"Are you okay, you look sicker!" Mom replied as she tried to give my medicine. I felt sick now, and I was so confused. I tried to convince myself that Charles and Mary were just similar to someone I had maybe met before. But, I couldn't shake the thoughts from my mind. I had vivid memories about them. I had never thought much of the Eiffel Tower memory. But now that I delved deeper into the memory, I remembered my parents standing near me. I remembered being hit in the head. That's where I had no memory from. I said I was feeling better and wanted to go to sleep. As they left my room, I opened my laptop. I typed in "Charles, Mary, and Iris Martin." The typical missing girl articles from 2002 came up, but then one caught my eye. A newer article, from 2004. "The missing girl from 2002, Iris Martin, still remains missing, but we have disturbing new detail today as two bodies are found. The bodies were found in southern Portugal, but strangely, they belonged to Iris' parents, Charles and Mary Martin, who are from France." I gaped at the screen. The words, "Found in Portugal" kept flashing in my mind. Then, it all made sense. I was living with two kidnappers, and two killers. Charles and Mary were my real parents, I was Iris Martin. No wonder I never fit in with the family. No wonder I never fit in in Portugal. No wonder I was so drawn into France. I was Iris Martin, born in France. Iris Martin, who visited the Eiffel Tower with her parents at three years old. Who was taken by two strangers and moved to Portugal. Somewhere in the missing memories, my real parents were murdered. It was too perfect, too coincidental. They were found in Portugal, I had been raised by these strangers in Portugal. Everything connected too well, from the details about the murder to my name. My name that these strangers had given me, a name that meant, "New." I was their new daughter, and I had new parents. I suddenly was terrified, I was living with these criminals. I started sobbing and couldn't stop. My real parents, they were murdered, and I was raised by their murderers. I couldn't stop crying, and "mom and dad" came in my room. "Dad" grabbed my laptop. "Mom" screamed as she saw my baby pictures and my real parents pictures on the screen. Nobody said anything for a solid ten minutes. Then, "Dad" broke the silence. "What did you read?" He asked. I couldn't talk. "Nova, it isn't that way. You are ours, you are our daughter." I shook my head and couldn't stop shaking it. My head was hurting but I was still shaking my head. "Mom" was sobbing and "Dad" was pacing the room. I picked up my phone and "Dad" threw it from my hand. "You're not my parents,"I whispered. "Nova, you are making no sense. The media lied, you are ours." I knew that wasn't true, now I was running. I was running out of the door, I was running away from the lie I had been living in for the past fourteen years. A hand grabbed my hair. "Mom" spun to face me. "You lived with us for 14 years, you are happy aren't you?" I couldn't reply, I was sobbing. I shook my head no, and "Dad" slapped me. "If you ever tell, if you ever speak a word, you'll end up like them," He said, thrusting his finger to the monitor with the picture of my real parents. They slammed the door and left. I looked at the window next to my head. "Mom, Dad, help me through this," I whispered as I jumped. I was flying through the air less than a second, it wasn't a high window. I landed in the bushes, twisting my ankle. Then, I ran. My sanity left, and so did my feet. I was running, and I didn't know where I was going. I ran for what seemed like hours before someone grabbed me. I started fighting, shoving the person. "Ma'am, I am a police officer," the man repeated. I spun into the face of a man wearing a hat. He was a real police officer. I couldn't talk, my words wouldn't form. They took me to the station to see what had happened. "I am Iris Martin," I whispered. I couldn't explain, it sounded too crazy. As those words left my mouth, so did my thoughts. I knew now why I didn't belong. All I did was open the website's that showed the articles. Every officer in the station was asking me questions, how I figured it out, how I escaped, how I had been fooled for 14 years. I couldn't talk, not yet. I couldn't get the words to form. Again I began shaking my head as to say no. I couldn't stop, even as the officers restrained me. The image of my real parents wouldn't leave my mind.