Chapter 2

"Nathan!"

Mom stopped him, and Dad's words remained unfinished.

But I already understood.

The kids at the orphanage were right.

Children like us who were adopted—once the family has their own kids, we'll eventually be sent back.

I was too foolish, thinking I'd be the special one.

I bit my lip and said nothing, watching as Mom and Dad comforted my brother and left.

The sound of the door closing was soft, but it landed on my heart like a stone, causing sharp pain.

I thought I would cry, but my eyes were dry. Nothing came out. I just stood in the living room for a long time, then returned to my room and dragged out that small suitcase from under the bed.

Five years ago, I'd come to this home with that very suitcase.

I was still very young then, too young to remember what the orphanage looked like. I only remembered Mom crouching down to look at me, her eyes bright, asking, "Would you like to come home with me?"

I nodded, and she smiled—a smile more beautiful than anyone's at the orphanage.

But just now, there was no smile in her eyes.

When she left holding my brother's hand, she didn't even look back at me.

Dad didn't either.

I knew they must really be planning to send me back.

Rather than wait for them to say it, I might as well take the initiative myself.

That way at least... it wouldn't be too humiliating.

I could tell the kids at the orphanage, "They didn't abandon me. I chose to come back myself."

Though they probably wouldn't believe me.

I gently brushed the dust off the suitcase, pulled open the somewhat rusty zipper, and began packing.

I started with some clothes.

My favorite pink dress, the sweater Mom knitted last year, and that slightly pilled red scarf...

I folded them neatly and placed them in the suitcase.

I didn't dare take too much, afraid they'd think I was too greedy.

Then toys.

I hesitated for a long time and finally took only two things: a gray stuffed rabbit and a plastic star necklace.

The stuffed rabbit was what Mom had tucked into my arms on my first night in this home. She'd said, "Let it sleep with you, and you won't be scared."

It was already worn and tattered, with one ear crooked.

But it was the first gift I'd received in this home. I couldn't bear to leave it behind.

The star necklace was something Dad brought back from a business trip. It even had my name engraved on it.

Finally, I took a family photo.

It was taken shortly after I first came to this home five years ago. In the photo, I was held between Mom and Dad, smiling so hard my eyes disappeared.

I carefully wrapped the frame in the sweater and placed it in the middle of the clothes.

That way, when I missed them, I could look at it.

After packing everything, I closed the suitcase and zipped it up.

The suitcase was heavier than when I'd arrived. I tested lifting it—I could barely manage.

Outside, the sky had turned completely dark.

I sat on the suitcase, quietly waiting for Mom and Dad to come home.

When they returned, if they really wanted to send me away, I would say, "Okay, I've already packed."

What if they wanted me to stay?

If they kept me, I'd put the suitcase back and pretend nothing had happened.

Seven o'clock. Eight o'clock. Nine o'clock.

They still hadn't come back.

Were they deliberately giving me time to leave on my own?

Perhaps I should be more tactful...

At 9:05, I stood up and took one last look at my room.

On the desk lay unfinished homework. On the bed was the blanket Mom had aired out just yesterday, still carrying the scent of sunshine.

On the windowsill was the succulent Mom and I had planted together. We'd promised to watch it bloom and grow together.

What a pity. I wouldn't be there to see that day.

I gently closed the door, dragged my suitcase through the living room, and left home.

A cold wind hit my face. I shivered.

I pulled the scarf tighter and dragged my suitcase into the night.

There were few people in the neighborhood. Occasionally someone coming home late hurried past, but no one noticed the little girl with a suitcase.

The streetlights stretched my shadow and the suitcase's shadow long and thin.

Actually, I'd long forgotten exactly where the orphanage was. I just followed vague memories, heading west.

By the fourth traffic light, my arms were so sore I could barely lift them.

This intersection was very wide. When I was halfway across, the suitcase suddenly got stuck in a depression in the road.

I pulled hard but couldn't move it, so I crouched down, trying to lift the suitcase.

Just then, a blinding light shone from the right, so bright I couldn't open my eyes.

I heard the sharp screech of brakes, then something heavy slammed into me.

It didn't hurt.

Really, it didn't hurt at all.

I just felt myself flying, light as a feather.

Then I saw my suitcase overturned on the ground, its contents scattered everywhere.

I fell to the ground. My vision began to blur, my ears buzzing.

Many footsteps ran over. Many voices shouted. But they all sounded muffled, as if through thick glass—distant and unclear.