Bound by Secrets

CHAPTER 1: SHADOWS OF THE PAST

"Mama, why do we need to go overseas?" I asked as my mother hurriedly packed our clothes into suitcases. My father had been missing for three days, and no one would tell me where he was.

"We'll talk when we reach our destination, honey," she replied, her voice trembling as she zipped up another bag. "Your father will be waiting for us there."

I was just a child back then, too young to understand what was happening. My father was a respected professor at a prestigious university, and my mother was a full-time housewife. That was all I knew about their lives-or so I thought.

When my mother finished packing, she scooped me into her arms, her grip tight and desperate. Even at that age, I could tell something was wrong. Questions swirled in my mind, but I didn't dare ask.

Why is Mama so scared?

Why is she crying?

And why isn't Daddy with us?

I was a mix of two worlds-Japanese from my father's side and American from my mother's. My mother often joked that I had her fiery spirit and my father's quiet wisdom. But at that moment, her usual warmth was gone, replaced by fear.

We didn't take a flight as I'd expected. Instead, we boarded a small boat under the cover of darkness. The journey was rough, the boat tossed violently by the stormy sea. My mother clung to me the entire time, whispering reassurances I didn't quite believe. The next thing I knew, we were on a tiny plane-one with just enough room for the pilot, my mother, and me.

"We're here, madam," the pilot said softly as he landed the plane. His tone was heavy with sorrow. "This is the last time we'll see each other. I'm sorry for your loss."

We had arrived in a remote area surrounded by dense forest. A small but cozy-looking house stood in the middle of the clearing. The pilot helped us out, then departed without another word. As the plane disappeared into the sky, my mother forced a smile and led me into the house.

"Mariko, I need to tell you something," she said, sitting me on her lap. Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying.

"Where's Daddy, Mama?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

Instead, she said, "From now on, your name is not Mariko. Your name is Marnie."

"What? Why, Mama?" I protested. "I like my name."

At nine years old, the idea of suddenly changing my name felt foreign and wrong. It was the name I'd had all my life-the name everyone called me. To give it up felt like giving up a piece of myself.

"You'll be safe as long as you use your new name," she said, her voice breaking. "Don't you remember what your grandfather is like? He's looking for us. I didn't want to tell you this, but I have no choice. If he finds us..." She hesitated, her hands shaking. "We'll both end up dead."

A memory flickered in my mind-of my grandfather, a man who looked like a monster to my child's eyes. He had never hurt me directly, but I knew what he was capable of. Once, I saw a man emerge from the basement, his body covered in blood. My grandfather's words echoed in my ears: "A lesson for disobedience."

I didn't understand everything back then, but I knew one thing for sure-my mother wasn't just scared. She was running for our lives.

After that conversation, I never asked about my father again. I obeyed everything my mother told me to do, even when it didn't make sense. Somehow, I knew that questioning her would only make things harder for both of us.

Years passed, and by the time I turned 15, life had settled into a quiet routine. But then, everything changed again. My mother fell gravely ill.

It was colon cancer.