They Gave Me Away , Now They're Begging Me to Come Back

The name Sunny.

It had been buried the same day they sent me away.

Amos's expression turned cold, his patience finally snapping. "Is that how you talk to your parents?"

"Your mother got up at the crack of dawn to shop and cook for you, couldn't stop talking about you the whole time. Is this how you repay her?"

I laughed. A hollow, disbelieving laugh.

I swallowed the grievance churning inside me and looked at them both.

"And how have you repaid me?"

The two of them went silent. Neither had a word to say.

Maureen piped up from the side, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You pulled every string you could to transfer back here. We all know what you're really after."

"Playing the high-and-mighty victim now. Who's this performance for?"

Savannah hissed under her breath, "Maureen, that's enough!"

Maureen pouted, defiant. "Am I wrong? That's exactly what she's like!"

I couldn't be bothered to argue with them anymore. I stood up to leave.

"Stop right there!"

Amos called after me. He pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it onto the table in front of me.

"There's fifty thousand dollars on that card. Living expenses for your college years."

I didn't pick it up. I walked out of the mansion without looking back.

Everything behind me no longer had anything to do with me.

Savannah tried to follow, but Maureen held her back.

"Mom, can't you see what's going on?"

"She thinks it's not enough. What she wants is way more than that!"

Amos's face darkened. He let out a cold scoff.

"Sending her away was the best decision I ever made."

I heard every word.

I told myself not to care anymore. Not to let it hurt.

But the pain still twisted through my chest, sharp and raw, like something was clawing at me from the inside.

Was that really all I was to them? Something cheap and disposable?

All I wanted was to live my life in peace. Was that so wrong?

I went back to my apartment and collapsed onto the couch.

I just needed a moment. A moment to let the exhaustion and the hurt settle.

Then three masked men burst out of my bedroom.

They moved fast. The first one clamped his hand over my mouth before I could make a sound. The others grabbed my arms, rough and brutal, and started tearing at my clothes.

The third one held up a phone, grinning as he snapped photos.

The things coming out of his mouth were filthy.

When they were done taking pictures, they tried to force themselves on me.

My vision went red. I fought with everything I had.

Then I remembered the paring knife I kept hidden under the couch cushion.

I ripped it out and slashed wildly at them.

"Get out! Get the hell away from me!"

"I swear to God, I'll kill every last one of you!"

At first they laughed, amused, trying to grab the knife out of my hand.

But I was stronger than they expected. They couldn't get close. One of them caught a gash across his arm, and they finally scrambled out, cursing as they went.

I ran to the door and threw the deadbolt. Then I checked every corner of the apartment, every closet, every shadow.

Only when I was sure I was alone did I sink to the floor, half-dressed, shaking.

The tears came then. I couldn't hold them back anymore.

I called the police that same night. I thought it was over.

Until I opened my phone the next morning.

The campus forum was flooded with explicit photos of me. They were everywhere.

Half of them were real. The other half had been deliberately edited.

The comments section had hundreds of posts, every single one mocking me, tearing me apart.

One comment in particular had leaked all of my personal information. Name, age, major. Every detail, letter-perfect.

And tacked on at the end, casual as anything:

She's always been like this. Total slut.