Chapter 1: The Day I Jumped

In the third year after I was brought back—after my adoption, after I’d been made theirs again—I jumped off the roof of our house.

I can still feel that wind: sharp, cold, biting at my skin. The memory hangs on, stubborn and vivid. I remember hovering above it all—my soul drifting, weightless, watching with this strange, almost detached curiosity. I even caught myself thinking, I wonder if they’ll finally break. Will my parents and brother, who always looked at me like I was some kind of mistake, actually feel something? Maybe, just maybe, they’d finally realize what they’d lost.

But my dad just shook his head, all ice and distance, and said, looking down at me, “Immature.”

That word echoed, flat and unimpressed, like I’d bombed a pop quiz at school. The kind of voice that leaves no space for tears or apologies, just a cold wall. He never raised his voice—he just shut the door on any feeling at all. I remember thinking, That’s it? That’s all I get?

My mom tightened her lips and let out a long sigh of relief, like she’d finally set down a burden she’d dragged around for years. I caught it in her eyes—a weight gone, something let go. Was I just that heavy to her?

Her shoulders sagged, and for a second, she looked almost peaceful. Like she’d finally clocked out after a long, miserable shift. She didn’t cry. Didn’t even look at me—her gaze stayed glued to the ground, to the mess, to the freedom she thought she’d just earned.

My brother stepped in, quick and careful, shielding the other girl—their so-called real daughter—from seeing my body on the ground. I felt a bitter twist inside. Of course. Protect the one who mattered.

He moved fast, gentle but deliberate, pulling her against his chest and turning her away from the scene. His hand hovered over her head, like he could block out the whole world for her. He didn’t even glance at me—not once.

But the other girl? She burst into tears, and the whole family rushed to comfort her, arms wrapping tight around her like she was the one who’d been broken.

They circled her, arms and voices tangled together, murmuring reassurances. No one spared a word for me. It was as if... my death had only happened to her.

I stared, stunned, for a long, silent moment. Then a bitter, hollow laugh slipped out of me.

It sounded weird in that in-between place—just air, not really a laugh at all. It echoed back, empty and thin, like I wasn’t even there.

When I opened my eyes again, I was right back to the moment they brought me home.

The world snapped into focus—same house, same faces, same air thick with hope and something unnamed. I was right back at the beginning, like someone hit rewind.

Realizing I’d been given a second chance, I just sat there, silent. The shock of it kept me still. What now?

I didn’t cry. Didn’t reach out. Just watched them, wary... every muscle tight with caution. I waited for the catch.

My parents, sitting right in front of me with red-rimmed eyes, started talking about how much they’d missed me, how guilty they’d felt all these years.

They scooted close, voices trembling, hands reaching for mine. They spun stories of sleepless nights and endless what-ifs, painting a picture of a family that had never felt whole without me. Their words dripped with regret—or maybe it was just for show.

They said they’d missed me for ten years!

Ten years—like it was some magic number that could erase everything. Their voices overlapped, desperate to convince me... or maybe just themselves.

In my last life, I believed them. I cried, threw myself into their arms, thought I finally had a home. That someone finally loved me...

I let myself believe in that fairy tale, sobbing into my mother’s shoulder, letting hope bloom wild and reckless. I thought I’d finally found a place where I belonged. I thought I was wanted—finally.

But three years later, there I was, yanking my own hair out, screaming as I jumped off the roof—pausing for a heartbeat, hoping my death would finally win me even a scrap of their love.

I remember the ache in my chest, the rawness in my throat. I remember thinking: Maybe this will make them see me. Maybe this will finally matter.

But nobody ever loved me.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way I needed.

Now, I felt nothing—just numb and calm.

It was like someone switched off a light inside me. I looked at them. All I felt was emptiness—a strange, quiet kind.

“Are you still getting used to things, honey? It’s okay, Mom will help you pick a room. You can have any one you like!”

She flashed a wide smile, her voice just a little too bright—like she was hosting a game show. She squeezed my hand, her palm cool and dry. I felt nothing in return.

When I stayed quiet, my mom took my hand and led me upstairs to the third floor.

She talked the whole way up, pointing out little things: family photos, a vase of fake flowers, the way the sunlight hit the banister. She acted like this was the most exciting thing in the world. I just nodded, half-listening.

My dad followed behind, smiling, calling my brother Mason and telling him to get home quick.

He barked the order into his phone, his voice clipped and sharp. He didn’t wait for a reply. The hallway echoed with his footsteps—heavy, impatient, like he was used to being obeyed.

Mason just replied, “Busy.”

His voice on speaker was flat, almost bored. No apology, no promise to hurry. Just busy. I felt a little sting, but mostly just emptiness.

My dad looked annoyed. My mom looked a little embarrassed. She explained, “Your brother’s got a lot on his plate. He handles most of the family business and can only come home on weekends.”

She said it with a tight smile, almost apologizing for him but showing off a little too. Mason was important. Mason had responsibilities. I watched her, wondering if she believed it.

I believed that last time.

I sat there, thinking for a second. I really did believe it last time.

I thought it meant I’d see him on weekends. That he’d make time for me. I thought family meant something.

This time, I didn’t care. Whatever. It was fine. The words echoed in my head, flat and final.

Let them have their excuses... Let them have their distance. I wouldn’t chase after them again.