving me a proper grandson!"

Those words hit Helen like a heavy stone.

She had heard this for years. Every time, it came with John's silent agreement and Martha's cold glares.

Yes. If she had given birth to a son, she wouldn't have had to endure her husband’s contempt and her mother-in-law's abuse all these years.

If only that girl didn't exist...

Would everything be perfect?

After hanging up, Helen repeated Martha's words to John.

Instead of showing any worry, John slapped his thigh. "My mother is right! The brat is old enough to find her way.

She's probably fooling around with some friends. Ignore her. Let's see if she has the guts to never come back!"

The couple reached a silent, unspoken agreement. By labeling me as a "rebellious, unmanageable kid," they successfully excused themselves from worrying about my disappearance.

That night, they were intimate for the first time in a very long time, trying to conceive the baby boy they always wanted.

For the first time in a decade, this middle-aged couple stayed up all night—not to fight, but to celebrate.

Without me, the entire house felt harmonious.