Chapter 1 After my grandmother stole me and sold me to human traffickers, my mother went insane. My father went to his grave never forgiving my brother for letting go of my hand. My brother spent ten years searching for me alone. He traveled to every corner of the country, living like a ghost. When he finally lost all hope, he slit his wrists in a cheap motel room. Meanwhile, my grandmother and my uncle’s family happily occupied our house and spent our inheritance. I wanted to burn them all alive. I wanted to drag them to hell with me. Instead, I woke up. I was reborn. I heard my grandmother’s voice, counting cash and whispering to the trafficker: "Take the girl. Leave my grandson for now." If I hadn't been snatched that day, I would have remained the princess of my family. My parents and my big brother adored me. In my past life, I was sold deep into the mountains. A high fever left me slow, confused, and broken. The family that bought me realized I was "damaged goods" and a waste of food, so they sold me again. I was passed from hand to hand like a bad penny until no one wanted me anymore. Finally, they said, "She might be slow, but her kidneys work. Her heart is strong." I was carved up and sold for parts. That’s how I died. Only after death did my spirit drift back home. That’s when I learned the truth. My parents couldn't handle the grief and died one after another. My brother was the only one left. He never stopped looking. He carried my photo everywhere, sleeping under bridges, eating one meal a day, asking every stranger if they’d seen his little sister. When he finally heard the news of my death—that I had been butchered on an operating table—the last thread of his sanity snapped. "Mom, Dad... Sophie. Wait for me. I'm coming." The razor blade sliced deep. "Ben! No!" I tried to stop him, but my ghostly hand passed right through his wrist. The rage and sorrow were so intense I thought my soul would shatter. Was this it? Was I just going to watch my family die because of me? Suddenly, a blinding light flooded the room. I jolted awake, coughing. The air was thick with stale cigarette smoke. I was lying in the back of a cargo van. I stared at the man in the front seat. Black leather jacket. Greasy hair. It was him. The trafficker. Snake. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to the woman sitting across from him. "Count it, Auntie. Five thousand dollars. I heard you have two grandsons, too. I’ll pay triple for them." Five thousand dollars. That was the price of my life. That was the price of my family’s destruction. Through the haze of smoke, I saw her face. My grandmother. The woman who always smiled at me and gave me candy. She stuffed the money into her bra, looking satisfied. "Forget it. I’m not selling my grandsons." A chill went through my bones, colder than the death I had just escaped. Why? Why Grandma? Snake laughed, echoing my thoughts. "Auntie Ruth, aren't you scared your son will find out?" "You keep your mouth shut, I keep mine shut. Who’s gonna know?" Grandma Ruth scoffed, her accent thick and jagged. "Besides, girls are just raised for other families anyway. If I don't sell her now, she’ll just get married off later for free." "My oldest son is in jail. He needs bail money. My youngest—Sophie's dad—refused to give it to me. He won't help his own brother, but he treats this little girl like a treasure? I’m doing this because he forced my hand." Snake cackled. "Alright, Ruth. Call me when you have more stock." "With this money, I can get Earl out," Grandma muttered, then added sharply, "Make sure you take her far away. The farther the better. Maybe then my rich son will pay me more alimony to comfort himself." Because of that one sentence, I was dragged across state lines in my last life, never to see the sun again. This time, I was going to make them all pay. The sedative hadn't fully worn off, but my mind was racing. I memorized every turn, every sign. There was another kid in the van—a little boy, dressed in expensive clothes, sound asleep. Probably snatched from a wealthy neighborhood. The van pulled over on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. A woman in a sun hat tapped on the window. "Snake, you got a boy this time?" Snake looked around nervously and nodded. "Yeah. Twelve grand." "Done." The woman sighed in relief, handing over a thick envelope. She turned around to reveal a large wicker laundry basket on her back. "Put him in here." This was my chance. "Mommy! Mommy, don't leave me! Take me with my brother!" I screamed, struggling up and grabbing the woman’s sleeve. "What do I need a girl for?" The woman, Martha, turned away, though I saw a flicker of hesitation. The little boy woke up at the commotion. He was smart. He didn't expose me. He just started crying, "Sissy! I want Sissy!" Snake saw an opportunity to upsell. "Just take her, Martha. Girls are cheap. She can do chores, clean the house. Since you're a regular, I'll give her to you for two grand. A package deal." Martha did the math and nodded. I was shoved into the laundry basket next to the boy. I was sold again, for a discount. The basket was covered with a heavy tarp. Martha drove us to a bus station. When she went to the bathroom, she left the basket on a bench. "You two stay quiet. There are bad men around here." The moment her footsteps faded, I shook the little boy awake. "Do you want to go home?" I whispered. He nodded furiously, tears in his eyes. "Listen to me. Follow me. Don't cry, don't scream. If you make a sound, I’m leaving you here." I put on my fiercest face. We climbed out and blended into the crowd. I didn't go to the cops. Not in this town. Snake operated here; the local sheriff might be on his payroll. I couldn't risk it. I found the ticket counter. I dug a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of my pocket—my emergency money—and bought two tickets for the next Greyhound bus to the city. The lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow. "Where are your parents?" I grabbed the boy’s hand and gave her my sweetest, most innocent smile. "We're going to see Mommy in the city. She's waiting for us at the station." We got on the bus. We didn't have enough for a long haul, but we just needed to get away from here. I smeared dirt on our faces to hide our features. We looked like two little beggars. The boy—let's call him Timmy—was starving. His stomach growled like a beast, but he didn't complain. "We'll be home soon," I promised him. We scavenged leftover fries from a trash can at a rest stop. It was degrading, but survival has no pride. Finally, we had enough for a train ticket back to my hometown. I spotted a nice-looking lady and we tailed her, pretending to be her kids to get through the gate. Just as we stepped onto the train car, chaos erupted on the platform. "My babies! They stole my babies!" It was Martha. She was screaming like a banshee, pointing right at us. She charged the train. A few passengers behind us frowned. "Kids, don't run off. Go to your mom." My heart hammered against my ribs. Was history repeating itself? I thought of Ben, my brother, bleeding out in that motel room. No. Not this time. I bit down hard on the hand of the passenger trying to hold me back. "She's lying! She's not my mom! Help! She's a kidnapper!" Martha screamed in pain and slapped me across the face. Smack! Her accomplice, a burly man, grabbed me by the hair. "You little brat! Biting your own mother?" I curled into a ball on the floor. The other passengers looked away. No one wanted to get involved in a domestic dispute. "Kids these days," someone muttered. My vision blurred. The man was dragging me toward the door. Suddenly, a small body threw itself over me. "Leave her alone! Don't take my sister!" Timmy screamed, latching onto the man's leg. Martha grabbed Timmy, her face twisting into a fake smile. "Oh, my poor baby. Come to Mama." I tasted blood in my mouth. I used every ounce of strength I had left to scream. "You don't even know our names! My real mom loves me! She would never hit me like that! You're a liar!" The car went silent. Doubt crept into people's eyes. Martha looked nervous. "She's... she's my stepdaughter. She's got mental issues. Always running away." The "stepmom" excuse. It worked like a charm on the indifferent crowd. Just as hope was fading, a calm voice cut through the noise. "Ma'am, if you're his mother, why didn't you notice your son is having an asthma attack?" A young man in a suit stepped forward. "I'm a doctor. You're suffocating him. I suspect you aren't related to these children at all." Timmy’s face was turning red, his chest heaving. Martha had been clutching him too tight. The tide turned. The conductor was called. Martha and her goon were kicked off the train, screaming curses. We were safe. The doctor, Dr. Carter, treated Timmy. "You're safe now," he said gently. I sat in the seat, trembling. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking at my bruised cheek. I shook my head. This pain was nothing compared to losing everything. "Do you know where you live, kid?" "Yes." I knew. I had dreamed of my front door every night for a lifetime. Dr. Carter was kind. He believed us. "I'm just back from med school abroad. If I hadn't stepped in... well, I saved a family today." When we arrived in the city, he walked us to the police station. He gave me a handful of chocolates before leaving. "Stay safe, little one." At the station, I gave the officers my address and phone number. But Timmy stayed silent. He clung to my shirt, terrified. "We can find your parents," the officer said to me. "But this little guy... we don't know who he is." Timmy looked at me with big, wet eyes. "Sissy?" I sighed. "Officer, can he come with me? Just until you find his family? My parents will help." I gave them a detailed description of Snake, Martha, and the van. The female officer was stunned. "How do you remember all that?" "Because," I said, my voice cold, "I never want to forget the face of the man who tried to end my life." The police drove us to my house. It was dark. The house was locked and dusty. My heart sank. They were already out looking for me. I knew the timeline. Mom was currently wandering the streets, showing my photo to strangers. Dad was sleeping in his car near the train station. Mom would die in four years. Dad the year after. I couldn't wait. I turned to the officer. "Take me to the countryside. My grandma's house." We drove deep into the backwoods. It was 3 AM. Most houses were dark, but a light burned in Grandma Ruth's window. I stood outside the thin walls and listened. "David, listen to me," Grandma's voice whined. "Your brother Earl found a connection. A private investigator. But he needs twenty grand to start looking for Sophie." My dad’s voice sounded broken. "Mom, I swear, if I had twenty grand, I'd give it to you. But the business is tight..." "Sell the factory then! Borrow from the neighbors!" Uncle Earl chimed in, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Every day Sophie is out there... I heard these traffickers break kids' legs to make them beg better..." I saw red. She sold me, and now she was scamming my grieving father for more money? I banged on the door with both fists. "Dad! Mom! Don't listen to them!"
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