It was the third year after I’d been reunited with my biological family when my adoptive sister, Sherry, showed up on our doorstep late at night. Her face was a mask of stubborn pride, but it couldn’t hide the raw wound of neglect in her eyes. “Betty said she wouldn’t mind living with me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve waited for three years. Why haven’t you come to get me?” My father, a man I’d only ever known as strict and severe, felt his eyes well up with tears. My brother, Ethan, shoved past me, his shoulder knocking into mine, and wrapped the girl in a fierce hug. “Sherry! I’ll never let anyone bully you again.” They gathered around her, a flood of repressed emotion finally finding its release. My father told me to give Sherry her room back. My brother told me to stop being difficult and booked me a spot on a youth travel tour. And then, they completely forgot their promise to pick me up. While I was trapped by a landslide, they were celebrating Sherry’s birthday. After I was rescued, one of the emergency workers handed me a phone. “You should call your family,” he said gently. I shook my head, looking him in the eye. “Sir, could I possibly borrow two hundred and eight dollars?” 1 The rescuer, a kind-faced man in his forties, blinked. “Two hundred and eight?” I ticked off the numbers on my fingers for him. “The bus from here to the train station is three dollars. The train ticket is a hundred and ninety-five. And the bus from the station to my town is another ten. It adds up to exactly two hundred and eight.” A complicated expression crossed his face. “Kid, you don’t live in Northwood? After something this serious, you should wait for your family to come get you.” “I’m an adult, sir,” I said softly. “I can decide which home I want to go back to.” What I didn’t say was that some families, you could wait for forever, and they’d never come. After splitting from the tour group yesterday, I’d waited on the mountain until I fell asleep. A sudden drop in temperature woke me to a dark, rain-lashed sky. My phone was on its last one percent of battery when I managed to call my brother. “Betty?” “Are you…” almost here? “Oh! Dad and I were celebrating Sherry’s birthday this afternoon. The AC must have been too low or something because she’s running a fever now. We’re on our way to the hospital with her. Right, you were coming home today, weren’t you?” “Yes, but…” “You’ll have to get back on your own, okay?” Beep. Beep. Beep. The line went dead. The phone was off. The doors to the few small shops on the summit were locked tight. There was nowhere to charge it. Too scared to navigate the treacherous mountain path without a guide, I huddled under the flimsy cover of a vendor’s stall. The wind howled, and the darkness felt alive. Would they even notice I hadn’t come home? And if they did, would they worry about me the way they worried about Sherry? I knew the answer. Of course not. Just as they’d forgotten that today was supposed to be my birthday, not Sherry’s. But it was okay. It didn’t matter. I wrapped my arms around myself, patting my own shoulder. Just go to sleep, I told myself. If you’re asleep, you won’t be scared. When morning finally came, I caught the first bus down the mountain. The bus was nearly empty. No one expected the landslide. … But there was no need to explain all this. I didn’t care anymore, but telling the story would only make others pity me. The rescue team couldn’t change my mind, but they insisted on giving me a ride to the train station. On the way, the kind rescuer sighed, “Just a bit of bad luck. If you’d come down yesterday, you would have missed the whole thing.” Another worker chuckled. “What are you talking about? She survived a landslide without a scratch. That’s not bad luck, that’s a damn miracle!” I listened with a small smile, nodding in agreement. In the end, they transferred me five hundred dollars. I thanked them profusely, saving the sender’s information in my phone. I would pay them back. My phone, now charged, buzzed to life as I stepped into the station. A new message. I opened it. A voice note from my brother, Ethan. “Betty, the housekeeper just called and said you’re not back yet? You didn’t come straight home last night? Dad and I have been at the hospital with Sherry. She still has a fever. You know how she’s always been so delicate, sick all the time since she was a little girl…” Sherry. The name my biological family had given their adoptive daughter. I didn’t listen to the rest. I converted the 48-second message to text. Almost every word was about Sherry. My thumb hovered over the screen, unsure how to reply. These moments had been the backdrop of the last three years. At the dinner table, they’d mention how Sherry loved this or that dish. Seeing a pretty dress in a shop window, they’d wonder if Sherry had anything like it. Every holiday we spent together felt like a formality, a duty they had to perform before they could leave with sighs of relief to celebrate with their other daughter. I never minded the idea of living with her. I never minded that they loved her. Just as I could never cut my adoptive parents out of my heart, I understood that the fifteen years they’d spent raising Sherry had forged a bond deeper than blood. But they didn’t believe me. They insisted it was for my own good that they sent her away. Back then, I was consumed by guilt, convinced that I was the reason their family had been torn apart. Until the first time I met Sherry. 2 She took my hand, her smile tinged with a beautiful sadness. “Dad was always worried we wouldn’t get along. I guess he thought I was spoiled and might intimidate you. But I’ve always wanted to try and be friends.” I just nodded dumbly, trying to comfort her. Sherry seemed deeply moved. She reached for the locket around her neck. “Please, don’t say no. This was actually your birth mother’s. Back then… everyone thought you were gone. That’s why Dad gave it to me.” My hand, which had been pushing it away, froze. Sherry smiled and unclasped it. “Take it. It was always yours.” It was my mother’s. I reached out, but just as my fingers were about to touch the cool metal, Sherry’s wrist twisted. The locket slipped. I gasped, lunging to catch it, but it was too fast. The silver hit the tile floor, popping open, a tiny shard of glass from the picture cover scattering across the floor. At that exact moment, my father and brother walked in. Sherry’s eyes turned red. “It was me! It was all my fault!” she cried. “I didn’t hold it properly! It wasn’t Betty’s fault!” If I’d been older, maybe I would have known how to handle it. But I was fifteen, newly returned to a family of strangers, my heart not yet hardened by the world. All I felt was the sharp pain of my mother’s locket being broken and the rising panic that they would blame me. I frowned at Sherry. “You should have held it tighter.” Tears instantly streamed down Sherry’s face. She looked at me with an expression of infinite sorrow. “It’s my fault,” she whispered, her voice choked with sobs. “You’re right. It’s all yours. I shouldn’t have… oh…” I was at a loss. “But you…” “That’s enough!” my father’s voice cracked like a whip. I flinched. I had never seen him so angry. His eyes blazed with a fury that was aimed squarely at me. “Answer me. Did you ask for this locket?” “No, I didn’t,” I said, my voice frantic. “She told me it was Mom’s. She wanted to give it to me!” Sherry sobbed harder. “That’s right! Dad, don’t blame Betty! I wanted her to have it! It’s all my fault! Please, blame me!” “Sherry, be quiet!” Ethan snapped, then turned his icy gaze on me. “Betty, I’m asking you. Did you want this locket?” “No…” “Tell the truth!” my father roared. Their anger was a physical force, a knife twisting in my chest. All I could hear was the frantic, trapped beat of my own heart. Did I want it? Did I? Yes. It was my mother’s. Of course I wanted it… “Yes…” I whispered, trembling. SLAP. The sting on my cheek was white-hot. The world seemed to recede, the sounds around me distant and muffled, yet echoing with perfect clarity in my head. I heard my father’s voice, thick with rage. “I was wrong! I never should have let you two meet!” “I knew you’d be jealous of Sherry! I knew that jealousy would make you do something despicable! You grew up in the countryside, how could you be anything but conniving? And I still gave you the chance to hurt her!” Sherry wept. “Dad, don’t blame Betty. It’s my fault! Anything she wants, I should give her!” My brother comforted her. “It’s okay, Sherry, don’t be scared. You’re too pure, too kind. It hurts Dad and me to see you sacrifice yourself like this.” 3 I opened my mouth to explain, to tell them I wasn’t that kind of person. I grew up in a small town, but my Ma and Pa taught me to always be honest. I never lied. I was an honor roll student. My teachers always said I was such a good kid. I had so many friends back home, and even at my new school, everyone liked me. I would never do something like that. But my father had already sentenced me. His voice was cold as steel. “Let this slap be a lesson. Be an honest person. If I ever catch you lying or scheming again, I don’t care if you’re my own flesh and blood, I will punish you severely.” I felt my blood run cold. It’s true what they say—in moments of extreme fear, you can’t speak. Ethan sighed. “Stop crying. Apologize to Sherry, and then apologize to Dad.” It was only then that I realized I was crying, too. My father stood in stony silence. Sherry clutched his sleeve, peering at me from behind him. Ethan gave me a little shove. “Stop being so stubborn. Dad is only this hard on you because he loves you. That’s why he’s so angry right now. Just apologize and admit you were wrong. Don’t make him truly disappointed in you.” Does Dad love me? He must. So I couldn’t disappoint him. I relaxed my jaw, my lips nearly bleeding from how hard I’d been biting them. “I’m sorry, Sherry,” I said softly. “I was wrong.” It wasn’t so hard to say. If you just ignored your pride, ignored what was right and wrong, it didn’t hurt so much. My voice grew stronger. “Dad, I was wrong. I’ll never do it again.” I’ll never want anything that belongs to someone else again. I’ll never dare to. They took Sherry home. I sat alone in the vast, empty house, watching the sunset paint the walls gold, and then watching the dawn break. And I finally understood. They didn’t send Sherry away so they could focus on loving me. They sent her away because they were afraid my jealousy would hurt her.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "384471", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel