I came home early for the holidays, hiding in the wardrobe to surprise my parents. In the evening, they came back, whispering right in front of me: "Honey, Claire comes back tomorrow. Have you figured out how to kill her yet?" "Easy. She trusts us completely. We'll put some pills in her food, then strangle her with a rope." I covered my mouth in horror, stifling a scream. Then, my dad looked down. "Huh? Why is there an extra pair of shoes by the door?" 1 My hand froze mid-air, inches from pushing open the wardrobe door. I couldn't believe my ears. Claire is my name. My parents... want to kill me? "Sigh, do we really have to go this far? We raised her for twenty years, after all." "Cut the crap. She has to die." I trembled all over, my legs turning to jelly. Was this really my father speaking? What did I do wrong? Why do they want me dead? My mind raced, my heart feeling like it was being sliced open. In my memory, my parents had always been kind people. They were friendly to everyone, wouldn't even kill a mouse that ran into the house. They had always been good to me and my little brother. How could they possibly want to kill me? It must be a joke. Right? I tried to steady my breathing, patting my chest. Yes, that must be it. They probably knew I was back and were just messing with me. I refused to believe my parents would kill me. I took a deep breath, ready to burst out and clear things up. Then I saw my dad walk into the living room, holding a rope. "This rope should be enough. Tomorrow, make her favorite dishes and put a heavy dose of the drugs in them." My mom hesitated, wiping away tears. My dad slapped his thigh in frustration. "We're at the point of no return, and you're still hesitating? If she doesn't die, our son will. Is a daughter more important than a son?" My mom went silent, then nodded heavily. I know my parents. Their expressions... they weren't joking. Which means, they really intend to kill me. A layer of frost seemed to coat my body. I crouched in the wardrobe, shivering violently, tears streaming down my face like a broken dam. I clamped my hand over my mouth, desperate not to make a sound. My dad walked to the door and suddenly froze. "Honey, why is there an extra pair of shoes on the rack?" 2 My eyes widened in terror. Crap, I forgot about that! To surprise them, I had dragged my suitcase into the wardrobe with me, terrified they'd spot it. But I took off my shoes. I knew my mom; she was a neat freak and would be furious if I wore shoes inside. It was a habit. I had taken them off and left them by the door without thinking. My dad bent down, picking up a shoe and examining it closely. His cold gaze slowly drifted toward the wardrobe where I was hiding. Our eyes almost met through the slats. I'm dead! My heart pounded against my ribs like a drum. They were already planning to kill me. If they found me now, my death would only be more gruesome. His expression twisted into something menacing as he slowly walked toward me. The room was dead silent, except for the thunderous beating of my heart echoing in my ears. Just as my dad was about to open the wardrobe, my mom appeared. "What shoes?" She bent down, picked up the other one, and thought for a moment. "These look like Claire's." "Hers? Is she back?" My dad's voice was devoid of emotion. My mom's eyes darted around, then she shook her head. "Impossible. She specifically said she's coming back tomorrow. I must have dug these out yesterday to have them ready for her." My dad let out a breath, his hand slowly dropping from the handle. "Tomorrow decides the fate of our entire family. Don't screw it up." "For Danny's sake, don't go soft." My mom nodded coldly. "I know. I love our son more than anything." My heart felt like it was being shredded. The pain was unbearable. They always favored my brother, Danny, but I never minded much. He was younger; as the older sister, I thought it was my duty to yield. But I couldn't understand—what exactly did Danny need that required my life as the price? I took a deep breath, opening my eyes with a newfound resolve. If they didn't see me as a daughter, there was no point in grieving. Priority one: survive. Priority two: figure out what the hell they were planning. I glanced at my phone. It was 6:00 PM. I just needed to hold out until they went to their bedroom, then I could make a run for it. I had recorded everything just now. Originally, I wanted to capture a happy reunion. I smiled bitterly, curling tighter into the corner of the wardrobe, shaking uncontrollably. The home I lived in for twenty years now felt like hell. About thirty minutes later, I heard a crisp, childish voice. "Mom, Dad, I'm home." I looked up. I knew that voice. It was my little brother, Danny. He must have just gotten back from school. He threw his backpack down and jumped into Dad's arms. "My good boy, you're back! Let Daddy give you a kiss." He kissed Danny hard, his face beaming with joy. Mom picked up the backpack, stroking Danny's head gently. "Tired from school? Wash your hands, let's eat." I watched all this with dead eyes, memories of my own childhood flooding back. Before we moved here, I remembered rushing into Dad's arms just like that after school. He would laugh heartily, rubbing his stubble against my cheek. Was all of that fake? Did they never love me? Was Danny the only one who mattered? I was an outsider in this family. Look how happy they were. You couldn't tell that moments ago they were plotting my murder with such cold cruelty. I buried my face in my arms, realizing I had run out of tears. In these few short hours, my heart had completely died. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine. I looked up and saw Danny standing right in front of the wardrobe, staring dead at me through the gap. 3 My heart stopped. Terror seized me instantly. Crap! If he exposes me, I'm done for. "Sister!" He whispered. Cold sweat poured down my back. I frantically put a finger to my lips, signaling him to be quiet. His big eyes were filled with confusion. He tilted his head, seemingly unable to understand why I was hiding. "Sister?" He said it again, louder this time. Mom poked her head out from the kitchen. "Son, who are you talking to?" I panicked completely. I mouthed to him: "I'm playing hide-and-seek with Mom and Dad. Don't talk." He stared at me intensely. Then, he stroked his chin and smiled. A weird, twisted smile. A smile that didn't belong on a ten-year-old's face. It made my skin crawl. Dad noticed too. His eyes went cold as he walked over, a kitchen knife in hand. "Son? Who are you talking to?" Danny turned to look at Dad, then pointed straight at the wardrobe. "It's Sister." "Sister is in the wardrobe." The room went dead silent. I felt like I had plunged into an ice cave. This little brat. I wanted to burst out and strangle him right then and there. Dad's massive frame shuddered violently as he looked at the wardrobe in horror. Mom rushed over too. The three of them stared at me through the wood. So strange. So cold. "Daughter, are you back?" "Did you hear everything?" I stayed silent, curling my small body into the corner, trembling. Dad signaled Danny to move aside. The knife in his hand glinted coldly. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears soaking my sleeves. Creak. The wardrobe door opened. Dad's head and the knife poked in. Silence. One second, two seconds... Time seemed to freeze. A bizarre sense of absurdity washed over me, like I wasn't even in this world anymore. About a minute later, I heard Dad let out a sigh of relief, followed by a burst of laughter. "Silly boy, how could your sister be in the wardrobe?" "It's just a photo." Dad picked up a framed photo near me, wiped it gently, his eyes flickering with emotion. Mom let out a long breath too, patting her chest. "Scared me to death." Danny stared at me, hidden amongst the pile of clothes, but he didn't say a word. Mom snatched the photo from Dad. "Son, you miss your sister, don't you?" "Don't worry, she'll be back tomorrow." Danny stared at the photo for a few minutes. Suddenly, he raised it high and smashed it onto the floor. Crash. Glass shattered everywhere. "I hate Sister." He stomped on it twice, hard. "I hate Sister. I never want to see her again." Mom and Dad looked at each other, surprised. Dad squatted down, hugged him, and tapped his nose. "Don't worry, son. Tomorrow will be the last time you see her." "Daddy promises. After that, you'll never see her again." Danny nodded vigorously, then smiled. Mom watched him with a loving smile, whispering softly: "Son, we're doing this all for you." The three of them left laughing, turning off the living room lights. The last sliver of light vanished. I was left in pitch-black despair. I lay in the pile of clothes, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving, tears flowing uncontrollably. What happened in the six months I was away? Six months ago, when I came home, Danny jumped into my arms, nuzzling me. Mom and Dad asked about my life, carried my bags, cooked a feast. Laughter. Love. Back then, I thought I had the happiest family in the world. I would have given everything for them. But now, I was discarded. Hated. A lamb to the slaughter. A useless daughter. I cried until I fell asleep. I was woken up in the middle of the night by a strange noise. 4 I snapped my eyes open, praying it was all a nightmare. But the dark wardrobe told me everything was real. I was lucky Dad didn't find me earlier. Otherwise, I'd be a corpse by now. I slowly propped myself up, trying not to make a sound. It was my parents. They were dressed and in the living room. They were whispering to each other. I checked my phone. 2:00 AM. Where were they going this late? My heart raced. This was my chance to escape. I hadn't called the police because I still held onto a shred of hope. Once the police got involved, there was no turning back. I needed to know what happened to this family. Were these people really my parents? They were cautious. They opened the door, peeked out to make sure the coast was clear, then left. The house returned to silence. I didn't leave immediately. I waited ten minutes to make sure they were gone. I gently pushed the wardrobe door open and stepped out. In the darkness, I heard a child's voice. "Sister." I turned around. Danny was standing there in his pajamas, staring at me with dark pupils. I glared at him, fists clenched, his words from earlier echoing in my mind. "I hate Sister. I never want to see her again." Why? Tears fell again. I slowly approached him. He took two steps back, sobbing. "Are you going to hit me, Sister?" That sentence broke my psychological defenses. Grief surged like a fountain. I let out a desperate wail, clutching my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He stood not far away, slowly reaching out a hand, then stopping. He just stared at me, his big eyes filled with anxiety, fear, confusion, and pain. "Danny, can you tell me why you hate me?" I stepped forward to hug him, but he shoved me away. "I just hate you! Dad says you're a slut! A money-loser!" "It's because of you that our life is bad!" I gritted my teeth, about to speak, when Danny started screaming. "Mom! Dad! Sister is hitting me!" "Help! Help!" I snapped back to reality and clamped my hand over his mouth. He continued to scream, muffled, kicking and thrashing. In that moment, I wanted to suffocate the little monster. But at the last second, I let go. Danny sat on the floor, stopped crying, stopped screaming. He looked at me with expectation. I glared at him one last time, turned, and left. Danny stared at my back, mumbling something. But I didn't hear it.
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