They Forgot My Name, They Forgot My Ticket, They Forgot Me Chapter 02

They Forgot My Name, They Forgot My Ticket, They Forgot Me Chapter 02

After Yasmin came back, I did offer to leave.

Mom spent the whole afternoon in tears, begging me to stay. “Blood or not, we raised you for sixteen years. You’re our daughter.”

Dad smoked half a pack outside the door. “I looked into it—your birth parents are already gone. You’d have nowhere to go. Yasmin just needs time. Once you two get to know each other, you’ll be sisters.”

So I stayed.

But every time my parents showed me any kindness, Yasmin would fly into a hysterical rage and threaten suicide.

At first, my parents pretended not to care about me. Then, somewhere along the way, the act stopped being an act.

I sat in the attic, trying to drink water to fill the hollow ache in my stomach. I looked at the research institute’s email in my inbox, and my heart slowly steadied.

This trip was supposed to celebrate me and Yasmin graduating together. But my parents were worried about her job anxiety, so they’d taken her along to relax, too.

No one asked about my job search. No one cared.

That afternoon, Cedric came by with two gifts.

One was a Louis Vuitton bag—boutique purchase, with a twenty-three-thousand-dollar receipt inside. He handed it to Yasmin. “You’re working now. Can’t look like a student anymore. This is the one you posted on Instagram about wanting—see if you like it.”

She slung it over her shoulder and spun in front of the mirror.

Then he came up to the attic with the other gift. “Here. For you.”

I had no expectations. His gifts for Yasmin were always top-dollar; mine were always bargain-bin.

I unwrapped it. A Coach bag—on sale, with one fewer zero on the price tag. Still, it was more than I’d expected.

“You’ll need one for work too.”

My lips had just started to lift when he spoke again. “You got an offer from Lind Group, right? Turn it down. Go somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“I asked around. Yasmin applied for the same position. If you drop out, she can take your spot.”

His tone was so casual, like he was discussing the weather.

“You took her parents for sixteen years. You owe her.”

So the bag wasn’t a gift. It was the price of my job.

I asked him, “When’s the last time you called me by my name?”

He frowned, like I was a child throwing a tantrum. “Stop it. The deadline’s tomorrow—turn it down today.”

“Back when Yasmin first came, you told me if my parents didn’t want me, you still would. But it’s been six years, and you haven’t called me by my name—not even once.”

Everything I said was true. But his face only darkened.

“If Yasmin hadn’t been switched at birth, she’d have been the one I grew up with. Stop playing the victim. Make sure you reject the Lind Group offer.”

He turned and walked out.

Soon after, Yasmin’s voice carried up, deliberately pitched loud enough for me to hear. “Cedric, you’re drenched in sweat! Come cool off in my room. Try not to go up to the attic so much—you might get heatstroke.”

He chuckled. “I remember you like mango smoothies. I ordered it before I came—it’s already at the door.”

Two seconds later, the door opened, then the sound of straws being pushed into cups.

Two cups. Neither was for me.

My phone buzzed—I’d been added to a group chat. The lead tagged me: “Jocelyn Vance, just bring your clothes. We’ve got everything else ready for you. See you in three days. Welcome, Jocelyn Vance!”

Others flooded the chat with welcome emojis.

My vision blurred. Tears splashed onto the screen, one after another.

In this house, I was “that one.”

Two thousand miles away, they welcomed Jocelyn Vance.