The Door Was Locked on My Return

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.