**I approached the door and opened it cautiously.** The elderly couple from next door stood there. The old man's eyes scanned the room angrily before he growled: "Where's that son of a— Ow!"
"Dear, don't swear in front of children!" The old woman pinched his waist before he could finish.
She turned to us with grandmotherly warmth: "Where's your father, little ones?"
From my memories, I knew he visited brothels at night and returned by noon. "He's not home... might come back for lunch."
She smiled. "Thank you." Then looking between me and my sister: "Would you like to join us for dinner?"
I hesitated. My little sister secretly squeezed my hand, as if afraid I'd say yes. But their kindness felt different from Father's glare.
"Y-yes, thank you."
As we stepped out, I overheard the old man whisper:
"Look at their skinny arms... like they haven't eaten in weeks!"
I felt my sister stiffen beside me. Was this pity? Or were they hiding something?
**Following them home**, we sat at their dining table. While the old woman fetched food, I recalled last night's horrors: *How did I reach that white room? I fell asleep, then woke there suddenly.*
A wave of terror hit me. *Will every sleep now transport me to that nightmare? Face those faceless creatures again?*
The idea of sleep becoming a portal to hell terrified me. I wished it were just a dream, but the lingering pain proved it real.
**The old woman returned** with steaming soup. "Eat up! Simple but nourishing," she smiled. My sister's eyes lit up, saliva dripping, but she still glanced at me for permission. I nodded, and we ate slowly, trying to hide our starvation.
Watching us with maternal warmth, the old woman rested her cheek on her hand—like a grandmother missing her grandchildren. "Have more! There's plenty!"
When my sister dropped her spoon, the old man quickly wiped it clean. "No worries, children drop things."
But their exchanged sad looks betrayed them. "Don't you have ready meals at home?" she asked gently.
"Father's... very busy."
**Suddenly, the doorbell rang.** The old man returned with a basket of fresh bread and fruits. "This is for you... Come for lunch every day."
"But—" I tried refusing.
"No 'buts'!" she interrupted firmly. "We always cook too much!"
**Returning home**, I sat on the couch planning: *What if I return to the white room tonight?* As my sister drew colorful pictures, the door burst open.
**"Where were you hiding?!"** Father staggered in, reeking of alcohol.
"At the neighbors'! They fed us!" I said quickly.
He loomed over me like an erupting volcano. "I forbade you from leaving!"
When he grabbed my arm, **I didn't flinch this time.** I met his bloodshot eyes: "We were starving. Sister was crying from hunger!"
**A heavy silence fell.**
Then my sister held up her drawing: "Look, Father! I drew us all together!"
**The paper showed four figures** (Father, me, her, and one faceless person) playing in a garden. I'd never drawn Mother—her face lost to my memory.
**Father's hand trembled.** Something inside him seemed to break. He released me wordlessly and stormed to his room, slamming the door.
My sister innocently squeezed my hand: "Will we play in the garden tomorrow? Like my drawing?"
**"Maybe..."** I whispered, staring at the closed door.