PART 5 — FINAL PART
The explosion lifted the floor beneath my feet.
The observation window shattered inward.
I covered my face as glass sprayed through the corridor. Red emergency lights flickered once, twice, then died. Somewhere below us, metal doors unlocked in a single thunderous sequence.
Children began screaming.
Dr. Valdés grabbed Lidia by the hair and pulled her from the chair.
The nurse reached for the telephone.
I drove my shoulder through the damaged observation door before she could call anyone.
The frame gave way.
I fell into the monitoring room among broken glass and loose wires.
Lidia looked at me.
“Nayeli!”
The nurse rushed forward with another syringe.
I caught her wrist.
She tried to stab my neck, but I twisted her arm and drove the needle into the padded chair behind her.
Her eyes widened.
“You really should stop trying that,” I said.
I shoved her against the wall.
She collapsed beneath the dark monitors.
Dr. Valdés held a gun beneath Lidia’s chin.
“Do not move.”
I stopped.
Lidia’s wrists were still tied.
Blood ran from the corner of her mouth where the nurse had struck her.
Valdés backed toward the door, dragging her with him.
“You destroyed ten years of treatment in less than one day,” he said.
“You mean imprisonment.”
“I gave you structure.”
“You gave me chemicals.”
“I taught you control.”
“No,” I said. “You gave me reasons to need it.”
Another explosion shook the ceiling.
Dust drifted down.
Valdés glanced upward.
For the first time, his hand trembled.
Marisol’s voice returned through the speakers.
“Level B is open. East-wing cells are open. The records are uploading now.”
Dr. Valdés looked toward the cameras.
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
“The medical files. The police payments. The trial results. The death certificates. Every name you buried is leaving this building.”
Valdés tightened his arm around Lidia.
“You ignorant girl! Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I know exactly what I’ve done,” Marisol replied. “I removed the locks.”
A screen beside us flickered back to life.
Sofi was no longer alone in the white room.
The door stood open.
Three older children surrounded her.
One girl held Sofi’s hand.
They were moving through the corridor.
Lidia cried out.
“Sofi!”
Valdés looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
He had lost the child.
He had lost his leverage.
I took one slow step forward.
He pressed the gun harder against Lidia’s skin.
“I said don’t move.”
Lidia’s eyes met mine.
Behind the fear, I saw something new.
A decision.
She stamped her heel onto Valdés’s foot.
He flinched.
She threw her head backward into his mouth.
The gun moved.
I lunged.
Valdés fired.
The bullet struck a monitor.
Sparks exploded across the wall.
I caught his wrist.
Lidia dropped to the floor.
He drove his knee into my ribs, but I held on.
He was older than me.
Smaller.
Yet terror gave him sudden strength.
He slammed me against the table and tried to turn the gun toward my chest.
“You were supposed to remain broken!” he shouted.
I looked into the face of the man who had stolen ten years from me.
Then I smiled.
“That was your first mistake.”
I twisted his wrist.
The gun fell.
Lidia kicked it beneath the equipment cabinet.
Valdés struck me across the mouth and ran.
“Let him go!” Lidia shouted.
I nearly followed him.
Then I remembered Sofi.
The children.
Mateo.
Revenge had kept me trapped before.
I would not let it choose my direction again.
I knelt and tore the restraints from Lidia’s wrists.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.”
An alarm began sounding somewhere deep in the hospital.
Not the normal medical alarm.
A fire alarm.
Smoke curled from a ventilation grate.
Lidia looked toward the ceiling.
“Marisol is burning the building.”
“No,” a voice said behind us. “Only the records room.”
We turned.
A woman stood in the broken doorway.
For one impossible moment, I felt as though I were looking into a mirror that had learned how to hate.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same dark hair.
But a thin white scar crossed her forehead, and she wore the years differently. I carried mine in my shoulders. Lidia carried hers in the way she lowered her eyes.
Marisol carried hers like a knife.
She stepped into the red emergency light.
Lidia moved closer to me.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at us both.
“I already told you.”
“That’s impossible,” Lidia whispered.
Marisol’s expression softened.
“That word kept me alive.”
Mateo appeared behind her, leaning heavily against the wall. One hand held his injured ribs. The other carried a ring of keys taken from an orderly.
When he saw Marisol, something inside his face collapsed.
For ten years, he had believed his sister was dead.
“Mari,” he whispered.
She turned.
Mateo crossed the room in three uneven steps and pulled her into his arms.
Marisol remained stiff at first.
Then she closed her eyes and held him.
He began crying into her shoulder.
“I saw your body.”
“No,” she whispered. “You saw what Valdés wanted you to see.”
“I buried you.”
“You buried someone wearing my bracelet.”
Mateo pulled back and touched her face.
“How?”
“Later.”
She looked at Lidia and me.
“We have six minutes before the backup system seals this floor again.”
“Where is Sofi?” Lidia demanded.
“Moving toward the laundry wing with the other children. The oldest girl is named Elena. She knows the tunnels.”
“The explosion could have hurt them,” I said.
Marisol’s eyes hardened.
“The charges were placed beneath empty relay rooms. I spent six months mapping this hospital. I did not come here to kill children.”
“You came to kill Valdés.”
She did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Smoke thickened above us.
I stepped toward her.
“Why do you have our face?”
Marisol looked at Mateo.
He nodded once.
She reached inside her coat and removed a folded sheet protected by clear plastic.
At the top were three newborn footprints.
Beneath them were three names.
Subject A: Nayeli.
Subject B: Lidia.
Subject C: Unnamed.
The date of birth was the same.
The blood type was the same.
A line beneath the entries read:
Monozygotic female triplets. Third birth concealed for long-term comparative study.
Lidia covered her mouth.
“No.”
“Our mother gave birth to three daughters,” Marisol said. “Valdés told our parents the third baby died before sunrise.”
“You,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“I was transferred through a private adoption network. Mateo’s mother raised me as her daughter. She never knew where I came from.”
Mateo looked at us.
“I was five when they brought her home.”
Marisol continued.
“Valdés called it Project Espejo. Project Mirror. Three genetically identical children raised in different environments.”
The words on the document blurred.
“Why?”
“To prove that personality could be manufactured,” she said. “One child was stimulated toward aggression. One toward submission. The third was observed without regular medication.”
I understood.
Me.
Lidia.
Marisol.
Anger.
Fear.
Control.
“You were the comparison,” I said.
“I was supposed to be.”
“What changed?”
“When I was fifteen, I found letters hidden in my adoptive mother’s room. Payments from San Gabriel. Reports about my moods, grades, friends and menstrual cycles. They had monitored me my entire life.”
Mateo’s jaw tightened.
“She confronted our stepfather. He attacked her.”
“So that part was true,” I said.
“Yes,” Marisol answered. “I told a teacher. Instead of helping me, the teacher called the number written in my school file.”
“San Gabriel.”
“They collected me before Mateo could reach the police.”
Mateo lowered his eyes.
“I arrived too late.”
“You were seventeen,” she said. “You tried.”
“What happened in the tunnel?” I asked.
Marisol looked at me.
“You helped me escape.”
The memory returned again.
Her hand inside mine.
Bare feet on wet concrete.
Alarms screaming.
A steel door nearly open.
“I carried you.”
“Yes. Valdés caught us in the courtyard. He injected you first. I tried to run.”
She touched the scar on her forehead.
“One of the guards hit me. I woke underground three days later. Valdés told everyone I had died.”
“Why keep you alive?”
“Because the trial was not finished.”
Lidia began crying.
“All those years…”
“I lived beneath this hospital while you visited Nayeli above me.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
Marisol’s voice held no forgiveness.
But it held truth.
She turned toward me.
“You remembered pieces. Valdés kept increasing your medication because you called my name in your sleep.”
“I thought Marisol was a nurse.”
“It was easier than remembering a dying girl.”
“You weren’t dying.”
“I wanted you to believe I was. The first time I escaped the lower level, I found you unconscious after treatment. I could have woken you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because every guard in the hospital was searching for me. If they found us together, they would have killed us both.”
“So you left me.”
“I survived.”
The word struck harder than an apology.
Because I understood it.
Survival is not always noble.
Sometimes it is simply the ugliest available choice.
Lidia stepped forward.
“Six months ago, did you come to the woman’s house pretending to be Nayeli?”
“Yes.”
“You moved the file.”
“I moved copies. The original ledger is still inside your grandmother’s building.”
“Damian never found it.”
“Because it was beneath the foundation, not inside the walls.”
Mateo stared at her.
“You knew all this and never contacted me?”
“I was trying to identify everyone Valdés owned.”
“I’m your brother.”
“And that made you vulnerable.”
He flinched.
Marisol’s face softened again.
“I watched you bury me. I watched you destroy your life searching for answers. Every time I wanted to come home, Valdés sent another photograph proving he knew where you were.”
Mateo looked away.
Marisol reached for his hand.
“I am sorry.”
A loud metallic crash echoed through the corridor.
Steel doors were closing again.
Marisol checked the device in her hand.
“Five minutes.”
“We need Sofi,” Lidia said.
“And the children,” I added.
Marisol looked toward the hallway.
“The laundry tunnel leads outside. Elena is taking them there.”
“What about Valdés?”
“He has a private exit beneath the old operating room.”
“Then he’ll escape.”
“No,” Marisol said. “I sealed it.”
A gunshot sounded somewhere below.
Then another.
Marisol’s expression changed.
“He found another route.”
Mateo picked up the dropped gun from beneath the cabinet.
“You two get the children. We’ll stop him.”
“No,” I said.
Marisol looked at me.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust what anger feels like.”
“You know nothing about mine.”
“I know exactly what it costs.”
She stepped closer.
“Valdés took my name. My family. My childhood. He locked me underground and declared me dead.”
“And Damian took Lidia’s safety.”
Lidia looked at me.
I continued.
“The boy behind the school hurt her. The hospital hurt me. Damian hurt Sofi. Every time I answered cruelty with violence, someone else used my rage as evidence that I deserved less freedom.”
Marisol’s mouth tightened.
“Are you telling me to forgive him?”
“No.”
I held her gaze.
“I’m telling you not to let him choose who you become.”
For one second, none of us moved.
Then a child screamed through the speakers.
Sofi.
“Mommy!”
Lidia ran.
We followed.
The underground hallway had become chaos.
Patients and children moved through open doors. Some ran. Some stood frozen, unable to understand that the locks were gone.
Smoke darkened the ceiling.
Mateo used the ring of keys to open any door that had sealed again.
“Laundry wing!” Marisol shouted. “Follow the green line!”
A teenage girl appeared ahead of us.
Elena.
She held Sofi against her chest while two younger boys clung to her clothes.
When Sofi saw Lidia, she reached out.
“Mommy!”
Lidia took her and buried her face in the child’s hair.
“I’m here. I’m here.”
Sofi pulled back.
“You look scared again.”
Lidia froze.
Then she wiped her tears.
“I am scared.”
Sofi touched her cheek.
“Is that bad?”
“No,” Lidia whispered. “It just means I have to be brave.”
A door slammed behind us.
Dr. Valdés stepped into the corridor.
He had changed out of his white coat.
He wore a dark jacket and carried a leather case in one hand.
In the other, he held a pistol.
Two armed guards stood behind him.
The children screamed and crowded against the wall.
Valdés aimed at Marisol.
“Give me the device.”
She lifted the detonator.
“The files are already gone.”
“Not the originals.”
“The originals will be found.”
“By whom? The same police I paid? The judges who sent children here? The families who begged me to erase their mistakes?”
His voice echoed through the corridor.
“You still believe truth defeats power. It does not. Truth is only useful when someone powerful agrees to hear it.”
Mateo raised his gun.
One guard aimed at him.
No one fired.
Too many children stood between us.
Valdés looked at the triplets.
Three identical faces.
Three outcomes from one experiment.
For a moment, pride returned to his eyes.
“My greatest work,” he whispered.
Marisol’s hand shook around the detonator.
“We are not your work.”
“You would not exist as you are without me.”
I stepped in front of the children.
“No,” I said. “We exist despite you.”
Valdés smiled.
“Nayeli. Predictable as ever. Still placing your body between danger and your sister.”
“And you’re still hiding behind people who are afraid of you.”
One of the guards glanced at him.
I noticed.
So did Marisol.
Valdés pointed his gun at Sofi.
“Place the detonator on the floor.”
Lidia turned her body, shielding her daughter.
Marisol lowered the device slightly.
“No,” I said.
Valdés’s eyes moved to me.
“What?”
“Don’t give it to him.”
“Nayeli,” Lidia whispered.
I looked at the guards.
“You know the records are uploading.”
Neither man answered.
“You know your names are inside them. Payments. Dates. Videos. You can keep protecting him and become the men who died for Dr. Valdés.”
Valdés laughed.
“They are loyal.”
“No,” Marisol said. “They are documented.”
She raised her device.
A small screen displayed an upload counter.
92%.
One guard looked at the other.
Valdés’s confidence weakened.
“You think surrender will save you?” he snapped. “The public will call you monsters.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But he will call you disposable.”
The older guard’s weapon lowered half an inch.
Valdés turned toward him.
“Raise your gun.”
The guard hesitated.
Valdés shot him in the chest.
The corridor exploded into movement.
Mateo fired at the second guard’s leg.
Children dropped to the floor.
Lidia covered Sofi.
Marisol rushed Valdés.
He struck her with the leather case and grabbed her by the throat.
The detonator fell.
It slid across the floor toward an open drain.
I dove and caught it.
Valdés dragged Marisol backward, gun pressed beneath her jaw.
“Give it to me!”
The wounded guard groaned beside the wall.
Mateo kept the second guard covered.
Smoke thickened.
A computerized voice began counting down.
“Backup lockdown in sixty seconds.”
Valdés pulled Marisol toward a steel door at the end of the hall.
His private exit.
“You sealed the tunnel,” he told her, “but you forgot the medical lift.”
The leather case opened as he moved.
Documents spilled across the floor.
Photographs.
Birth records.
Payment lists.
The original evidence.
He had collected it before running.
Elena picked up one page.
Valdés aimed the gun at her.
“Drop that!”
The girl froze.
She was perhaps fourteen.
Thin.
Barefoot.
A number had been written on her wrist.
I saw the same emptiness I had once seen in Lidia’s eyes.
Then Elena did something none of us expected.
She tore the page in half.
Valdés stared at her.
“You ungrateful little—”
Every child around her began gathering the scattered documents.
One boy stuffed papers inside his shirt.
Another passed them backward.
Elena tore a second page.
Then a third.
Valdés could not shoot all of them.
That was the weakness of men like him.
They are powerful only while everyone is isolated.
The moment victims stand together, cruelty becomes outnumbered.
“Thirty seconds,” the automated voice announced.
Valdés pulled Marisol into the lift.
“Give me the detonator, Nayeli, or the doors close with her inside.”
Marisol’s eyes met mine.
She did not look frightened.
She looked ready.
“Do it,” she said.
Valdés pressed the gun to her temple.
“She means it.”
“I know.”
“Twenty seconds.”
Lidia stood beside me with Sofi in her arms.
Mateo moved closer.
I looked at the detonator.
One button controlled the emergency doors.
Another controlled the final charge beneath the medical lift.
Marisol had prepared to destroy Valdés’s escape route even if she was inside it.
She expected me to choose revenge.
Perhaps the old Nayeli would have.
I placed the detonator on the floor.
Valdés smiled.
“Kick it to me.”
I kicked it.
The device slid toward the lift.
He bent to grab it.
Marisol moved.
She drove her elbow into his ribs and threw herself out of the lift.
Valdés fired.
The bullet struck her shoulder.
She fell into my arms.
Mateo shouted her name.
Valdés seized the detonator and slammed the lift button.
The steel doors began closing.
He looked at us through the narrowing gap.
“I made you,” he said.
I smiled.
“No. You only locked the doors.”
I held up the broken metal clip from my restraints.
Before entering the corridor, I had used it to remove the detonator’s battery.
Valdés looked down.
The device in his hand was dead.
The lift doors closed.
Then stopped.
Elena stood beside the control panel with her finger on the emergency button.
The doors reopened.
Mateo dragged Valdés out.
He hit the floor.
The gun slid away.
I lowered Marisol gently and pressed my hand over her wound.
The bullet had passed through the upper shoulder.
Painful.
Bloody.
But not fatal.
Dr. Valdés crawled toward the gun.
I reached it first.
I aimed at him.
Everything became still.
Smoke.
Sirens.
Children holding stolen evidence.
My twin sister clutching her daughter.
My third sister bleeding beneath my hand.
The man who had taken ten years from me lay on the floor.
Helpless.
For once, no straps held my wrists.
No doctors watched through glass.
No one could stop me.
Valdés looked up.
There was no fear in his face.
Only confidence.
He believed he knew me.
“Do it,” he whispered.
I understood then.
He wanted me to pull the trigger.
A dead doctor could become a respected physician murdered by an escaped psychiatric patient.
A dead doctor could not testify.
A dead doctor could take every secret into the grave.
And I would become the monster he had written about for ten years.
I lowered the gun.
His confidence disappeared.
“No,” I said.
He stared at me.
“You don’t get to die as my victim.”
Mateo forced Valdés’s arms behind him and used the doctor’s own belt to bind his wrists.
The automated voice reached zero.
Steel doors began closing.
We ran.
Lidia carried Sofi.
Mateo supported Marisol.
I led the children along the green line toward the laundry tunnel.
Behind us, Valdés stumbled with his hands tied while Elena and the older children forced him forward.
“Move,” she ordered.
The same man who had controlled hundreds of lives was now being marched toward daylight by the children he had locked away.
The laundry tunnel filled with smoke.
Water dripped from the ceiling.
The red emergency light flashed.
I remembered running through it at sixteen.
Marisol’s hand in mine.
Fear in my mouth.
A promise I had failed to keep.
This time, I reached back.
Marisol caught my hand.
Lidia took the other.
Three sisters ran through the tunnel together.
Not subjects.
Not diagnoses.
Not evidence.
Sisters.
The exit door appeared ahead.
Mateo struck the release bar.
It did not move.
“Locked!” he shouted.
Smoke rolled over us.
Children began coughing.
Valdés laughed behind us.
“San Gabriel was built to keep people in.”
I turned toward him.
Then I looked at the door.
Ten years of locked rooms had taught me something else.
Every door has a weakness.
I examined the hinges.
Old bolts.
Rust near the lower frame.
“Everyone step back.”
Mateo understood.
He lifted a metal laundry cart.
Together we slammed it into the door.
Once.
The frame shook.
Twice.
A bolt tore loose.
Three times.
Daylight cut through the smoke.
The children screamed.
Not in fear.
In hope.
We struck the door again.
It burst open.
Fresh air flooded the tunnel.
We emerged behind the hospital as fire crews, ambulances and state investigators surrounded the grounds.
Not local police.
Federal officers.
Journalists.
Cameras.
Marisol had not merely uploaded the records.
She had scheduled them to reach every major newsroom, human rights organization and prosecutor she could find.
The upload counter on a fire officer’s tablet reached one hundred percent.
Project Espejo was no longer hidden.
Officers rushed forward.
Some aimed weapons at us.
Then they saw the children.
The restraints.
The numbers written on their skin.
The evidence clutched against their chests.
They lowered their guns.
Valdés tried to straighten his jacket.
“I am Dr. Esteban Valdés,” he announced. “These patients are dangerous.”
Elena walked to the nearest investigator.
She handed him the torn pages.
“No,” she said. “He is.”
That was the moment San Gabriel ended.
Not when the alarms sounded.
Not when the locks opened.
When a child he had silenced spoke, and someone finally listened.
The investigation lasted eighteen months.
Dr. Valdés survived long enough to watch his name removed from buildings, awards and medical journals.
He was convicted of unlawful imprisonment, human experimentation, conspiracy, kidnapping, falsification of medical records and multiple deaths.
He received a sentence long enough that numbers stopped mattering.
Damian accepted a plea agreement only after learning the videos from the red room had survived.
He testified against Valdés, Teresa, Camila and the officers who protected them.
It did not save him.
The court convicted him of domestic violence, child abuse, attempted murder, fraud and conspiracy.
Teresa screamed that the family had been framed.
Camila cried through the entire trial.
Neither looked at Lidia when the verdict was read.
Lidia looked at them.
She did not lower her eyes.
The apartment building our grandmother left her was never sold.
Beneath its foundation, investigators found the original Project Espejo ledger sealed inside a waterproof container.
Our grandmother had discovered the truth years earlier.
She hid the evidence before Valdés could take it.
She also left a letter.
Not to Lidia.
Not to me.
To all three of us.
My girls,
I failed to protect you when fear made your parents obedient. I cannot undo what was taken, but I can leave you a place no one else controls. Turn it into something kinder than the world you inherited.
Lidia read the letter aloud.
Marisol left the room before she finished.
I found her outside, sitting on the steps.
“You don’t have to forgive them,” I said.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to forgive me either.”
She looked at me.
“For what?”
“For not remembering you.”
“They drugged you.”
“I still left you underground.”
“You came back.”
“Ten years later.”
She looked toward the windows where Lidia held Sofi.
“Late is not the same as never.”
That was as close to forgiveness as either of us could manage then.
It was enough.
Mateo and Marisol tried to rebuild the relationship that had been stolen from them.
Some days they talked until sunrise.
Other days they could not remain in the same room.
Love survived.
But survival had changed its shape.
Lidia and I were no different.
She confessed everything.
The commitment papers.
The medication she brought.
The years she stayed silent.
I wanted to forgive her immediately.
I could not.
So I told her the truth.
“I love you. But love does not erase what happened.”
She nodded through tears.
“I know.”
“It may take time.”
“I’ll wait.”
She did.
Not by begging.
Not by explaining.
By changing.
She testified publicly.
She spoke to other survivors.
She learned to say no without apologizing.
She attended every therapy appointment, even when the memories made her sick.
And slowly, I stopped seeing the sixteen-year-old who had signed my name away.
I began seeing the woman who finally stood beside me while we took it back.
My diagnosis was overturned.
The state declared my confinement unlawful.
Reporters asked how it felt to be free after ten years.
I never knew how to answer.
Freedom did not arrive as happiness.
At first, it arrived as noise.
Too many doors.
Too many choices.
Too much sky.
I slept on the floor because beds reminded me of restraints.
I counted steps between rooms.
I hid food beneath my mattress.
Whenever someone touched my wrist, my body prepared for a fight.
But every morning, Sofi knocked on my door.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she wanted me to braid her hair.
One morning, she studied our three faces at breakfast.
“Are you all my mommy?”
Lidia laughed.
“No, sweetheart.”
Sofi pointed at me.
“She’s the strong one.”
Then at Marisol.
“She’s the scary one.”
Marisol nearly choked on her coffee.
“And Mommy is the scared one,” Sofi finished.
Lidia’s smile faded.
Sofi climbed into her lap.
“But she does things scared.”
Marisol looked at me.
I looked at Lidia.
None of us corrected the child.
She understood courage better than most adults.
We used our grandmother’s building exactly as she requested.
The first floor became a legal clinic.
The second became emergency housing for women and children escaping violence.
The third became a counseling center for former San Gabriel patients.
We called it Casa Tres.
The House of Three.
Above the entrance, we placed no photographs of ourselves.
No dramatic memorial.
Only a sentence carved into stone:
A LOCKED DOOR IS NOT PROOF THAT THE PERSON INSIDE IS DANGEROUS.
On opening day, dozens of former patients came.
Elena stood beside the entrance wearing a yellow dress.
The number had faded from her wrist.
She wanted to become a lawyer.
Mateo worked security, though Marisol reminded him daily that she did not need protecting.
Lidia welcomed the first family.
A woman with two small children and bruises hidden beneath long sleeves.
“I’m sorry,” the woman whispered as she entered.
Lidia held the door open.
“You don’t have to apologize for surviving.”
I watched my sister lead them inside.
Shoulders straight.
Voice steady.
Not fearless.
Brave.
Marisol joined me on the steps.
“Valdés was wrong about one thing,” she said.
“Only one?”
She smiled.
“He believed we were three versions of the same woman.”
“We’re not.”
“No.”
Inside, Sofi laughed.
Lidia laughed with her.
Marisol slipped her hand into mine.
“We are three women who chose what happened next.”
For years, people had called me unstable.
Dangerous.
A monster.
Maybe part of me would always carry the rage they planted.
But rage was never the whole story.
I was also the woman who lowered the gun.
The woman who opened the cells.
The woman who returned for the girl in the tunnel.
They said the wrong twin survived.
They were wrong.
There had never been a wrong sister.
There had only been three stolen girls.
And in the end, all three of us walked out.
THE END!!!
