Left In Their Own Rain

The day my parents shipped me off to that behavioral modification camp, I still had the proof in my pocket—the footage that would have cleared my name.

They didn't even look at it.

Instead, they chose to believe the girl who was sobbing so hard she choked on her own breath.

Five years later, when the heavy iron gates finally swung open and let me out, the first thing I saw was her. She was wearing my old school uniform skirt, her hand tucked comfortably into my brother’s arm, smiling as she called me her "little sister."