Chapter 4

I didn't die that day.

At the last moment, I jumped out the window and was rushed to the hospital.

The doctor said it was lucky I arrived just in time; a moment later and I might not have made it.

The lady beside me, peeling an orange for her daughter, said, "Good thing you're okay. Otherwise, your parents would have been so worried!"

I watched enviously as the lady fed her daughter the orange segments, one by one.

My reflection in the window showed how alone I was.

I tried to reassure myself, as if declaring to everyone, laughing loudly, "Yes, my mom and dad love me very, very much."

Suddenly, the door to the hospital room burst open.

I saw my parents rushing towards me.

A wave of grievance welled up from deep inside, and I struggled to sit up despite the pain, tears streaming down my face.

"Dad, Mom..."

I was so scared, so terrified of dying... Could you hold me, just for a moment? Just once would be enough...

But instead, my mother grabbed my collar and yanked me off the bed, throwing me to the floor. The IV needle tore out, and blood trickled out.

"You despicable brat! You're playing the victim, making yourself look like you had an allergic reaction and then causing a scene by jumping, just to let everyone know that your father and I mistreat you, ruining our reputation? Why didn't you just jump to your death?"

I curled up, holding my head, as she kicked me again and again.

I never meant to hurt my parents; I just wanted to survive...

I took a gamble with the height of the third floor, but I lost the bet on the depth of my parents' disdain for me.

In the window's reflection, I saw my father leaning against the wall, watching coldly as my mother clawed at me with her nails, while the lady next to me cooed over her frightened daughter, comforting her gently.

The crowd gathered at the door looked at me with scorn and derision, as if silently calling me a malicious child.

The illusion I had built up, that my parents loved me, was completely shattered in front of everyone.

I lied to you all; my parents don't love me. They... they love me the least...

After that, my parents cut off my living expenses, and I applied to stay at the school.

I survived on one-yuan steamed buns and free vegetable soup from the canteen.

I slept in a dormitory for sixteen people, with only a straw mat and a thin blanket.

The few hundred yuan for accommodation came from my semester's scholarship.

As I moved up to middle school and high school, the accommodation fees increased, and I could only study tirelessly day and night, hoping to score just a few points higher each time to earn the scholarship to sustain myself.

I always thought that if I became more outstanding, my parents would eventually love me again.

But when I brought home test papers with nearly perfect scores, and visiting relatives praised me, my mother dismissed it without a thought, "She's stupid as a rock, not even half as smart as Xiaonian. How could she score so well?"

Then, she slapped me hard across the face.

"Tell me, who did you copy from?"

The burning pain on my face matched the ache in my heart, making me wish I could disappear somewhere.

Later, when the class teacher called to confirm my grades, my mother only glanced at the shredded papers in the trash, curling her lips.

"What's there to brag about with just these scores? Your brother aced every subject. Unlike you, who's such a disappointment, aren't you ashamed of such low scores?"

Along with the shredded test papers, my heart was also torn apart.

My parents preferred a smart child like my brother, so I tried hard to erase myself and become like him.

I pushed myself even harder to study.

Through spring, summer, autumn, and winter, seasonal ailments like heat rash and frostbite always found me in their specific seasons.

After exiting the college entrance exam, I finally had the chance to prove I was just as outstanding as my brother.

My parents might finally love me...

But I died on the eve of the exam results.

Until my death, I never became the kind of child my parents loved, like my brother.

I watched as my parents filled my brother's empty bowl with rice, silently placing food in it.

This scene repeated day after day for eight years.

Wasn't it my fault for making my parents this way by causing my brother's death?

Didn't I deserve to die too?

A knock on the door, and a voice from my memory came through.

"Mom, Dad, open the door, I brought your daughter-in-law home!"

I saw my usually cautious father stand up and break a bowl.

My always fiery mother slumped into a chair, tears streaming down as she repeatedly asked my father, "Is it him? Is it him?"

My father almost tripped over himself to reach the door, holding the handle for a long time before turning it.

The door swung wide open to reveal a tall man standing outside. I saw him; it was my brother, whom I had thought I killed eight years ago...