Blood drips from my nose onto the marble floor of the foyer—the same spot where Mom said I’d never be enough.\n\nFive years ago. The day after my adoption anniversary. Lena stands over me, smirking, phone in hand. ‘Crying again, Molly? Maybe Dad was right—you’re defective.’ The door slams as they leave me there, unclean, unworthy.\n\nBut this time… I don’t cry. I laugh. A cold, sharp sound that surprises even me. Because I remember how this ends—with a knife in my ribs and her whispering, ‘You should’ve stayed quiet.’\n\nI wipe the blood on my sleeve and stand. No more begging. No more pretending. I grab my laptop, transfer every file, erase my presence, and walk out.\n\nThe last thing I see before closing the door forever: our family portrait, cracked down the middle.