The rabbit was worn out now. One ear drooped sideways, and the fur had gone thin in patches.

But it was the first thing I had ever received in this home. I could not leave it behind.

The moon bracelet was from Dad. He had brought it back from a business trip, and my name was engraved on the tiny charm.

Last, I took the family photo.

It had been taken not long after I came here five years ago. In the picture, Mom and Dad held me between them, and I was smiling so wide my eyes disappeared.

I wrapped the frame carefully in the sweater and tucked it between the clothes.

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

When everything was packed, I closed the suitcase and pulled the zipper around.

It was heavier than it had been when I arrived. I tried lifting it and just barely managed.

Outside, the sky had gone completely dark.

I sat on the suitcase and waited for Mom and Dad to come home.

When they got back, if they really wanted to send me away, I would say, "Okay. I already packed."

And if they asked me to stay?

Then I would put the suitcase back under the bed and pretend none of this had happened.

Seven o'clock.

Eight o'clock.

Nine o'clock.

They still were not home.

Were they giving me time on purpose? Waiting for me to take the hint and leave on my own?

Maybe I should be sensible.

At 9:05, I stood up and looked around my room one last time.

My unfinished homework lay open on my desk. The comforter on my bed had been aired out by Mom the day before, and it still smelled faintly of sunshine.

On the windowsill sat the little plant Mom and I had planted together. We had promised to watch it sprout, grow, and bloom.

I guess I would not get to see that anymore.

I closed my bedroom door as quietly as I could, pulled the suitcase through the living room, and stepped out of the apartment.

A gust of cold wind hit me in the face. I shivered and wrapped the red scarf tighter around my neck.

Then I dragged the suitcase into the night.

There were not many people in the apartment complex. A few late commuters hurried past, but no one paid attention to a little girl pulling a suitcase by herself.

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

The truth was, I no longer remembered exactly where the children's home was. I only had a blurry sense that it was somewhere west, so I kept walking that way.

By the fourth intersection, my arm ached so badly I could barely lift it.

The crosswalk was wide. Halfway across, the suitcase wheel caught in a dip in the road.

I pulled, but it would not move.

So I crouched down and tried to lift it free.

That was when a blinding light swept in from my right.

It was so bright I could not open my eyes.

I heard the shriek of brakes.

Then something hit me hard.

It did not hurt.

It really did not hurt at all.

I only felt myself flying, light as a feather.

Then I saw my suitcase overturned on the road, my clothes and toys scattered everywhere.

My vision blurred. My ears rang.

Footsteps rushed toward me. People shouted. I could not make out what anyone was saying.

When I became aware again, I was floating in the air.

I looked down and saw a crowd gathered on the road.

In the middle of it lay a little girl in a red scarf, surrounded by clothes and toys.

Her eyes were closed. She looked very quiet.

When I saw her face, I startled.

That was me.

The ambulance lights flashed red and blue, washing everyone's faces in strange colors.

Paramedics knelt beside me, doing something I could not understand.

After a while, the paramedics shook their heads.

One of them took out a white sheet and gently covered the small body on the road.

That was when I finally understood.

I was dead.

Maybe that was not so bad.

At least the children at the group home would never have the chance to laugh at me.

The crowd slowly dispersed.

Police officers arrived. They took photos and set up tape around the scene.

Someone picked up my suitcase and placed it beside a patrol car.

But where was I supposed to go?

I did not know.

Before anything else, I wanted to see Mom and Dad one more time.

The wind blew through me. I did not feel cold. I only drifted along with it.

At the intersection, I saw a familiar car.

Dad's black sedan was driving slowly past the accident scene.

I chased after it as if it were a lifeline, slipped through the closed window, and landed in the back seat beside my little brother.

The car was warm. The heater hummed softly.

"There were so many people back there," Mom said from the passenger seat. "Was there an accident?"

Dad glanced at the rearview mirror. "Looked like it. Ambulance and police were there."

My little brother sat beside me, completely focused on a new remote-control car. Its tiny lights blinked on and off. It was so pretty.

"The amusement park was so fun!" he suddenly said, his eyes shining. "Mom, can we go again?"

Mom smiled at him gently. "Of course. We'll go again this weekend."

"I want cotton candy too!" he said, swinging his legs.

"We'll buy it," Dad said, smiling at him through the mirror. "We'll buy everything. Did you have fun today?"

"So much fun!"

The air in the car was light and happy.

Mom scrolled through the photos she had taken that day, laughing softly from time to time.

Dad hummed along with the music.

My brother kept playing with his new toy.

I looked at the three of them, and something sour and heavy spread through my chest.

So it was true. This family was fine without me.

"Oh, right." Mom suddenly remembered something and pulled a box from a shopping bag. "I almost forgot."

My eyes lit up.

It was a brand-new Barbie doll, exactly like the one my brother had broken.

"We had to check so many stores," Mom said, examining the packaging carefully. "But we finally found the last one. It's the same as Lily's, right?"

Dad glanced over. "Exactly the same. She'll love it."

"You really shouldn't have said that to her," Mom murmured. "She's still a child. Noah broke her favorite toy. Of course she got upset."

"I know," Dad said, rubbing his nose awkwardly. "I lost my temper. It was my fault."

Mom put the box back into the bag. "She's probably still sulking at home. When we get back, you take the doll and apologize to her."

"I will," Dad said, his voice softening. "Did you buy the strawberry cake?"

"I did. From her favorite bakery." Mom turned slightly toward the back seat, her gaze gentle. "And a new hair clip too. A moon-shaped one, just the kind she likes."

Noah lifted his remote-control car. "Does Lily get a new toy too?"

"Of course," Mom said. "Everyone gets one."

I stared at the new doll, at Mom's expectant face, at the guilt hidden in Dad's eyes.

All at once, I understood.

They were not getting rid of me.

They had not come home late to force me to leave.

They had gone from store to store just to find me an identical doll.

They had bought strawberry cake and a moon clip.

They had even planned how to apologize.

They still loved me.

But it was too late.

The car pulled into our apartment complex and rolled into its parking spot.

Mom carried the cake box. Dad carefully held the Barbie doll.

They smiled as they went upstairs, whispering about how they would surprise me.

I followed them through the lobby, the elevator, the hallway, and finally through our front door.

The living room lights came on.

"Lily, we're home," Mom called, her voice bright. "Look what Mom and Dad got you!"

No one answered.

Dad placed the Barbie doll on the coffee table, right beside the cracked old one.

Old and new sat side by side like twins.

"Is she asleep?" Mom whispered, tiptoeing toward my room.

I followed her.

She pushed the door open gently. "Lily, honey, Mom's coming in."

The room was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves outside the window.

"Lily? Are you sleeping?" Mom called again, even softer.

She waited a few seconds.

There was no answer. No rustle of blankets.

She turned on the light.

The bed was perfectly made, the comforter folded neatly at the end.

Mom's breathing changed.

"Mark!" Her voice began to shake. "Lily's gone!"

Dad came over, looked into the room, and his face darkened at once.

"She's getting out of control," he snapped, though his voice trembled. "Just because I scolded her, she runs away from home?"

"Keep your voice down." Mom glanced toward Noah and tugged at Dad's sleeve. "Don't scare him."

Dad got louder. "We went to three different stores to find the exact same doll for her. And this is what she does? A little grievance and she runs off? She really has no sense!"

Mom sank onto my bed and touched the smooth, empty sheet. "It's so late. Where could she go?"

"Where else? She's trying to scare us." Dad paced around the room. "Don't worry. She can't get far. Once she's cold and hungry, she'll come back on her own."

Noah stood in the doorway hugging his new remote-control car. "Where did Lily go?"

"Your sister was naughty and sneaked out," Dad said irritably. "Leave her alone. Let her think about what she did."

"But..." Mom tried to speak.

"No buts," Dad cut her off. "You spoil her too much. She's so young and already thinks she can threaten us by running away. What kind of behavior is that?"

From the living room, Noah called, "Mom, I'm hungry. Can I eat cake?"

Mom wiped at her eyes and stood. "Yes. We can eat."

They returned to the living room.

Mom opened the cake box. Bright red strawberries formed a circle on top of the cream.

She cut the cake into four pieces. One for Dad, one for Noah, and then she paused over the slice with the most strawberries.

"This one is for Lily," she said softly.

I watched them sit at the dining table.

Noah ate happily, cream smeared all over his face.

Dad ate in silence, still looking angry.

Mom took tiny bites, but her eyes kept drifting to the front door.

"It's sweet," Noah said. "Is Lily's sweet too?"

"Very sweet." Mom touched his head. "She can have it when she comes back."

But Lily was not coming back.

I wanted to tell them.

I could not make a sound.