Chapter 9: Gone Missing

I left and went out for some air.

The sky was gray, low with humidity. I walked the cracked sidewalk, counting my steps, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest.

Years of oppression had twisted my mind as much as hers.

Sometimes I saw flashes of her anger in myself. The thought made me sick.

I was terrified that one day I’d go mad, just like my mom.

I gripped the rusted railing outside our building, promising myself I’d never let it happen.

There were only two months left until the SATs, and I didn’t know if I could hold on.

I kept checking the calendar on my phone, deleting days as if that would make the time pass faster.

When I came back, I found the bed empty.

My heart stopped. She never left, not with that leg. I searched every corner, calling her name until my throat was raw.

Panic-stricken, I ran out to look for her.

I checked every alley, dumpster, and bus stop for blocks. No sign of her.

But after searching everywhere nearby, I couldn’t find her.

It was like she’d vanished into thin air. A neighbor leaned out, cigarette dangling from her lips. "Haven’t seen her, kid. You okay?" I nodded, but my voice caught.

She was crippled—she couldn’t even walk. How could she just vanish?

It didn’t make sense. I imagined her crawling on the sidewalk, desperate to get back to the Evans mansion.

I called the cops and asked the neighbors for help.

The police officer who answered sounded bored. They promised to keep an eye out, but I knew they had bigger problems than a missing, bitter woman from a cheap apartment.

But she was nowhere to be found.

The city was too big, too indifferent. The Evanses had erased us so easily, it was as if we’d never existed.

I went to the Evans family, wondering if Jason had had her taken away.

Desperate, I took a bus across town and hid behind the old oak tree by the driveway, just like I did when I was a kid.

I hid outside the Evans mansion, and after nightfall, I saw Jason arrive.

His car glided up the circular drive, headlights off. He looked older, colder, like the world had sharpened his edges.

I happened to overhear him on the phone.

His voice was low, tense, the kind of tone you use when you want something to disappear quietly.

"Just get rid of her."

He said it flat, like he was asking someone to take out the trash.

My nerves snapped. I rushed up and grabbed his collar.

I didn’t care about the guards, the cameras. All I saw was red.

"Are you even human?"

My voice broke. I felt like a little kid again, begging someone—anyone—to see me.

My sudden outburst made me forget to be afraid. Jason was caught off guard, and I shoved him against the car door.

He slammed back, eyes blazing. For a split second, I thought he might actually hit me.

His eyes flashed with anger. He pushed me away.

His hands were cold, unyielding. I stumbled, but didn’t back down.

"Lunatic."

He spit the word at me like it was a curse.

The Evans family’s bodyguards swarmed over and dragged me off.

They gripped my arms tight, frog-marching me to the edge of the lawn. My feet barely touched the ground.

I shouted, "You’ll get what’s coming to you!"

The words echoed into the night. A dog barked somewhere down the street.

No one paid me any attention.

To them, I was just a crazy girl on the curb, talking to herself.

Ridiculous—the mistress’s daughter cursing others with retribution.

I let the bitterness fill my mouth like bile. Even if I shouted until my voice gave out, nothing would change.

Truthfully, I didn’t even pity my mom. I just…

I just wanted answers, or maybe justice, or maybe just someone to care.

Suddenly remembered the first night I’d arrived at the Evans family. The small dark room was so suffocatingly black, I was starving, my own mom ignored me, and the golden boy who wanted me gone pried open the window and tossed me a dinner roll.

I’d spent years replaying that memory, trying to decide if it was cruelty or a tiny act of mercy.

I thought, maybe he had a sliver of kindness after all.

For a moment, I clung to that idea—then let it go.

I returned to the rented room in a daze and found money under the bedding.

A worn envelope, stuffed under the thin mattress. My hands shook as I counted the bills, heart racing.

Cash—$800.

It wasn’t mine. My mom had left it.

She’d never saved that much before. I wondered what deal she’d made, what line she’d crossed to get it.

But where did she get the money?

I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, knowing I’d never get an answer.