They Forgot My Name, They Forgot My Ticket, They Forgot Me Chapter 01

They Forgot My Name, They Forgot My Ticket, They Forgot Me Chapter 01

At the train station, I was stopped at the gate—my ID wouldn’t pull up any ticket information.

Mom glanced back at me. “Oh, that one, when I was booking, I suddenly couldn’t remember your name, so I forgot to buy yours. Just buy your own.”

I forced a smile and nodded.

Ever since Yasmin Vance was found six years ago, I—the adopted daughter who’d been switched at birth—had become invisible in this family. Not even worthy of a name.

Because Yasmin said my name was originally hers. After that, whenever she heard my name, she’d fly into a hysterical rage and threaten to end her own life.

So from then on, I was only ever called “that one.”

I opened the ticketing app. All tickets to Santa Monica for the next three days were sold out.

By the time I looked up, my parents and Yasmin had already vanished into the crowd.

I messaged the family group chat: “Mom, Dad—I can’t get a ticket. How do I meet up with you?”

No one replied.

An hour later, Yasmin posted a selfie. Mom replied instantly: “Who’s this big star?” Dad sent a flower emoji.

My childhood friend Cedric Grant transferred thirty thousand dollars, with the memo: “Yasmin’s travel fund.”

No one replied to me. No one cared if I made the trip.

I closed the app and opened my email. Two offers: one from the local Lind Group, and one from a research institute two thousand miles away. I chose the latter without a second thought.

From now on, I was going to find my own name.

***

The house was shut tight, the air thick and sticky. I dragged my suitcase up to the attic and gulped down lukewarm water from the bottle on the table. The creaky fan pushed a thin wave of cool air over me.

The attic was barely fifty square feet—freezing in winter, boiling in summer. The ceiling was barely five feet high; I had to crouch to move around. This was all the space I had in this house.

The day Yasmin was brought back, she saw my room and broke down in hysterics. “In the orphanage, I was crammed into a bunk bed. And now someone else is living in the room that should have been mine.”

My parents spent the whole afternoon comforting her. Then they told me to give up my room and just squeeze into the attic for now. They said once Yasmin accepted me, I could move back in and share the room with her.

I thought if I was patient enough, obedient enough, I’d eventually find my place in this family again. But what I ended up losing was even my name.

The next morning, I took my ID and the family records folder I’d snuck out of my parents’ room and went to the office to transfer my permanent address to the research institute’s location. If I was leaving, I was leaving for good.

The paperwork would take a week—the same day they’d be back from their trip.

I got up early to buy the freshest vegetables from the market. I was going to say a real goodbye at the dinner table. After this, I probably wouldn’t see them again.

The door opened just as I carried the last dish out of the kitchen. Yasmin glanced at the table, clamped a hand over her mouth, and ran to the bathroom—the sound of her gagging followed.

Mom frowned and shook her head at me. “Yasmin gets carsick. She can’t stomach anything greasy. Go make her some plain oatmeal.”

“Okay. You and Dad eat first.”

“We’ll pass too. She can’t stand the smell. If you want to eat, take it to the kitchen.”

I looked at the blister on my finger from the hot pot and didn’t say a word.

Half an hour later, I brought the oatmeal to Yasmin’s room. As I came out, Mom handed me a tote bag. “I brought you something from Santa Monica.”

A crystal ball with a little mermaid inside. A sharp sting shot through my eyes. For the first time in six years, Mom had actually thought of me.

As I passed Yasmin’s room, I heard her on the phone. “Did you see the photo? That crystal ball was a free gift from a tourist spot—you get it for scanning a QR code. She actually almost cried over it.”

“She’s got some nerve. She knows she’s not really their kid, but she just keeps clinging on…”

I went back to the kitchen. The dishes I’d made had all been thrown away. Dad glanced at me as he poured water. “Oh—that. I figured you weren’t eating, so I dumped it.”

I muttered a quiet “Mm.”

I should never have hoped for affection where there was no blood. That was my own fault.