After five long years of my trafficking, the police finally brought me back to the Nelson family. The moment I stepped through the door, a girl about my age peeked out from behind my mother. Her name was Amelia Nelson, the child my parents had adopted after I disappeared. My mother, Amanda Nelson, held Amelia tightly, her body trembling. Her teary eyes met mine, tears spilling over. Yet those tears held no joy—only panic and resistance. My father, Samuel Nelson, moved to shield Amanda. When he spoke to me for the first time, his voice was distant and cold. "From now on, your name is Jessica Nelson. Learn the house rules from Amy. The most important one is to do nothing that makes your mother remember the past," he said, his gaze stern. I clung to the police officer's hand, afraid to let go. A confusing ache settled in my chest. 'Am I "the past"? Was I brought back not to be remembered, but to be forgotten?'