My heart instantly leapt into my throat.

I tried to wrap my arms around Dad's legs, desperately attempting to stop him. "Dad, don't go in there!"

By now, the suitcase had already begun to give off an unpleasant smell.

"Leave her alone," Mom said sharply. "The food I left on the table hasn't been touched. It's sitting there exactly how I left it. She's clearly determined to fight us on this!"

Dad's hand slowly dropped from the doorknob.

Amelia looked up then, clutching Mom's neck with a timid grip.

"Dad… I'm scared to share a room with Ninette… She was really scary yesterday. I want to sleep with Mom instead," she murmured.

Those words were the final straw, snuffing out the final trace of hesitation in Dad's eyes. He turned away, not sparing the door another glance. "Forget it. Let her cool off by herself. She's so stubborn. She's nothing like us!"

With that, they turned and made their way to the living room.

From beginning to end, no one looked back at the door.

I slumped against the wooden door and could faintly smell what was seeping out through the cracks. It was a smell that even I was frightened by.

They were all blaming me.

They blamed my stubbornness, my immaturity, and the fact that I'd scared Amelia, but they would never know that I wasn't throwing a tantrum.

I just couldn't leave this room anymore.

Late at night, Amelia suddenly started crying in the master bedroom, and I jolted awake.

I had spent the night curled up on the rug in the entryway, terrified of scaring her, so why was she crying?

Mom quickly pulled her into an embrace as she asked gently, "What is it, sweetie? Did you have a nightmare?"

Amelia sobbed, her words coming out in broken snatches. "I… dreamed we were on that big plane. There was a beach and a castle, but I woke up, and we're still at home…"

The weight of her disappointment made her cry even harder.

Mom's expression darkened. She turned toward my bedroom door, her voice rising into a shout.

"Ninette Orson! Can't you hear your sister crying? How can you be so heartless that you won't even come out and check on her? She's your sister! Don't you care about her at all?"

Dad was woken up by the commotion.

When he saw Amelia crying uncontrollably and an angry Mom, his face turned cold.

"Ninette, it seems your mom was right. We spoiled you far too much, and it turned you into someone cold and selfish. Maybe a real lesson is the only way you'll finally grow up!"

I stood just outside their door.

The injustice felt like countless needles were pricking at my very soul.

It wasn't that I didn't care or that I was cold. It was just that they simply couldn't see me anymore.

…

The next morning, the doorbell rang. Mom quickly went to open it with a flattering smile plastered on her face.

Standing on the other side of the door was Lauren Wilcox, who lived downstairs with her son, Micah Jones.

I stiffened.

The memory was still fresh in my mind. A year ago, when Micah pushed me down the stairs and I had scraped my knee, Mom sprang into action like a lioness protecting her cub.

She stormed down to their apartment to give them a piece of her mind and even ended up slapping Micah in the heat of the moment.

From then on, Mom and Lauren had been on bad terms and hadn't spoken a word to each other since.

So, why would Mom invite her over?

Curiosity pulled me closer.

Mom served her a cup of coffee with uncharacteristic eagerness. "Lauren, I heard you work at an airline. Amy was so heartbroken that she couldn't go on her trip. Is there any way you could help us get a couple of tickets for the next available flights? We don't mind paying extra."

Lauren sat there, holding her cup with an air of superiority.

I watched Mom lower herself in front of someone she used to hate just so Amelia could go on a trip, and the spot where my heart used to be throbbed so painfully that it felt like my heart was splintering.

Satisfied, Lauren finally stood up and left.

The moment the door closed, Amelia cheered and threw herself into Mom's arms, her face flushed with excitement. "This is awesome! We can go out and have fun tomorrow. Mom, you're amazing!"

Mom returned her hug, but there wasn't much joy on her face. Instead, there was a trace of complexity and exhaustion as she said softly, "I'd do anything for you, sweetie."

But I knew Mom had endured far more than she let on.

Before Lauren left, she had lowered her voice into a sharp whisper, and I caught every word she said.

"You were pretty gutsy when you slapped Micah back then, weren't you?"

Then, in the shadows of the entryway, I watched as Mom raised her own hand and slapped herself, over and over again. Even now, the faint red welts on her cheeks hadn't faded yet.

Amelia seemed to sense something was off and asked quietly, "Mom… did you get a ticket for Ninette, too?"

Mom's gaze flickered before she answered a little too quickly, "No."

At the same time, she instinctively moved her hand behind her back. But I saw it clearly. She was clutching four boarding passes in her lowered hand.

In that instant, I rushed toward her, crying as I tried to hold onto her.

"Mom, you don't have to hide them because I can't go anyway. A slap in exchange for a ticket… I wasn't worth all that effort."

When Dad heard the news about the tickets, he started making a racket in the living room, but my room remained completely silent.

"What's going on with Ninette? She hasn't made a sound since yesterday."

He finally noticed something was off and frowned toward my tightly shut door.

Upon hearing this, Mom looked up as well, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

Just then, Amelia scurried over to the fridge. A moment later, her lips trembled, and she wailed, "Mom! Two of my cheese sticks are missing! My favorite strawberry ones are gone!"

Mom's face hardened instantly, and she blurted, "Ninette must've eaten them!"

Dad marched over to the fridge and scoffed. "Not just that. Look at this. Several bottles of my beer are missing, too!"

"Ninette!" Mom was shaking with anger. "You're getting worse and worse! You're only ten years old, and you're already drinking alcohol. What are you turning into?"

"No wonder she won't come out," Dad added. "She probably drank too much and passed out in there. That worthless brat!"

Their accusations came at me in a relentless barrage, but I saw the truth for what it was.

Amelia quietly pushed the empty wrappers from the cheese sticks she had eaten into the crevices of the couch cushions, and the faint scent of beer was wafting up from the drain where it had been poured down.

I looked at her innocent face, then at the certainty and disgust on Mom's and Dad's faces.

All at once, I felt drained.

…

The next day, in the airport lounge, Amelia pressed herself against the glass, watching the planes with bright, eager eyes.

Dad casually lifted the suitcase onto the security conveyor belt. Without warning, the alarm light flashed.

An officer looked up, his expression grim. "Sir, we need to open this up for inspection."

Dad frowned, clearly annoyed by the inconvenience. "What's the problem? This is the suitcase I bring on my business trips. It's just toiletries and some over-the-counter medicine!"

I wanted to remind him that while Mom was busy punishing me, he had already emptied that suitcase. Right now, the only thing inside was me.

Several police officers quickly gathered around, staring at the screen and speaking in hushed voices, their expressions tense.

"You can't leave until it's opened!" they warned.

Mom immediately shrieked in protest, "Are you going to reimburse us if we miss our flight? It's just an old suitcase. What's there to inspect?"

"Exactly," Dad said impatiently. "I've used it for years without any issues. Your machine must be broken!"

Passengers nearby began to glance over, whispering among themselves.

"Please cooperate with our investigation."

The lead officer's tone was firm and left no room for argument. His colleagues stepped forward, forming a human wall that radiated pressure.

Dad's bravado vanished instantly.

Mom glanced anxiously toward the boarding gate, then at the officers surrounding them. In the end, she crouched down reluctantly.

"Fine. I'll open it. Just hurry up. We're in a rush!"

Under the watchful gaze of countless strangers, she grabbed the zipper.

With a soft rasp, it slid all the way open.