After Being Sold, I Ran Back Home

[Awakening]

When I opened my eyes, I saw Aunt Linda sitting on the edge of the room, counting a small stack of red hundred-dollar bills with a gleeful expression. She wet her fingers with spit, laughing scornfully, “Treating a little girl like she’s some kind of treasure! Let’s see how you boast after she’s sold!”

I didn’t make a sound. In my previous life, I had cried out, vowing to remember her face and promising to come back for revenge. That outburst had cost me dearly. The traffickers gouged out my eyes, broke my limbs, and tore out my tongue, forcing me to beg on the streets. My mother went mad with grief, and by the time she passed away, she was only thirty years old. My father’s hair turned white overnight. He searched endlessly and finally found me, but by then, I was terminally ill. I died in his arms, my life reduced to a whisper.

Now, I’ve been given a second chance. This time, I stayed quiet, watching, and waiting for the right moment.

---

Aunt Linda stuffed the money in her bag, then turned to the traffickers. “This girl’s as sneaky as they come. Make sure you sell her far, far away. She can never come back.”

“She’s just a useless girl, and they treat her like gold!” she sneered, spitting at me. The traffickers chuckled nervously.

“Don’t worry,” one of the men said, “but you’re pretty cold-hearted. She’s your niece, isn’t she?”

“Niece, my foot! If she’s out of the picture, all that money goes to us. My son is the only true heir of the Rivera family!”

The traffickers exchanged amused glances. “You’ve got a black heart, lady—born for this kind of work.”

Their laughter blended with the sound of a car horn outside. I knew that if I didn’t act now, I’d lose my chance to escape.

I looked across the room and saw a few older girls, all pretty, sitting silently. I nudged the girl nearest to me with my foot and whispered, “I’m scared.”

She opened her eyes, glanced toward the door, and leaned closer. Pressing a small nail clipper into my hand, she whispered, “We’ll run together when the time comes.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes half-closed as I quietly began working on the ropes binding my wrists.

The night was pitch black when the van crossed a small bridge. The older girl grabbed my hand, yanked the door open, and pulled me out with her.

“The little brats are escaping!” one of the traffickers shouted.

“Damn it! After them!” another yelled.

We hit the water hard. I couldn’t swim, but the girl held onto me tightly and pulled me to the shore. We ran into the forest, stumbling over roots and rocks in the darkness.

At some point, she dragged me down into the brush, crouching low. The thick trees provided cover, and we held our breaths as the traffickers cursed and searched nearby. I was shaking uncontrollably, but she hugged me tightly. Eventually, their voices faded, and we heard the van start up and drive away.

I finally let out a small sob. “I want my mom.”

She stroked my hair, her voice steady. “I’ll take you back to her. I promise.”

We trudged through the forest, her hand gripping mine firmly. By dawn, we reached a main road. A kind stranger let us use their phone to call the police. Exhausted, I sat at the roadside and fell asleep, my head resting on my knees.

---

I woke to a sharp slap across my face.

“You little brat! Running off with your sister like that! Get up, we’re going home!”

Dazed, I looked up. Two men were dragging the older girl toward their van. She screamed, “No! I don’t know them! Call the police, please!”

“Help us!” she begged, her voice desperate.

I clung to her leg, refusing to let go, but one of the men grabbed me by the arm and tossed me aside like a rag doll. Pain shot through me as I hit the ground, and I burst into loud, wailing cries.

Morning commuters passed by, some glancing our way before hurrying off. My panic rose. I lunged forward and bit down hard on one of the men’s legs, refusing to let go no matter how much he yelled and kicked.

“Let go, you little monster!” he roared.

“Don’t touch my sister! I already called the police!” the girl shouted, struggling fiercely.

Enraged, the men slapped us both hard across the face. I tasted blood in my mouth. Instead of quieting me, it made me cry louder.

“I want my mom!” I screamed. “You’re not my dad! You’re bad people! Mommy, help me!”

Finally, a woman from the growing crowd of onlookers stepped forward. She scooped me into her arms and snapped, “Who are you? What kind of people hit children like this?”

The older girl seized the moment, clutching at the woman’s arm. “They’re traffickers! Please, help us! I just graduated high school—I’m supposed to start college!”

Her words sparked a wave of anger among the crowd. I joined in, sobbing, “Mommy said she’d come home after work, but they took me! I want my mommy!”

The traffickers began to back away, their faces pale. “Let’s just go,” one muttered, but the crowd wasn’t having it.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you’re not guilty, explain yourselves!” someone shouted, blocking their path.