Part 1They Forgot I Had No Passport

When my parents rolled their luggage out of the elevator, I had just walked through the front door, exhausted after a twelve-hour double shift.

The moment my mother saw me, she froze. A tight, performative smile quickly masked her surprise.

"Oh, Chloe. Your dad, Tina, and I are heading out for a trip abroad. I guess it slipped my mind to tell you." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, "You should buy a ticket on the next flight and catch up with us."

I stood there, frozen, the words catching in my throat.

Before I could speak, my father threw a dismissive glance my way. "Since you’re home, grab those suitcases and load them into the trunk."

The rear window of the sedan rolled down, revealing my sister, Tina. She was wearing a designer dress that cost more than I made in an entire year of working part-time. She gave a bright, impatient wave. "Mom, Dad, hurry up! If we don't leave now, we're going to miss pre-boarding in first class!"

The car doors slammed shut. They sped off into the late afternoon light, kicking up a cloud of dust, without a single backward glance.

Late that night, I sat alone in the dark living room.

On the glass coffee table lay a high-end pet resort confirmation slip, tossed aside carelessly. It was filled out in my mother’s elegant handwriting—pages of meticulous, loving instructions on how to care for her toy poodle.

A quiet, bitter laugh escaped my chest.

They had planned every detail of a dog's life down to the hour. But they had forgotten me.

They had also forgotten that I didn't even have a passport.

How was I supposed to board an international flight?

As the sky turned a bruised gray before dawn, my joints stiffened. I stood up, packed my life into a single suitcase, and walked out.

If I was destined to be the one they always forgot, then starting today, I would make it easy for them. I would forget them, too.

* * *

Five days after moving into my tiny, cramped apartment, my mother called.

It was mid-afternoon. I had just finished assembling a cheap, second-hand wardrobe I’d dragged home from a local thrift store.

I swiped to answer, but before I could say hello, her voice cut through the line, sharp and accusing.

"Chloe, what on earth is wrong with you? It’s been five days. Why aren't you here yet? What kind of childish tantrum are you throwing now?"

"Do you have any idea how exhausting this trip has been without you here to handle the luggage? Your sister had to carry her own bags, and her hands are completely blistered. Your father and I both pulled muscles in our backs. If you had just come when you were told, none of this would have happened. This is entirely your fault."

Listening to her utterly logical, matter-of-fact blame, I felt a strange urge to laugh.

"I couldn't go, Mom. I don't have a passport."

The line went quiet for a beat.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I don't have a passport," I repeated. My voice was flat, devoid of the old urge to explain or apologize. "I can't leave the country. I can't buy an international ticket, I can't pass security, and I can't come find you."

There was a rustle of movement on the other end. Then, Tina’s voice drifted through, soft and trembling with a delicate, practiced guilt.

"Chloe, oh my god, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I forgot to tell you... that day we went to get our passports done..."

Before she could finish her performance, my father snatched the phone.

"Are you really going to ruin this trip over some petty grievance? Your sister has been so sick, this vacation was supposed to help her recover. Do you have to make everything miserable?"

"I'm not trying to make anything miserable," I said quietly. "I simply don't have the legal documents to travel."

My mother’s voice came back, high and defensive. "What do you mean you don't have them? You're lying just to punish us. Just because we didn't wait around for you at the house, you're acting like this? You are so incredibly selfish. Would it have killed you to just join us a day late?"

My father took the phone back, his impatience bleeding through the speaker. "Alright, enough. Buy a ticket and get over here right now. Stop making your sister cry; you've completely ruined the mood. When you get here, you owe Tina an apology."

The line went dead.

I looked down at the dark screen. The call logs showed the conversation had lasted exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds.

Not one of them had asked where I was staying, if I had eaten, or if I even had enough money to survive.

I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. It was a strange, hollow sensation. The well had simply run dry.