Chapter 2

"They're both real. Same address, same number, but different owner names. Issue date... both July 15, 2005."

"That's impossible!"

James and I said simultaneously.

"See for yourself."

It was true. The certificate numbers were identical.

The younger officer ran a search. Half a minute later, he looked up with a confused expression:

"The system shows the owner is Robert Williams. David ... no record found."

"What do you mean no record found!"

I grabbed the police tablet.

In the search results, both David and Linda 's names were followed by red exclamation marks displaying [DATA DOES NOT EXIST].

Officer Mitchell wiped his brow:

"Miss, did you get the address wrong?"

"I grew up here! I remember every single scratch on these walls!"

I rushed to the TV cabinet and yanked open the bottom drawer with force:

"Look! There's a hidden compartment here—it's where my dad used to hide money!"

The drawer opened.

The compartment was still there, but it was empty.

James's voice was calm:

"This girl's mental state might not be quite right. It's Christmas, we don't want to make things difficult for her, but she's disrupting our holiday."

Officer Mitchell looked at me:

"Miss, why don't you find somewhere else to stay. After the holidays..."

I interrupted:

"I'm not leaving. This is my parents' house. I have to be here tonight! Who knows where they'll take my parents if I leave!"

Sarah screamed:

"What are you talking about!"

Just then, Officer Mitchell's phone rang.

He answered and walked outside.

Through the glass, I could see him nodding continuously, his expression growing more serious.

Two minutes later he came back in:

"I just received notification that David and Linda are involved in a financial dispute and fled the country this afternoon. This house... was mortgaged to Mr. Williams last month."

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning:

"That's impossible! I talked to them on the phone this morning!"

"You can check the immigration records."

Officer Mitchell handed me his phone.

On the screen were two familiar photos.

Mom and Dad's passport information. Departure time: 3 PM today. Destination: Cambodia.

"This has to be fake!" I shouted.

"Why would they run? They've always lived honest lives—where would a financial dispute come from?"

"That requires further investigation. But right now, the house does belong to the Williams family. If you keep causing trouble, we'll have to take you in for disturbing the peace."

"The evidence is conclusive." Officer Mitchell put away his phone.

"please leave."

I had no choice but to be forced out of what used to be my home.

Late at night, I bought bread at a convenience store and sat on the sidewalk eating it.

I called my parents several times. Each call went to [TEMPORARILY UNAVAILABLE].

"Mom, Dad, where did you go! I clearly saw you before I washed my hands for dinner!"

Thinking about this, my tears stubbornly fell to the ground.

In my phone gallery, I flipped through photos of my parents one by one.

Last year's birthday—Mom making me dinner while Dad snuck bites of cake.

Family mountain hike—Dad panting from exhaustion while Mom laughed at his lack of exercise.

Our chat messages stopped yesterday afternoon. Mom had written:

[Dinner's ready, just waiting for you to come home and eat.]

Dad sent a cash gift:

[For my girl to buy snacks.]

Dad's latest Instagram post was from three days ago, sharing a health article.

Before that was last week's photo of a gathering with old colleagues. He looked so happy.

A relative had commented below:

[Get together in a few days?]

Dad replied:

[Sure, once my daughter comes home we'll all meet up.]

That reply was timestamped yesterday at 4 PM. But the immigration records showed they'd already left the country at 3 PM today.

All their social media accounts were updating normally, as if they were still somewhere living their ordinary lives.

Except I couldn't reach them. Except their home had been taken by strangers.