This is a true story from about twenty years ago. I'm writing it down now because I've finally come to terms with it.

It happened during the summer of my sophomore year in college, when my family's home caught fire. I was sitting in a lecture at university when a friend back home texted me: "Mami, your house is on fire!"

I slipped out of the lecture and called my mother immediately. She was shopping at a local grocery store and didn't seem to know about the fire yet. She mentioned hearing several firetruck sirens nearby, said she'd rush right back, and hung up.

After telling a friend, "I think my house is on fire," I rushed home as soon as class ended. My house was a twenty-minute bike ride from campus. Ten minutes into the ride, I saw black smoke rising in the direction of my neighborhood. Praying it was all a mistake was futile—my home was engulfed in roaring flames.

As I stood there stunned, my mother spotted me and ran over. Seeing that she was safe, I burst into tears.

"Your father and sister are both at work and safe. We haven't confirmed Grandpa is okay yet, but he's probably at his usual pachinko parlor."

My mother's hand trembled as she held mine.

Thanks to the firefighters' desperate efforts, the fire was extinguished before spreading to neighboring houses. When my father and sister arrived after leaving work early, and my grandfather returned from the pachinko parlor, they were greeted by the tragic, charred remains of our home. We could only stand there together in total shock.

"What are we going to do now...?"

The police and fire officials explained that they'd conduct an investigation after ensuring the fire was completely out, which wouldn't be until the next day or later. Obviously, we couldn't sleep in a house that was completely destroyed. Unfortunately, we had no relatives nearby to rely on, so we had to manage on our own. We bought a few basic changes of clothes and checked into a budget hotel near the station for the night.

Terrible as it was, we considered ourselves lucky that the whole family was unharmed. Our house was gone, but we still had each other. Losing a home full of memories was heartbreaking, but having my beloved family kept me positive. I wasn't putting on a brave face; having them genuinely felt like my rock. Until then, I truly believed that with all my heart... So why did things end up like that...?

The next day, we got a call from the police, who had inspected the scene together with the fire department. They found a high probability of arson; the damage near the kitchen was particularly severe, suggesting someone had poured gasoline or another accelerant. The officer continued.

They had uncovered at least four unidentified skeletal remains from the ruins. Found beneath the living room floorboards, they were so badly damaged that determining their sex was impossible at the moment.

For our family, finding four unidentified skeletons under the floor was an even bigger bolt out of the blue than the house burning down.

We were questioned individually about where we were and what we were doing when the fire broke out, and whether we knew anything about the skeletons. I truly knew nothing. I told them everything honestly, but I remember feeling terrified about whether they would believe me. Even worse was the creeping anxiety that my family might be involved or dragged into something awful.

Following the incident, endless rumors circulated in the neighborhood that our family had committed some crime. Unable to bear the strange looks from people around us, my father rented an apartment a bit further away. Although the police still questioned us often, having a stable place to stay brought us great relief. It took about a month to buy basic furniture and supplies and settle in, but we finally managed to regain some stability.

Just as life seemed to return to normal, the police summoned me. I was nervous, as I hadn't been to the station since the day after the fire when the skeletons were discovered. The detective in charge greeted me politely. Sensing my tension, he eased the mood with small talk, sharing a bit about himself and asking how I was doing or if I had any troubles. As I answered a bit more casually, his expression hardened slightly, and he began asking about my family.

"What does your father do?

What kind of person is your mother?

What about your sister?

And your grandfather?"

The questions came rapid-fire.

I answered them one by one, but the deluge of questions made my anxiety surge—was someone in my family a suspect? When the questioning finally wound down, the detective paused for a breath and revealed a shocking truth.

"A total of four skeletal remains were found in your house. All were in poor condition due to the passage of time and fire damage. We did everything possible to identify them, and luckily, because they were under the floorboards... we managed to analyze two of them. Now... please stay calm and listen. I'll get straight to the point. We matched your DNA, and the results show a high probability that those two remains are blood relatives of yours.

Furthermore, when we tested your DNA against the samples provided by your family, we found that you share no blood relation to them whatsoever—they are complete strangers. Keeping that in mind, I want to ask you again: tell me everything you know about your relationship with your family."

I couldn't understand the detective's explanation at all. In fact, I couldn't even register what he was saying. I sat there blankly for a while as his words echoed in my head, until the truth finally sank in.

"That's... that must be some kind of mistake, right?"

Unable to look him in the eye, I asked while staring down at the floor.

"To be more specific, the DNA results indicate those two remains belong to your mother and sister. We in the police department are thoroughly baffled by this. I'll ask you again: if there is anything you know about your family, no matter how small, please tell me honestly."

The detective's matter-of-fact tone made it feel entirely unreal.

My dad, my mom, my sister, my grandpa... none of them were related to me? They weren't my family?

The quiet, gentle father, the bright, lively mother, the slightly nagging but sweet big sister, and the jokester grandfather who had been with me since childhood—were they all a fake family?

That couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake, Detective.

They are my family... my precious family. Are you saying they aren't?

I had so much to say, but no words came out. Tears fell uncontrollably. Unable to watch me break down, the detective spoke gently.

"It's only natural for you to be confused. We agonized over how to tell you this. Since you are an adult, we decided to give it to you straight... but we are just as bewildered as you are."

Please contact us if you remember or find out anything.

Escorted out by the detective after he said that, I left the police station.

When I got back, my father and sister had finished work earlier than usual and were relaxing; the whole family was together.

"You're late, Mami. Where were you?"

When my father asked, I reflexively lied and said I was seeing a friend.

"Alright, dinner time! Everyone take your seats."

My mother urged us to sit down to dinner as usual.

Everyone sat in their usual spots and started eating. Looking at this completely normal scene, the detective's words rushed back to me.

"Complete strangers with no blood relation."

I share no blood with them? If so, who are these people?

What was their goal in playing a family all this time?

Thinking about that instantly killed my appetite.

"Sorry. I don't really have an appetite."

Turning my back on my worried family, I retreated to my room.

"The people I thought were my family are strangers, and the bodies under the floorboards are my real family? Then why did those people die? Why were their bodies under the floor? Were they murdered? Who killed them? Was it... the people I thought were my family...?"

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. The horrifying thought nauseated me.

"Mami, wake up. You'll be late for school."

Apparently, I had fallen asleep as soon as I went back to my room last night. I stepped out of bed and looked in the mirror. My hair was disheveled, and dark circles sagged under my eyes. I looked so awful that I seriously considered skipping school, but my mother wouldn't hear of it.

"Come on, it's almost time to go! How long are you going to stay looking like a mess? Hurry up and get ready!"

She was terrifying when she got like this. I grabbed my clothes and hurried to the living room. As I headed to the bathroom to shower, my sister called out to me.

"Mami, seriously, start waking up on your own for once. Honestly."

She nagged me in an exasperated tone. I stuck my tongue out at her in return. My father chuckled as he watched us. I hurried to take a shower.

In my groggy state, the detective's words—"Not your real family"—remained stuck in my head. Yet, through this ordinary slice of morning routine, I felt myself reaffirming that they were indeed my family after all.

"Just forget it."

As I washed away the shampoo suds, I desperately tried to wash away my doubts with them.

Wrapped in a bath towel, I stepped back into the living room, where my mother stood alone.

"Where are Dad and Sis? And Grandpa?"

As I dried my head, my mother answered with an exasperated sigh.

"Your dad and sister already left for work. Grandpa said he was lining up for the raffle at the neighborhood pachinko parlor. You're taking your sweet time, but you better check the clock!"

At her words, I looked over at the clock. It was ten to eight.

I quickly started getting ready.

"Okay, I'm off!"

Just as I placed my hand on the front doorknob to step outside—

"Mami."

My mother suddenly stopped me.

"What is it, Mom?"

"..."

Looking down slightly, she spoke.

"Be careful out there. You can be so careless sometimes..."

"I'll be fine. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Even so, parents never stop worrying about their children. You'll understand someday."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful."

"Take care, Mami..."

Something about the unreadable expression on my mother's face as she saw me off felt distinctly off.

Even after getting to school, I couldn't stop worrying about how she acted.

I felt a haunting dread... as if I might never see her again.

First period passed, then second period... as time ticked by, my anxiety mounted.

Unable to sit still, I decided to leave in the middle of my third lecture and go home.

I sped home on my bike, rushed through the apartment lobby, and jumped into the elevator.

First floor... second floor... third floor... I could only wait in frustration as the elevator slowly rose. It reached the fifth floor, where our apartment was. The moment the doors opened, I sprinted. Reaching our door, I shoved the key into the lock. Hearing the click of the unlock, I turned the knob and stepped inside.

"Mom!"

I called out loudly, but got no response. A faint scent of curry wafted from the entrance.

I walked into the living room, but my mother wasn't there. Looking at the kitchen, I saw a red pot on the stove. The smell of curry filled the room. When I uncovered her favorite red pot, freshly made curry was sitting inside. The pot was still warm.

The fear I felt that morning—that I might never see her again—grew overwhelmingly large.

Thinking that if she had just gone shopping she'd be at the supermarket by the station, I dashed out of the room. I rode my bike straight to the station. I searched every inch of the store, but she wasn't there.

The more I searched, the worse my terror grew. The more desperate I became, the more real the dread felt.

I called my mother's phone, but it just rang without any sign of her picking up.

Mixed in with the ringing tone, the detective's words flashed back.

"Not your real family."

Those words nearly crushed me, but right now I just wanted to hear her voice. Just one word—I wanted to hear my mom's voice.

But cruelly, my mother never answered the phone.

By the time I made it back to the apartment, a beautiful sunset was visible from the balcony.

After gazing at the bright orange sky for a while, I slowly looked around the living room. It felt so lonely and big with just me there. Yet, for some reason, I didn't cry. Smelling the curry lingering in the room, I realized I felt hungry.

"I guess I still get hungry even at a time like this."

I warmed up the curry in the pot. The savory smell rising from it made me even hungrier.

Once it was warm, I sat down alone at the table.

"Thank you for the food..."

I put my hands together and ate a mouthful of curry. It was the same curry my mother always made.

As I ate the spicy curry, tears suddenly overflowed. I couldn't stop weeping at what would be the very last taste of my mother's cooking. Savoring the flavor I would never taste again, I knew with complete certainty that Mom, Dad, my sister, Grandpa... not a single one of them would ever come back to this house.

And that day, for the first time in my life, I learned just how lonely and tasteless eating alone could be.

"Your family... if we can even call them that... we still have no idea where they are. Since they undoubtedly know something about the arson at your home and the four bodies, the police are actively searching for them with everything we've got!"

An older man—likely a police higher-up—spoke to me with intense conviction.

"So... have you heard from them at all since then?"

The detective in charge asked next.

"On the day everyone disappeared, I called my dad and sister too, not just my mom. But none of the calls went through, and they never called me back. Now when I dial their numbers, I just get an automated recording saying the line is no longer in service."

Hearing my answer, the detective looked visibly disappointed.

The day after everyone vanished, I had gone to the police.

In the end, not a single one of them—Mom, Dad, my sister, or Grandpa—ever came back. I told the police everything without holding back about how they had suddenly disappeared. But there was probably nothing in my story that gave them a real clue. Still, the police promised to do everything possible to track down the four people who had been my family.

More than twenty years have passed since then. Not a single person from that family was ever found. What came to light later was that they had moved into that house when I was two years old. Before that, they had lived in the Tohoku region. They had relatives in their hometown, but even back then they had little contact, and after moving, communication stopped completely. Beyond that, nothing was ever discovered.

Up until the day they vanished into thin air, we were a completely ordinary family.

My father worked an ordinary corporate job. As a manager, he was well-trusted by his staff and held in high regard by his bosses. My sister used her language skills working in foreign trade. My mother was a full-time homemaker who was well-thought-of in the neighborhood, and my grandfather was known to be a regular at his favorite pachinko parlor.

The detective said:

"The more we dig, the more it seems you were just a run-of-the-mill family. That is precisely why this case is so full of mysteries.

We also looked into your 'real family,' and they seem to have been a completely average family as well. They weren't wealthy, nor were they facing any trouble—they weren't the kind of household you'd expect to get tangled in a crime. If those four did something to your 'real family,' why spare you alone? And why take you with them and play the role of your family? We cannot comprehend why they impersonated completely different people and maintained a 'fake family' for nearly twenty years.

Furthermore, if those four were responsible for setting the fire, we don't understand why they would do something now that would expose the truth. More than that, we don't even know who those four people actually were. It's completely baffling; I've never seen a case like this."

What prompted me to write this down was coming across an old TV show on a video site recently.

"Tales of the Unusual: A Lively Dinner Table"

When I watched it, I was shocked—it felt so much like my own story. In that episode, a person discovers at the end that his family was actually a rented family, and once the contract expired, they all walked away.

It's the same for me. People whose real identities I never knew became my 'family' from one day on. I have no memories of my 'real family.' All I have are my memories with the people deemed 'fake.'

Even so, I want to say out loud that those people were my only real family.

No matter what the detective says, to me, they were the only family I'll ever have.

Today, I live with a new family.

Left completely alone in the world, I got married ten years ago. I have a husband who treasures me, even though no one knows who I really am.

And we have a five-year-old daughter. Surrounded by my new family, I am truly happy.

I am so happy it makes me wonder if I'm even allowed to be this happy.

I have a husband who loves me and our daughter deeply.

I have a sweet daughter whom I carried and gave birth to.

But...

Even with such a happy family, there is a part of me that suspects it might all be another lie.

I can't bring myself to trust my husband completely, and I even catch myself paranoid, wondering if the daughter I gave birth to is truly my own child.

I can no longer believe in anything called "family."