Chapter 1

I never went into the banquet hall.

Instead, I took out my phone and messaged the class president and my only friend at school, Lucille Levins.

Winry: [Lucille, something came up at home, so I can't make it tonight. I left your gift outside. Happy birthday!]

She replied almost immediately.

Lucille: [Winry, are you feeling okay? You've been looking pretty pale lately. Don't push yourself too hard, okay? Go home and get some rest.]

I stared at the screen, my eyes stinging as the text blurred before me.

Lucille was the only person in class who ever waited for me at lunch.

Whenever I returned to school after being sick, she would slip sweet notes into my backpack.

When my classmates locked me inside a bathroom stall, she stayed outside and kept me company, talking to me until a teacher came to let me out.

However, the godmother and big brother she had always talked about were the very same people I had called my mom and brother for over a decade.

I had no idea how I could face her. In the end, I left the paper gift bag at the reception desk and walked away.

The night air was bitterly cold.

As the bus rolled past one stop after another, I leaned against the window, memories surfacing one by one.

In middle school, I won first place in a public speaking competition. My teacher asked me to invite my parents up for a photograph, so I called my mother.

The background noise on the other end of the call was loud. All Mom said was, "Winry, I'm working overtime. Don't waste my time over something so small. I'm trying to make money here."

That day, I stood outside the school gates with my certificate until nightfall.

When I finally got home, she glanced at it and told me to put it on the bookshelf.

When I was sixteen, my classmates locked me inside the school's equipment room. The door was bolted from the outside. I pounded on it until my palms went numb, and my phone was almost dead.

With tears streaming down my face, I called my brother.

"Can you come to school? I can't get out of here."

He was silent for a few seconds. "Your school is too far from where I am. Why don't you find a teacher?"

"My phone's about to die," I replied.

His voice turned cold. "You're old enough to know how to call for help, aren't you?"

In the end, a teacher making the rounds found me and let me out.

When my brother, Aldon Rowntree, came home the next day, the first thing he asked was not whether I had been hurt.

Instead, he said, "You're too antisocial. There are hundreds of people at your school, and you couldn't find a single person to ask for help? Aren't you embarrassed of yourself?"

Back then, I did not argue. I thought Mom was simply too busy, and Aldon had never been the type to speak gently.

I learned to stop bothering them. When I got sick, I went to the school nurse alone. I signed my own permission slips for parent-teacher conferences.

On my birthday, I bought myself a little cake, then blew out the candles in my room as quickly as possible.

Tonight, I finally learned the truth.

Mom knew how to kneel down and straighten someone's dress. Aldon knew how to lower his head and gently place a crown on someone's hair.

It was not that they did not know how to love. They had simply saved all that tenderness for someone else.

When I got home, the living room was dark. A note was pinned beneath the vase on the dining table.

'Your brother and I have to leave for a last-minute business trip. Don't wait up.'

The handwriting belonged to Mom.

I sat on the couch without even taking off my shoes. It was not until one in the morning that I finally heard the front door open.

Mom and Aldon walked in one after the other, their clothes carrying the sweet scent of cake.

A tiny piece of glitter from a birthday party popper was still stuck to Aldon's collar.

When Mom saw me, she frowned and asked, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

I looked up at her and pressed my lips together. "How was work?"

She paused for a moment, then set down her bag. "Busy enough that I didn't even have time for dinner."

Aldon glanced at me as he changed his shoes. "Just focus on your studies. Kids shouldn't ask so many questions."

I nodded and got ready to return to my room.

As Aldon bent down to pick up his coat, half of a Polaroid slipped from his pocket.

In the picture, Lucille stood between Mom and Aldon, wearing her birthday crown. They were pressed close together, one on either side of her, looking every bit like a family.

Aldon quickly picked up the photo and stuffed it back into his pocket.

I said nothing. I simply looked away, pretending I had not seen a thing.