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The year my mom remarried, she took me, just ten years old, to the local records office. "Your new dad already has a son and a daughter. It's not easy for me to remarry, so I didn't tell him I had a son," she said. I looked up at her, bewildered. "Mom, what about me?" When the new household registration booklet arrived, Mom gestured for me to open it. On the booklet, my grandparents were now listed as my parents, and Mom was legally listed as my sister. "From now on, you should call your grandma 'Mom,'" she said as she put the booklet away. "Take the bus back to your grandparents' house later. I need to pick up my new son from school," she added. I clutched the booklet, head down. I knew I was no longer her son. Ever since then, I never saw my mom again. When I was a junior in college, my grandparents passed away. After being gone for eleven years, Mom suddenly showed up at my grandparents' house, with a real estate agent in tow. "I'm their only daughter, so whatever belonged to them is mine now. I have the right to sell this house," she said. I stepped forward and pulled out the family record. "Sis, you're not the only child here. You've got a brother."