My Parents Picked Us from the Kid Store. I Want to Return My Brother.

My parents told me I came from the Kid Store.

“It’s a magical place,” Mommy said, smoothing my hair, “where parents pick the perfect child.”

I used to love that story. I imagined rows of children lined up neatly—some with golden curls like princesses, others with freckles and bright toothy smiles. I imagined my parents walking through the aisles, looking at all the different choices before stopping in front of me.

“That one,” Daddy would say, “she’s perfect.”

It made me feel special. Like I was chosen—not just born, like other kids.

Then they brought home Sam.

I didn’t understand why they picked him. He cried too much, all red-faced and wrinkly. He couldn’t play. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t do anything except steal Mommy and Daddy’s attention.

“Can we take him back?” I asked.

“Back where?” Mommy replied.

“To the Kid Store,” I suggested.

Mommy laughed.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can’t return babies. Once you pick one, they’re yours forever.”

I didn’t like that.

I used to sit with them after dinner, showing them my drawings, feeling their arms wrap around me in hugs, hearing their soft words of praise.

Now, they only sat with him.

“Come on, Sam,” Mommy cooed, holding his tiny hands. “Say Ma-ma. You can do it!”

I sat at the kitchen table, coloring.

I had spent all afternoon on my drawing. Me, Mommy, Daddy—and even my new brother, Sam. I drew our house, our backyard, even the flowers Mommy liked to plant in the spring.

I carefully wrote my name at the top in big letters.

“Mmm-mmm,” Sam gurgled.

“That’s it!” Daddy grinned. His voice was so bright, so happy.

Mommy gasped, clapping her hands. “Oh honey, he almost said it!”

My fingers curled around my crayon.

“Mommy!” I said, holding up my picture. “I won an award at school today! Miss Jones said it was the best drawing in class!”

She didn’t turn.

“Mmm-mmm-muh—”

“Listen to him! He’s so close!”

Daddy lifted Sam into the air, laughing, kissing his tiny hands.

“That’s our boy! Keep going, buddy—Ma-ma!”

“Mommy!” I tried again, but she wasn’t listening.

Sam gurgled, drooling down his chin. They only had eyes for him.

I looked down at my picture—the one that was supposed to make them proud. I traced my name one last time with my finger, then crumpled it up into a tight ball, pressing it so hard my nails tore through the paper.

That night, I woke to whispers. Not words—not quite. Just soft baby noises.

The moonlight cast pale silver through the blinds, falling across Sam’s crib.

He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t moving.

He was watching me.

His mouth wriggled, lips opening and closing, his tiny hands twitching against the blanket.

“Mmm-mmm-mu-mmm,” he gurgled.

“That’s it, Sammy,” I encouraged. “You can say it.”

“Mmm-muu-mmm—murr—”

“Ma-ma. Say Ma-ma.”

“Murr-drr.”

My stomach twisted. I sat up fast.

Sam’s mouth moved again, his tongue pressing against his gums like he was practicing.

“Mmm-murrder.”

He smiled. Tiny. Just enough.

Like he knew exactly what he was saying.

I screamed.

The lights snapped on.

Mommy rushed in, grabbing Sam, rocking him.

“What happened? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“He—he was talking!” I pointed at him, my whole body shaking.

Mommy sighed, brushing my cheek.

“Honey, babies make sounds. He’s just learning.”

Sam pressed his face into her shoulder. His tiny hand curled into a fist.

His eyes never left mine.

A few days later, Mommy got me a present. Inside the box was Rosie, a doll with golden curls and a pink dress.

“Just for you,” she said. “I know it’s been difficult adjusting to having your baby brother around. We still love you. That’s never going to change.”

Mommy gave me a kiss on my forehead.

I lifted the lid, excited—then my smile faded. One of Rosie’s legs had already come off.

“She’s broken!” I cried, holding up the limp leg.

“Don’t worry,” Daddy said, taking the doll from my hands. “We’ll take her back to the toy store and get a new one.”

I watched as he packed Rosie back in the box and drove away. When he came back, she was fixed.

“Good as new,” Mommy said, placing her in my arms.

I stared at her, silent.

I had an idea.

If something is broken, it can be returned.

That night, I crept to Sam’s crib. He lay there, gurgling, his tiny hands reaching for nothing. I reached in and grabbed his leg.

I pulled.

It didn’t come off.

I twisted harder—snap.

Sam screamed.

I grabbed his other leg—snap.

His arms—snap.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just a small, shaky breath.

I pressed my hands against his cheeks and twisted his head—snap.

Sam went floppy. Quiet now.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Mommy and Daddy froze in the doorway.

I held Sam up by his limp leg and smiled.

“He’s broken,” I said. “Can we take him back to the Kid Store now?”

They didn’t say anything.

Daddy’s face went pale, his eyes locked on Sam’s tiny, crumpled body.

Slowly, Daddy stepped forward. He wrapped Sam’s body in a blanket—carefully, almost tenderly—before scooping him into his arms.

Mommy took my hand. It was shaking.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’re going on a little trip.”

The car ride was silent.

I thought Mommy and Daddy might have been mad. I thought they would yell or cry. But they didn’t. They didn’t even look at me.

I glanced at the bundle on the seat next to me—Sam, wrapped in his blanket, completely still.

Had I broken him too much? Did he need to go to a hospital before we returned him?

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Mommy sucked in a deep breath and turned.

“To the Kid Store, of course.”

That’s good then. I did it right. We can swap him for a proper brother.

The Kid Store looked exactly like any other store.

Except for the cages.

The air smelled like sweets and baby powder. Bright overhead lights. A clean, glossy floor and neon signs which boasted:

LIMITED TIME DISCOUNTS
NEW ARRIVALS – 50% OFF
CHOOSE YOUR PERFECT CHILD TODAY

Along the walls, rows of clear glass cases displayed infants swaddled in pastel-colored blankets. Each had a small price tag attached to their bassinet.

In the center of the store stood larger enclosures where older children sat cross-legged behind bars, their eyes tracking passing shoppers.

A few cages stood empty, price tags still hanging from the doors.

A tall man in a red jacket stood at the front counter.

His name tag read:

MANAGER
MR. BENNETT

He smiled knowingly at Mommy and Daddy.

“Back again?” he asked.

Daddy hesitated, then carefully set Sam’s bundled body onto the counter.

Mr. Bennett unwrapped him slowly, lifting his tiny, limp limbs, turning him this way and that.

“Hmm, such a shame,” he muttered. “Wait here. We’ll get you a replacement.”

He gestured to a woman behind him—tall, her face blank, her hair pulled into a perfect bun.
She disappeared through a door marked:

EMPLOYEES ONLY

A few moments later, she reappeared, rolling a metal cart. On it lay a baby just like Sam. Same soft brown hair, same button nose, same chubby cheeks. His tiny hands twitched as he was lifted into Daddy’s arms, swaddled in blue.

“Good as new,” Mommy whispered, giving the baby a kiss on its forehead.

Finally. A new baby brother. Hopefully, this one will be better.

I reached for Mommy’s hand.

She didn’t take it.

Mr. Bennett turned his gaze to me.

“And what about this one?” Nodding at me.

“She’s broken.” Mommy sighed.

The woman with the perfect bun stepped forward. Her fingers closed around my wrist, cold and firm and then she led me away.

Mr. Bennett's smile widened.

“Well.” he said as I was pulled to an empty cage. “We’ll get you a new one, then.”

“No!” Mommy objected, adjusting her purse, “we want a refund.”

My stomach dropped. Something was wrong. Why were they leaving me behind?

The cage clicked shut.

I scrambled toward it, clasping my hands around the cold metal bars.

“Mommy!”

She didn’t look back.

I watched as the door swung shut behind them.

I wasn’t going home.

I didn’t understand. Sam was the broken one, not me. I thought they would bring a new Sam
back home, just like Rosie.

I began to cry.

A shuffle caught my attention. The boy in the cage next to me was watching me. His hair was
messy, his clothes too big, his lip split open like he had been hit.

He lifted a finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he whispered, “no crying on the store floor—Mr. Bennett doesn’t like it when we do
that.”

I turned toward the front of store where Mr. Bennett stood speaking in low tones to the woman with the bun.

“What shall we do with her?” she asked.

Mr. Bennett studied me.

“Put her back on display,” he said. “Fifty percent off. Someone will take her, sooner or later.”

Then he crouched down, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear.

“Oh, Ellie.” he sighed. “You had it all backwards. You’re supposed to break the humans.” His
smile widened flashing too many teeth, “Little Sam was one of us.”

A small tag beside me caught the light, its printed letters crisp and clear:

PREOWNED — FINAL SALE

I have to get out of here. But what if no one picks me?