It was already evening when I arrived home, exhausted while carrying the heavy load of logs on my back. But the first thing that greeted me was the sound of my parents arguing.

"Damn it, Emilya! The share should be equal," my father objected, slamming his fist against the wall. I heard the loud thud even from outside. "I won’t agree to that! I was the one who found the buyer!"

I set the logs down on the floor and took a deep breath. "What could they be fighting about this time?" I asked myself as I stepped closer to the doorway.

Yet my mind felt hazy, unsure if I should continue stepping inside.

Why does it feel so heavy? Why does it feel like my own body is stopping me from opening the door? Why do I feel this way?

"If you don't agree, I'll strangle you!" my father threatened. "Even if it costs our lives here, I'll only give you twenty percent," my father added.

What are they talking about? Why is it about money? And what are they selling?

I tried to hold back my tears. It hurt to hear my parents fighting over money. And worse, I could hear everything.

"Does Dad have debts again?" I asked sadly, knowing my father was addicted to gambling. Nearly all our belongings had been sold because of his worsening debt.

The same went for my mother; we were barely surviving, yet she still lived lavishly, far from her true financial state.

I tried to understand them, but half of me couldn’t accept what they were doing.

After a few more moments of listening, I slowly turned the door handle.

I can do this!

I encouraged myself as I gradually opened the door. When it finally swung open, shock spread across their faces.

"Oh, you're home already!" my mother greeted me, her face frozen with surprise like she had seen a ghost. "H-how was gathering the logs?" she asked shakily.

My father followed up, his gaze strangely fixed on me. "H-have you eaten yet, Irish?" he asked enthusiastically, but it felt unusual since he never asked such things.

I stood in the middle, near the door, observing them both. Despite their odd behavior, I still gave them a smile.

My mother approached me first and gently held my arm. "Come eat now, Irish," she invited warmly, her smile wide yet suspicious.

Meanwhile, my father turned his back to me and walked toward the room where we slept. But before he could step inside, he wore a strange smile—one that seemed to carry a deeper meaning. I felt confused by their actions, especially since they never behaved like this toward me. I had my doubts, but what could I do? They were still my parents.

I decided to just go along with the flow and let the moment pull me toward the dining table.

What got into them? I wondered.

"Eat know, Irish," my mother urged, pointing to the bread on the table. I glanced at her before shifting my eyes to her face to observe her reaction. "C-can I really have it?" I asked nervously, since this had never happened before.

This isn’t normal! I pleaded to myself, fidgeting with my fingers.

"Of course, why? Don’t you want the bread?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry if that’s all we could manage," she added calmly, which worried me more.

I took a deep breath before replying, "N-no, it’s okay--"

I stopped mid-sentence when two men suddenly entered our home.

Both were dressed in white tops and brown pants, their faces covered. They looked armed, each carrying a weapon on their side.

Does my family owe these men money?

"Where's the kid, Emilya?" one of the men asked urgently.

I turned to my mother, watching her with concern as she smiled at them. I was shocked; who was this 'kid' they were talking about?

"That's her, isn't she? Beautiful child, right? She'll be a big help there," my mother replied to the two men before glancing at me. Her expression changed, darkening just like it did whenever I returned home from gathering logs.

I shifted my gaze to the sound of the bedroom door opening. Out came my father, carrying a cloth bag slung over his shoulder. "Oh, you’re already here."

My father greeted them like they were old acquaintances. "Perfect timing," he said cheerfully.

"Is this her? Is she the one?" the man asked again.

My father smiled before replying, "She is." He walked up to me and forcefully pulled me up from my seat. "Stand up, Irish, we have somewhere to go."

"W-where are we going?" I asked innocently. "I-isn't it already midnight? And there's a strong snowstorm coming," I added, worried.

He didn't answer; instead, he dragged me forward.

"D-dad? Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice trembling with fear.

What are they going to do to me? Where are they taking me?

So many questions raced through my mind, yet I had no answers because I was too afraid.

"Mom, p-please stop Dad," I pleaded, tears starting to fall. "M-mom, please stop him."

"Dad, where are you taking me?" I asked again.

"Dad, please stop this, Dad! Dad!" I kept calling him, but it was like he was deaf to my cries. I struggled to break free from his grip, but he was too strong.

When we reached the two armed men, my father threw me to them, along with my belongings.

"Take good care of her; she's a fine one," my father said smugly.

One of the men handed over a bag, which seemed to be filled with money. Was money really all that mattered to them? Did they love money more than their own child?

"Mom, Dad! Did you really sell me?" I shouted at them, my tears flowing harder.

Have my parents really sold me? I whispered weakly to myself, biting my lip as I cried.

"Mom, Dad! Please, I'll work harder, Mom, Dad," I kept calling them, but it seemed they were deaf to my pleas.

I sobbed loudly, calling out to them. "Mom, Dad! Please don’t sell me! Please don’t let money blind you."

I kept calling them until one of the men pulled me outside the house.

When I felt the cold wind from outside, I screamed even louder, trying to run back and beg my parents.

But as a girl, my strength was limited. I couldn’t break free from the man’s tight grip.

"Mom, Dad, please don’t sell m--" I stopped when I glimpsed the open door of our house. I saw my parents' faces filled with joy as they celebrated selling me.

When I saw that, my world seemed to collapse. I stopped crying, and sadness swallowed me whole. Yet no tears came out anymore. It felt like I had lost all my strength. I stood frozen, blankly dragged by the man.

When we reached the cart, my expression remained the same—empty, and not a single tear escaped my eyes. My mind was heavy, and I felt all the pain weigh down on me.

It seemed that my parents had truly thrown me away. Parents who chose money over their own child.