Unbroken

The hushed voices from downstairs filtered through the thin walls, a familiar symphony of discomfort. You knew they were talking about you again, about your behavior, about the choice you were being offered – adoption by Sarah. A bitter laugh caught in your throat.

Trapped. That's what you felt like. Trapped in this house that used to be yours, in this life that felt increasingly alien. The weight of your secrets, heavy and suffocating, pressed down on your chest. You retreated to your room, the only place that offered a semblance of sanctuary, and locked the door. The familiar click of the lock was a small act of defiance.

From your locker safe, you retrieved the worn tape player, a relic of a happier time, a direct line to the past you couldn't let go of. Placing the headphones over your ears, you pressed play, the familiar, crackling sound filling your head. Your mother's voice, vibrant and full of life, singing the alphabet with a younger, giggling you.

Then, the shift. The sudden fear in her voice, the frantic warnings, the chilling sounds that followed. A knot of dread tightened in your stomach, a familiar ache of pain and confusion.