I was ten years old when my family locked me inside our empty house, drove away, and never looked back.
I still remember the exact shade of the living room wall that morning. Pale blue, with a small scratch near the baseboard where my sister Jessica had dragged her suitcase. I sat on the floor, hugging my knees, waiting for someone to call my name.
It was moving day.
Boxes were stacked everywhere. The air smelled like cardboard and dust. My parents, Doug and Carol Mitchell, had been packing for weeks. This was supposed to be our fresh start.
