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?

His face goes from angry to scared. Mom is still crying and reaching for us, but the officers keep them separated from us.

Maggie Bishop insists we all go outside so she can talk to us away from our parents. The officers escort us through the front door and onto the lawn.

I step outside into real outside air surrounded by strangers for the first time I can actually remember. The sunlight is so bright after being inside that I have to squint.

It feels overwhelming and wonderful at the same time. I can hear birds and cars and the world is so much bigger and louder than it ever seemed through windows.

Reclaiming a Stolen Identity

My siblings cluster around me and we’re all blinking in the brightness. Neighbors are starting to come out of their houses to watch what’s happening.

Heidi is standing near the police cars, and when I look at her she gives me this small encouraging nod. I feel grateful that she believed me enough to help.

Maggie starts asking us questions in a calm gentle voice while the officers keep our parents inside the house. I can see mom and dad through the front window watching us with these desperate expressions on their faces.

The grass is cool and slightly wet under my bare feet, and the air smells like flowers and car exhaust and freedom. Even though I’m scared about what happens next, I know we did the right thing by speaking up.

My younger brother is still crying and my sister puts her arm around him. We stand together in the front yard telling our story to people who can actually help us escape.

Maggie pulls out a tablet and starts asking me basic things like my name and age and how long we’ve lived in the house. I answer as clearly as I can even though my voice shakes, and she writes down everything I say without interrupting.

She asks about the evidence in the shed and I tell her about the filing cabinet and the newspaper clippings and the forged documents. My sister steps forward and confirms what I’m saying, her voice stronger than mine.

She explains how we all tested breathing outside air with no reaction. My younger brother nods when Maggie asks if this is true, and my other sibling quietly says yes.

Through the front window, I can see mom crying with her hands over her face while one officer stands near her. Dad is arguing with the other officer, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

Maggie asks if our parents ever hit us or hurt us physically. I tell her about mom grabbing my arms hard enough to leave bruises when I was seven.

My siblings share other moments of being locked in rooms or having things taken away. Maggie keeps writing everything down with this serious expression.

She asks if we want to talk to our parents and all four of us say no at the same time. One of the officers walks over to his patrol car and picks up his radio, speaking into it with urgent hand gestures.

Within minutes I hear sirens in the distance getting louder. Three more police cars pull up to our house with lights flashing.

Neighbors start coming out onto their porches and lawns pointing and talking to each other. I realize our whole street is watching this happen.

More officers get out of the cars and start talking to the first two. Someone brings out yellow tape that they start stringing across our driveway.

The officer who is with dad walks him toward one of the patrol cars with a hand on his arm. I see metal handcuffs on dad’s wrists catching the sunlight.

Mom sees this and makes this horrible wailing sound. Then her knees give out and she collapses onto the grass.

An officer catches her before she hits the ground completely and helps her sit down. A female officer kneels next to her.

I feel dizzy watching all of this, like I’m floating above my body looking down at the scene. My sister grabs my hand and squeezes it hard, and I squeeze back because I need something solid to hold on to.

Maggie talks quietly into her own phone. Then she tells us, “Medical staff are coming to check us over and make sure we’re okay.”

She says, “We’re safe now and that nobody is going to make us go back inside that house.”

An ambulance arrives about 10 minutes later, parking behind the police cars. Two EMTs get out carrying bags of equipment.

They introduce themselves, but I don’t catch their names because everything feels too loud and bright and fast. The EMTs are gentle and keep telling us we’re safe and they just want to make sure we’re healthy.

They check our vital signs right there on the lawn, taking our blood pressure and listening to our hearts and looking in our ears. One of them asks if we’ve had any trouble breathing or any skin reactions, and we all say no.

They wrap blankets around our shoulders even though it’s warm outside, and I realize I’m shaking. The EMTs talk to Maggie and the officers, and then they tell us we need to go to the hospital for a full checkup.

I watch as two officers walk dad to a patrol car and help him into the back seat. Another officer does the same with mom, who is still crying.

My younger brother starts crying too when he sees them being taken away, and my sister puts her arm around him. We climb into the back of the ambulance and sit on the bench seats, and the EMTs close the doors behind us.

Through the small windows I can see Heidi standing on her lawn watching. She gives me a small wave that makes my throat tight.

The ambulance starts moving and I grip the edge of the seat feeling every bump in the road. At the hospital, nurses meet us at the emergency entrance and walk us through automatic doors into a bright hallway that smells like cleaning products.

They take us to a private room with four beds separated by curtains. A doctor comes in wearing blue scrubs.

He introduces himself as Doctor Dexter Raymond and shakes each of our hands. This surprises me because adults usually don’t do that with kids.

Dexter explains, “He needs to run some tests to check our overall health and make sure we don’t have any medical issues.”

He takes blood samples from each of us, talking through each step so we know what’s coming. He listens to our hearts and lungs, checks our reflexes, and looks at our skin and eyes and throat.

He asks questions about our diet and sleep and if we’ve ever been seriously sick. We answer as honestly as we can.

A nurse comes in and out bringing supplies and writing things on a chart. The whole process takes a long time and by the time Dexter finishes with the initial exam, my arm is sore from the blood draw and I’m exhausted.

He tells us, “He’ll have preliminary results in a few hours and that we should try to rest.”

Nurses bring us sandwiches and juice boxes and we eat sitting on the hospital beds with our legs dangling over the edges. That afternoon a man in a suit knocks on our door and introduces himself as Detective Vikram Mammud.

He has kind eyes and a calm voice, and he pulls up a chair to sit at our level instead of standing over us. Detective Mammud explains that he needs to ask us some questions about our lives and what we found in the shed.

He starts with me since I was the one who discovered the evidence. He asks detailed questions about the filing cabinet and what documents I saw.

I tell him about the newspaper clippings and the forged birth certificates and the old photographs. He asks if I took pictures and I show him my phone, scrolling through all the photos I took that night in the shed.

He asks permission to send the photos to his email and I agree. Detective Mammud asks about our daily routines, what our parents told us about being sick, and how they controlled our movements.

My siblings take turns answering his questions, each adding details the others forgot. He asks what we remember from before and I tell him about my memory of sunscreen and grass.