Those late nights when I took my child alone to the doctor, those long days I cried silently in the empty bridal chamber—meanwhile, he was off enjoying himself with someone else.
“Fine, I’ll leave.”
I stood still, forcing myself to calm down, but my voice was barely a whisper, carried away by the wind.
“I’ll stay away from my brother from now on.”
Charles’s voice cut through the air.
I didn’t know when he slipped away from his parents’ side, but suddenly he was standing in front of me, eyes locked on my face like he was trying to see through me.
“What did you just call me?”
Because of our status difference, my mother always tried to curry favor with her stepfather. I grew up watching her do it, and I followed suit, doing everything to please my stepbrother, Charles.
No matter how cold he acted, I believed I was the one who warmed his heart.
Everyone inside and outside Washington’s circle knew this: Charles loved me, his stepsister, the most.
Anyone who dared hurt me would pay a hundred times over.
I looked down at the white scar on my palm, clear and unforgiving.
I remembered the day I was cornered by school bullies in an alley. My palm was sliced by a dagger during the fight. That day, I almost died.
But then Charles appeared, sweat pouring down his forehead. Without a second thought, he charged into the fight, taking them on alone—ignoring his own injuries.
His left ear was permanently damaged that day.
When the doctor told him his hearing loss was irreversible, I couldn’t stop crying.
But he smiled, poked my nose, and said, “It’s worth it if you worship me forever.”
Now, all I felt was bitter disappointment.
I shook off the memories and forced myself to speak, “Brother.”
He sneered, eyes ice-cold. “I don’t have a sister like you.”
Sophie hurried between us, the wedding ring on her finger stabbing at my eyes.
“Grace, he had a head injury. His memory might be a bit confused. Don’t take it personally. How could he not remember you as his sister?”
“You’ve always been here. He loves you like a sister, right?”
I clenched my fists, voice steady despite the ache. “Alright, I understand.”
Turning away, I caught sight of my mother waiting by the side, a hot towel in hand, her eyes anxious.
“Sophie, drink some warm water and calm down. Don’t let your anger hurt you.”
The scene in front of me blended with a flood of memories—countless moments of flattery and forced smiles.
I suddenly felt utterly exhausted.
It was almost laughable.
I walked to Emily’s room and whispered, “Emily’s asleep now. I don’t want to wake her.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll move out tomorrow.”
I gently pushed open the door and lay down beside her.
She opened her eyes, sleepy and confused. “Mom, are you crying?”
Her small voice trembled as she asked, “Mom, does Daddy not want us anymore?”
I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and covered my mouth.
But Emily hugged my neck tightly, her small voice fierce, “Mom, don’t cry. I still have Emily. Emily will always be with you.”
I held her close, voice breaking, “Mom loves you. Go to sleep, baby.”
But the next morning, Emily was drenched in sweat.
I touched her forehead—she had a high fever.
The doctor warned that with her weak heart, a fever could be dangerous.
I rushed her to the hospital.
As I was about to pay at the clinic, I saw Charles arrive, accompanied by Sophie.
In my hurry, I accidentally bumped into Sophie.
Without hesitation, Charles shoved me away. His palm hit me hard enough to stagger back.
“You knew Sophie was pregnant, and you wanted her to have a miscarriage?”
Pregnant? My eyes darted to Sophie’s abdomen.
When I was in agony in the delivery room, he never sent a single message.
But now, he stood protectively by Sophie’s side, eyes filled with a tension and concern I had never seen directed at me.
