At 14, I was left inside Dubai International Airport because my brother called it a “joke.” I was broke, shaking, and starving when a tall Arab man in a flowing white robe stopped in front of me and said, “Come with me. Trust me— they will regret this.” Four hours later, a call went out that made everyone’s tone change.

Were you spying on me?

His face was red, angry.

I just got home. I wasn’t—

Stay out of my business, Molly. I mean it.

He pushed past me and went downstairs.

I stood there for a long moment, confused. What trust fund? What was he talking about? I didn’t understand it then. I wish I had.

A few days later, we left for our big family vacation. Mom had won a trip to Thailand through her workplace lottery, some hospital raffle thing. It was our first real vacation in years, and I was genuinely excited. 2 weeks in Thailand, beaches, temples, adventure.

The flight route took us from Phoenix to Dubai for a 6-hour layover, then on to Bangkok. I packed light, one suitcase. Spencer brought three. I remember making a joke to myself about it, how I’d learned not to take up space in this family, even in the luggage compartment.

The flight to Dubai was long, but I didn’t mind. I had a window seat, and I spent most of it reading and watching movies. Spencer and mom sat together a few rows ahead of me. Every now and then, I’d see them laughing about something, and I’d feel that familiar pang of being left out, but I pushed it down like I always did.

When we landed in Dubai, I was exhausted but amazed. That airport was incredible, like a palace made of glass and marble. The bathroom I used had better lighting than my entire school. There were gold shops and designer stores and restaurants that looked like they belonged in a magazine.

I wandered around with my mouth half open, feeling like a peasant who’d stumbled into a royal court.

My fashion choices didn’t help. I was wearing my favorite oversized band t-shirt, some rock group I barely listen to anymore, and jeans that were slightly too long because I’d bought them on sale. I looked exactly like what I was, a 14-year-old kid from Arizona who had no idea what she was doing.

Spencer suggested we split up to explore the terminal during our layover. He said he’d take mom to look at the gold souk area and I could go check out the bookstore. I was actually happy about it. Peace was rare in my family, and I wanted to enjoy the alone time.

Before I left, Spencer offered to hold my backpack.

You don’t want to lug that around everywhere. I’ll keep it safe.

My passport was in that backpack, my boarding pass, my emergency cash, $40 my grandmother had given me before the trip. I handed it to him without thinking. Why wouldn’t I trust my brother?

I wish I could go back to that moment. I wish I could grab that girl by the shoulders and tell her to hold on to her bag like her life depended on it. because in a way it did.

I went to the bathroom, spent maybe 15 minutes browsing the bookstore, and then headed back to our meeting spot near gate 23.

Spencer and my mother were gone.

I waited 30 minutes, 45. I told myself they’d gotten distracted shopping, lost track of time, but a sick feeling was growing in my stomach. Finally, I found an information desk and asked about our flight to Bangkok.

The woman behind the counter typed something into her computer, then looked at me with concern.