I was only in tenth grade when I found out I was pregnant. When I told my parents, they didn’t shout at first. They just looked at me—cold, distant, like I was someone they didn’t recognize anymore. Then my father spoke. “You’ve brought disgrace to this family. From today on… you are no longer our daughter.”

I drove back to my hometown in my new car, the road as familiar as ever—but I was no longer the same girl who had once walked it in the rain.

The house was still there.

Smaller than I remembered.

Worn down. Faded. The gate rusted, the yard overgrown with weeds.

Time had not been kind to it.

I walked up to the door, took a deep breath…

And knocked.

Three times.

A girl opened it.

She looked about eighteen.

And for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

She looked like me.

Same eyes. Same features. Even the way she frowned.

It was like staring at a younger version of myself.

“Who are you looking for?” she asked politely.

Before I could answer, my parents appeared behind her.

They froze when they saw me.

My mother covered her mouth, her eyes already filling with tears.

My father’s face turned pale.

I let out a cold smile.

“So… now you regret it, don’t you?”

But before they could respond, the girl stepped closer to my mother and grabbed her hand.

“Mom… who is she?”

Her voice was soft, confused.

And everything changed.

The silence that followed was heavy.

My mother looked between us, trembling.

Finally, she whispered:

“She… is your sister.”

The ground seemed to disappear beneath me.

“My sister?” I repeated.