I’ve Spent 16 Years Locked Away Because My Parents Said The Air Would Kill Us. I Just Found Out It Was All A Lie To Hide The Fact That We Were Stolen. How Do I Save My Siblings Before They Catch Me?

That evening, dad comes into my room without knocking. I’m sitting on my bed, and I don’t see the bobby pin lockpick I made sitting right there on my desk until he walks over and picks it up.

His face goes completely cold and blank in a way that scares me more than if he was yelling. He asks what I’ve been doing in this super calm voice that makes my skin crawl.

I try to say I was just messing around, but he cuts me off. He starts going through my room, taking anything that could possibly be used as a tool.

He empties my desk drawers and checks under my mattress and goes through my closet. When he’s done, he tells me I’m grounded to my bed except for bathroom breaks, no exceptions.

Then he leaves without closing the door so he can watch me from the hallway. I wait until I hear him go downstairs before I move.

I have maybe two minutes before he comes back to check on me. I grab my real phone from the floorboard hiding spot and swap it with an old broken phone I’ve had in my drawer for years.

The broken one looks similar enough that hopefully he won’t notice right away. When dad comes back up, he sees the decoy phone on my nightstand and takes it.

I act really upset and defeated, slumping down on my bed like I’ve given up. He seems satisfied with my reaction and leaves again.

The real phone is back in the floorboard, my only connection to the outside world and all the evidence I’ve gathered. Late that night, I hear voices coming through the wall from mom and dad’s bedroom.

They’re arguing, and their voices are loud enough that I can make out some words. Dad says something about moving again and starting over somewhere else.

Mom sounds like she’s crying, and her voice is all high and stressed. I press my ear against the wall and hold my breath to hear better.

Dad keeps saying they don’t have a choice and they need to leave soon. Mom asks about us kids and what they’ll tell us.

My heart is racing because I realize they’re planning to run away and take us with them. They know someone is closing in on them.

Everything I’ve done to gather evidence and get help is making them panic. I need that welfare check to happen soon before they can pack us up and disappear to some new place where no one will ever find us.

I barely sleep that night, and when morning light starts coming through my window, I’m already awake and watching. Around 9:00, I see Heidi come out of her house and walk to the end of her driveway where a man in jeans and a polo shirt is waiting.

He has a notebook and he’s writing things down while she talks. She keeps looking over at our house and pointing, and I press myself against the wall next to the window so my parents won’t catch me watching if they walk past my room.

The man nods a lot and writes more notes, and Heidi gestures toward our windows and the front door. My heart is beating really fast because I know she got my note and she’s actually doing something about it.

The man takes out his phone and makes a call while Heidi waits, and they talk for maybe 15 more minutes before he gets in his car and drives away. Heidi looks directly at my window before going back inside, and I hope she can tell I’m grateful even though she can’t see me clearly.

I wait until I hear mom in the kitchen before I risk moving away from the window. I need to tell my siblings what I just saw, but we have to be careful about when and where we talk.

Dad is already in his office on a call and mom is making breakfast, so I use the bathroom and knock quietly on the door frame of my sister’s room on my way back. She looks up from her bed and I mouth the word “bathroom” and hold up five fingers for five minutes.

She nods once and I go back to my room to wait. My younger brother walks past in the hallway and I catch his eye and make the same gesture, and he understands immediately because we’ve gotten good at silent communication over the past few days.

When enough time has passed, I tell mom I need the bathroom again and she barely looks up from the eggs she’s cooking. My sister is already in there waiting, and my younger brother slips in right after me, and our other sibling comes in last and closes the door behind them.

The bathroom is tiny with all four of us crammed inside, but it’s the only room in the house without a window where someone could see us gathering. My sister sits on the edge of the tub and my younger brother leans against the sink while I stay by the door so I can hear if anyone comes down the hallway.

I keep my voice barely above a whisper and tell them about Heidi talking to the man with the notebook and how I think the welfare check is really going to happen. My sister’s face goes pale and she asks what we’re supposed to say when they come.

I remind her we agreed to tell the truth about everything we found in the shed. My younger brother keeps asking if we’re doing the right thing, his voice shaking, and I can see he’s really scared about what happens after we tell.

I explain again that we have to stick together and tell the exact same story about the evidence, about the filing cabinet and the newspaper clippings and the birth certificates with our real names. My other sibling hasn’t said anything yet but nods along, and I can tell they’re processing everything and trying to stay calm.

We go over the main points in whispers, agreeing to mention the shed specifically and the folders organized by year and to explain that we’re not actually sick because we’ve been breathing outside air with no problems. My sister is scared but she looks determined now, and she says we should talk about the fake medical condition name that doesn’t exist anywhere online.

My younger brother asks what happens if mom and dad try to stop us from talking to the police or social workers. I tell him that’s exactly why we need to speak up fast before they can interfere.

We practice staying calm and not getting too emotional because we need people to believe us, and my sister reminds everyone to be specific about dates and details. I can hear mom moving around in the kitchen, so I tell everyone to leave one at a time with a few minutes between so it doesn’t look suspicious.

My younger brother goes first, then my other sibling, then my sister, and I wait another few minutes before flushing the toilet and washing my hands like I actually used the bathroom. Back in my room, I pull the phone from its hiding spot in the floorboard and sit on my bed with my back to the door.

I look up the non-emergency police number for our area, and my finger hovers over the call button while I try to decide if this is the right move. Heidi already talked to that man, so maybe the welfare check is already in motion, but what if it’s not enough or takes too long and my parents really do try to run?

I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear, listening to it ring once, twice, and then I hear footsteps in the hallway coming toward my room. I panic and hit the end call button, then quickly go into the call history and delete the number.

Dad’s footsteps are getting closer and I shove the phone back into the floorboard hiding spot and barely get the board back in place before he appears in my doorway. He asks what I’m doing and I say, “I was just sitting here thinking.”

Which sounds stupid, but it’s all I can come up with. He stares at me for a long moment like he’s trying to figure out if I’m lying, and then he tells me to come downstairs for breakfast.

My heart is still beating hard from the close call as I follow him down, and I realize how dangerous this situation has gotten now that they’re watching us so carefully. At breakfast, nobody talks much, and the tension in the kitchen feels thick enough to cut.

Mom serves eggs and toast, but I can barely eat because my stomach is in knots. Dad watches all of us while he drinks his coffee, and I can tell he’s suspicious about something even if he doesn’t know exactly what.

The Sunlight of Truth

That afternoon, mom and dad call all of us into the living room and announce they need to do some maintenance on the air circulation system. Dad goes upstairs with his toolbox, and we hear drilling and banging sounds.

When he comes back down, he’s carrying my bedroom door. Mom explains that the doors need to come off temporarily to improve air flow throughout the house, and she says it in this fake cheerful voice that makes my skin crawl.

Dad takes down all four bedroom doors one by one and stacks them in the garage. Then mom goes into the bathroom and takes down the shower curtain too.