Your parents were always too busy. Too many meetings. Too many flights. Too many excuses. So when they told you they’d finally found a “safe, nurturing place” for you to spend your days while they worked, you wanted to believe them.

The place was called Smilecare — a bright, pastel-painted building tucked between overgrown trees at the end of a quiet road. The website looked normal. The reviews were five stars. But something about the pictures — too polished, too clean — made your stomach twist.

Now, here you were. Your parents barely said goodbye, just handed you your backpack, kissed your forehead, and drove off without looking back.

You stood at the front entrance.

A woman waited there, dressed in soft colors that didn’t quite match her sharp, glassy eyes. Her lipstick curved up too wide. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hello, dearie!” she chimed in a syrupy tone, her voice a little too high-pitched to be comforting. She crouched slightly, hands folded neatly in front of her. “And what’s your name?”