Chapter 2

My dad sat up late into the night on the couch.

He put the ceramic doll and its broken arm on the coffee table.

He kept staring at them until dawn, then eventually fell asleep right there on the couch.

The next morning, he acted like it was another ordinary day, ate breakfast, and headed off to work.

Over the years, my dad's business had taken off, and he opened a branch overseas.

This time, he wasn't only traveling with Grandma and Ryan.

He had business to deal with here and would be busy for more than ten days.

As he was heading out, he told my grandma, "Ryan can be pretty mischievous, so keep an eye on him.

"Don't let him run around since we're not familiar with this place."

My grandma served Ryan some oatmeal and poured him a glass of milk.

She cut up his fried egg into little pieces and set it right in front of him.

Ryan was only two days younger than me, and he was already nineteen.

When I was barely five, my grandma always told me kids should learn to be independent early on.

She made me sweep the floor, wash the dishes, and do Ryan's laundry and his socks.

Ryan always said I washed his clothes the cleanest.

But now, at nineteen, Ryan still had everything handed to him on a silver platter.

Besides being a total freeloader, his biggest thrill was tearing around on his motorcycle.

That's why my dad could never relax around him.

Once my grandma finished preparing Ryan's breakfast, she finally looked over at my dad.

"Come on, when have I ever had trouble taking care of Ryan?" she said.

Her words caught in her throat as she saw my dad's face suddenly turn grim.

Some things wouldn't go away.

Because you didn't talk about them didn't mean people forget.

When I was five, I went missing while Grandma was watching me out in her house.

Back then, a girl gave Grandma a box of strawberries.

That night, Grandma washed them and set them in front of Ryan.

Then she told me, "Go bring in the clothes hanging outside."

While I was out in the yard gathering the laundry, I suddenly heard footsteps coming up behind me.

A few days before, I'd heard that a kid had gone missing.

The place was so remote; there weren't any security cameras around.

I didn't look back. I bolted for the house.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Grandma, help me." Fear and desperation flooded my voice.

The door was locked, so I pounded on it as hard as I could.

The footsteps behind me suddenly stopped.

Maybe the guy saw the light inside, slipped back into the darkness, and decided to bail.

But then Grandma's impatient, angry voice came from inside. "All you ever do is whine and bring bad luck. Wait until Ryan's done eating before you come in."

I was trembling, sobbing, "Grandma, there's someone outside."

I waited, but the door still didn't open.

Then, out of the shadows, a man suddenly grabbed me by the shoulder, clamped a hand over my mouth, and dragged me away.

I struggled and screamed as hard as I could, so Grandma would know I wasn't trying to get inside for food.

I was being dragged away. Someone was actually taking me.

Through the open window, with the room all lit up, I caught a glimpse of Grandma's face.

Now, I can still remember that moment as if it were yesterday.

I was trapped in the shadows, while Grandma stood in the light.

As I struggled, I saw her face so clearly.

Her face went from shocked to terrified in an instant.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, her face turned cold and resolute.

My own grandma stood there and watched as I was dragged away by a kidnapper.

She'd called me a jinx more times than I could count, always telling me to get lost.

But my dad always said she had a sharp tongue but a soft heart.

We were family, right? What, could Grandma hate her own grandchild?

I always believed, deep down, she cared about me, even if a little.

She loved Ryan a bit more, nothing more, nothing less.

Maybe, deep down, they all loved me, like Dad.

But it turned out I was wrong.

The moment I saw Grandma standing inside by the window, I stopped fighting.

It wasn't until I was twelve that my dad finally found me by chance.

I could still picture Grandma's cold, uncaring face, clear as day.

I didn't want to go back with my dad.

But my foster dad gently patted my hand and said, "Hey, kiddo, be good. He's your real dad.

"Real dads don't hurt their daughters, you know.

"You're his own flesh and blood, his precious little girl."

Reporters swarmed in, cameras flashing everywhere.

My dad hugged me tight, tears streaming down his face for everyone to see.

He thanked my foster dad for everything he'd done for me all these years.

With those heartfelt eyes, he swore I'd never have to suffer again.

For the first time in my life, I felt genuine care and love from my biological father.

I believed him, full of hope, and followed him home.

But later, he sent my foster dad to prison, and he died there.