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?
She tells us not to go outside or near windows and that she’s working on better security. The whole thing makes me feel exposed and violated in a new way because now strangers everywhere are talking about what happened to us and we have no control over the story.
I go upstairs to the bedroom and pull out the old phone I still have hidden in my pocket. I log into the support group and see a message from James sent early this morning.
He says he saw news coverage about four kids found after being held captive for years and he recognized some details and wanted to check if it was us. His message is careful and doesn’t ask invasive questions but just says he’s thinking of us and that he’s proud of me for being brave enough to find the truth.
He says he’s available anytime I need to talk and that he knows how hard this must be. Reading his words makes me cry for the first time since everything happened because his friendship feels like the only normal stable thing in my entire life right now.
I write back thanking him and saying, “Yes it’s us and that everything is crazy and overwhelming.”
He responds right away, “He’s here whenever I need him and that I should focus on taking care of myself and my siblings.”
Two days later Detective Mammud comes to visit us at the foster home. Maggie is there too and we all sit in Mrs. Smithon’s living room while he opens a folder with official looking papers.
He explains that the preliminary DNA results came back from the lab and they’ve confirmed that the people we called mom and dad are not our biological parents. The evidence from the shed has been matched to evidence from the missing children case and everything lines up perfectly.
He says, “Our real families have been notified that we’ve been found alive after 12 years.”
Hearing it confirmed officially makes it feel horribly final even though I already knew the truth. My sister starts crying again and my younger brother just sits there looking blank and empty.
Detective Mammud is gentle but direct and he explains that there will be more tests and more evidence processing but that the case is solid. He says criminal charges are being filed and that there will be court proceedings we’ll need to participate in.
The whole time he’s talking I feel like I’m underwater again and can’t quite hear everything he’s saying. Three days after that we have to attend a preliminary protective hearing at the courthouse.
Maggie drives us there early in the morning and we go in through a back entrance to avoid reporters. The courtroom is smaller than I expected from TV shows and there’s a judge behind a big desk and lawyers sitting at tables.
We sit in a row behind one of the tables with Maggie next to us. The judge explains, “Our captors will appear via video link from the jail where they’re being held.”
When the screen lights up I see mom and dad sitting at a table wearing orange jumpsuits and my whole body goes cold. Mom looks smaller somehow and her face is puffy from crying.
Dad looks angry and won’t make eye contact with the camera. The judge asks questions and lawyers talk about custody and evidence and protection orders.
My sister cries silently through the whole thing and my younger brother holds her hand so tight his knuckles turn white. The judge orders that we stay in protective custody and that mom and dad are not allowed any contact with us at all.
Their lawyers try to argue that they’re loving parents who made mistakes, but the prosecutor talks about the evidence of kidnapping and false imprisonment and premeditation. When the hearing ends the screen goes dark and they’re gone and I realize I don’t know if I’ll ever see them in person again.
After the hearing Maggie takes us to her office and gives us copies of the original missing person’s reports from 12 years ago. She spreads the papers out on her desk and we read about ourselves as four-year-olds who vanished from a playground.
I learn that my real birth name is different from the one I’ve used my whole life. I read about my biological parents who filed the report and never stopped searching.
There are details about the life I was supposed to have, including the preschool I attended and the neighborhood where we lived. My siblings read their own reports and we’re all quiet, processing this information about who we really are.
The grief of all that lost time feels crushing and huge. I think about the 12 years my real parents spent looking for me and the childhood I should have had.
Maggie explains, “She’s setting up counseling for all of us with someone who specializes in trauma and kidnapping cases.”
The next week we start sessions with Naen Bower, who has an office across town with comfortable chairs and soft lighting. She’s probably in her 40s with kind eyes and a calm voice.
In our first session she explains, “Everything we’re feeling is normal and valid including the confusing feelings about our captors.”
She asks us to talk about what the last few weeks have been like. I try to explain but I can barely get words out without crying.
My siblings are the same way and we all break down trying to describe the layers of betrayal and loss. Naen doesn’t rush us or try to make us feel better with empty words.
She just listens and validates and helps us name the different emotions we’re experiencing. She says, “Healing isn’t going to be quick or linear and that we’ll all process this differently.”
By the end of the session I feel exhausted but slightly less alone. A few days later Detective Mammud comes back with more news.
He says, “They’ve located biological relatives who want to meet us.”
For me it’s an aunt and uncle named Brian and Rosanna Cartwright, who are my mom’s sister and brother-in-law. He explains they’ve been part of the search efforts for all 12 years and never gave up hope.
He shows us photos of them and asks if we’d be open to meeting them. The idea fills me with equal parts hope and complete terror.
That night my siblings and I have a long discussion about whether we’re ready to meet our biological families yet. My sister argues strongly that we should wait because it’s too much too fast and we’re barely holding it together as it is.
I say, “I think we should at least meet them once to see how we feel because they’ve been looking for us all this time.”
My younger brother doesn’t know what he wants and my other sibling says they’re scared but willing to try. We go back and forth for over an hour, discussing the pros and cons.
Finally we agree to do a supervised meeting with Naen there for support and with the understanding that we can stop anytime if it gets too overwhelming. Maggie arranges everything and also sets up a visit back to our old house so we can get personal belongings under supervision.
The day we go back feels surreal and wrong. Police officers escort us inside and we’re only allowed in certain rooms.
Walking through those familiar spaces feels like entering a museum of our whole lives in captivity. Everything looks the same but different now that I know the truth behind it all.
I go to my bedroom and gather my favorite books and the few things that actually feel like mine. My siblings do the same in their rooms, moving quietly like ghosts.
I try not to look at the family photos on the walls showing the four of us with mom and dad at various ages, all documenting our fake family. In the living room there’s a photo of all six of us from last Christmas and I have to turn away from it because the smiles look so real and normal.
We load our things into bags and leave as quickly as possible because being there makes me feel sick and sad and angry all at once. Over the next few days Heidi came to the police station to give her official statement about everything she’d noticed over the years.
She told Detective Mammud about how she’d never seen us kids outside even once in the 12 years we lived across the street. She described the weird air filtration system she could see through the windows and how mom would practically panic if anyone got too close to the front door.
She mentioned the time a delivery guy tried to hand a package directly to dad and mom came running out screaming about contamination. Heidi said she’d always felt something was off but didn’t know what to do about it until I slipped that note through her mail slot.
Detective Mammud told us later that her testimony helped establish the pattern of control and isolation which made the case stronger. I wanted to thank her, but Maggie said, “It wasn’t appropriate yet since Heidi might have to testify in court.”
Still, I felt grateful that she’d trusted her gut and helped us when it mattered most. Mrs. Smithon sat down with us one evening and pulled out a stack of papers about school enrollment.
She explained, “Fall semester started in 3 weeks and we needed to get registered if we wanted to attend.”
The idea of sitting in a classroom with other teenagers made my stomach flip between excited and terrified. She helped each of us fill out the forms and I marked down that I’d be starting 11th grade.
Mom’s homeschooling had kept me caught up academically according to the placement tests, but I knew I was years behind socially. I’d never had a friend my own age in person, never navigated a cafeteria or a locker or any of the normal teenage stuff.
Mrs. Smithon must have seen the panic on my face because she squeezed my shoulder. She said, “Lots of kids feel nervous starting at a new school.”
