She Took My Identity, My Future, and My Name

My father sighed and turned to the officer.

“Can you give us a few minutes? Just to say goodbye?”

The officer looked at me, then back at him, and finally nodded.

“You’ve got ten. Make it quick.”

He led us to a small, plain reception room.

I sat down on the cold chair, my voice barely audible.

“What else is there to say? Haven’t you said enough already?”

Austin was on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently.

“Don’t worry. We’re already here. She’s waiting outside.”

I frowned. “Who’s waiting?”

The door creaked open.

Lucia walked in, her steps light, her smile dazzling.

“Sister,” she said sweetly, “thank you for giving me the chance to go to college.”

My father straightened up, voice solemn.

“Lucia came all this way to thank you in person.”

I nodded numbly.

Lucia turned to Austin, pouting.

“You made me get a tattoo on my fingertip just to blur my prints. Do you know how much that hurt?”

I glanced down at my own hands—bandaged, blistered, raw from the sulfuric acid. I said nothing. I just smiled, faintly and bitterly.

Then Lucia stretched her arms toward Austin.

“I need a hug. I want comfort.”

Without hesitation, she stepped into his embrace.

Austin looked over at me, eyes flickering with guilt he didn’t bother to hide well.

“Alice… you know Lucia and I have to keep up appearances now. People know I’ve always been with you. If I act distant, they’ll get suspicious.”

He tightened his hold on Lucia.

“We’ll break up eventually. Once everything settles down.”

I stared at them in silence, then stood up.

“You’re both excellent actors,” I said quietly.

I walked to the door myself. The officers were waiting. I didn’t look back.

That night, I curled up on the thin prison mattress, my body aching, my fingers throbbing.

But what hurt more than the burns was my grandmother’s sobbing, echoing in my mind.

And my mother’s final words.

She had told me to fight for my life. That no matter what happened, I must live with dignity, strive for a future. That I must never give up.

So I didn’t.

I worked harder than anyone. I studied through the pain, the hunger, the silence. I wanted to make her proud in heaven. I wanted to become someone whose name meant something.

But now, it was all gone.

All those years of effort, all my dreams, all my mother’s hopes—destroyed in a single decision.

My father’s coldness. Austin’s betrayal. They crushed me like stones pressing into my chest.

I wept.

But no one cared. No one heard me.

“Mom,” I whispered into the darkness, “I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect what you left behind.”

The next morning, we were called out to the common area. It was time to watch the news. Everyone sat on small stools, faces dull, eyes fixed on the TV.

And then—I saw her.

Lucia.

She wore a crisp uniform blouse and a red ribbon pinned proudly to her chest. The camera zoomed in on her as she smiled graciously under the spotlight.

“I owe this achievement to my mother’s memory,” she told the reporter. “She was a teacher. She died protecting her students from a violent man. Her courage inspires me every day.”

She was telling my story. My mother’s story.

That was the reason I studied every night until dawn. That was why I never gave up.

My breath caught. I lowered my head, but the tears still fell.

The screen cut to my father.

“Mr. Brock,” the reporter asked, “we heard you have a niece who lost her parents and was raised by you. Recently, she was arrested for theft. Do you have any comment?”

My father’s face turned hard.

“She’s a disgrace to our family. I don’t want to talk about her. I just hope her bad reputation doesn’t interfere with my daughter’s civil service exam.”

The final shot zoomed in on Austin and Lucia.

“Rumor has it you were an academic couple. Now that you're entering college together, will your relationship be affected?”

Austin smiled at the camera. Lucia turned to him with a giggle.

And then, in front of the nation, they kissed.