Chapter 2

The last two weeks before I left for Jubilee City to start college, the house was as lively as if the household were preparing for a lavish wedding.

Expensive packages arrived every day, piling up on the front porch like snowfall.

Ethan's room was stuffed to the brim with brand-new custom-tailored suits, limited-edition sneakers, the latest electronics, and every luxury item he could possibly want.

To scrape together enough money for my trip to college and my first month's living expenses, I found a night shift at a twenty-four-hour convenience store a few blocks from home.

Every night, I worked from 10 PM until 6 AM the next morning.

After five overnight shifts in a row, I came down with a high fever. My head felt like it was splitting open, and every bone in my body ached.

At 7 AM that morning, I dragged myself through my home’s front door.

Mom was in the living room, excitedly holding up an Armani cashmere overcoat.

"Ethan, winters in Parish are freezing. This one is expensive, but it'll keep you warm, and the cut suits you perfectly."

Dad sat nearby sipping his hand-brewed coffee, nodding in agreement.

"Appearance matters most. First impressions mean everything overseas. It's money well spent."

I leaned against the shoe cabinet as the room began spinning around me.

"Mom..." My voice came out hoarse. "I have a fever. Could you take me to the hospital?

“Or could you at least give me enough money to buy some fever medicine?"

I would not get paid until next month. At that moment, I did not even have ten dollars to my name.

The cheerful conversation stopped instantly.

Mom lowered the coat and looked at me, her brows knitting together.

"Julian, are you trying another attention-seeking stunt?"

She walked closer, studying me with the detached expression of a psychology expert.

"When people feel neglected, they often develop physical symptoms to gain sympathy. This is a classic case of regressive behavior."

I leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe.

"I wasn't lying. I really do have a fever. It's 102 degrees."

Dad set down his coffee cup, his voice carrying the unquestionable authority of a professor.

"A fever means your immune system is doing its job. You've always been healthy, so just give your body a few days to regulate itself.

"If you run to the hospital every time you get sick and take antibiotics, you'll only weaken your immune system.

“That's basic science."

Basic science.

Even their refusal to help their sick child sounded noble.

Ethan walked out wearing one of his new designer outfits, holding a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Julian, did you catch a cold? You look awful." He held the glass toward me with a look of concern.

"Here. Drink some orange juice. You need the vitamin C.

"I've got my visa appointment today, and Mom and Dad are coming with me, so we really don't have time to take care of you."

I stared at the orange juice. Suddenly, my stomach churned. A wave of nausea hit me so hard that I shoved his hand aside and stumbled toward the bathroom.

A sharp crash echoed through the house.

The glass hit the floor and shattered. Orange juice splashed all over Ethan's brand-new clothes.

"My clothes!" Ethan cried.

The next second, someone shoved me hard from behind.

The fever had already drained every bit of strength from my body, so I completely lost my balance and crashed onto the broken glass.

A searing pain shot through my palm. Blood immediately poured from the deep cut, mixing with the orange juice across the tile floor.

"Julian! Have you lost your mind?" Mom's shrill voice filled the living room.

Instead of looking at me, she grabbed a handful of tissues and hurried over to wipe the stains off Ethan's clothes.

"Just because you're sick doesn't mean you get to ruin everyone else's day!

"Do you even know how expensive this outfit is?"

I sat there on the floor, staring at the deep gash across my palm as drops of blood kept falling onto the tiles.

Not a single person reached out to help me up.

Dad stood over me, looking down with the cold eyes of a complete stranger.

"Clean this up yourself. If you can't even control your emotions, you'll never amount to anything."

Then the three of them left together, hurrying off to Ethan's visa appointment, an appointment that apparently could not afford a single mistake.

The front door slammed shut behind them. I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled to the sink, washing the blood from my hand. The icy water burned against the wound.

When I glanced at the mirror, I barely recognized the person staring back at me. My face was ghostly pale, completely drained of color.

The image brought back a memory from when I was ten. Ethan had sneezed once, and Dad had immediately canceled every plan he had that day.

Mom had refused to wait until morning, insisting on taking him to the hospital that very night for a full examination.

They stayed with him the entire night without leaving his side.

Now, I stood there with a 102-degree fever, blood dripping from my hand. However, to them, I was only ‘making up physical symptoms’.

I found a clean towel, wrapped my injured hand, then went back to the tiny storage room that served as my bedroom and collapsed onto the hard, narrow bed.

I never took any medicine or went to the hospital. I simply endured it.

Every ache in my body reminded me how foolish it was to keep hoping my parents would ever care.

When the fever reached its worst, I even began hallucinating.

I dreamed that I had finally escaped this house. I had gone somewhere no one knew my name, somewhere untouched by favoritism, quiet cruelty, or pretty lies disguised as kindness.

A place where I could simply exist as myself.

My fever finally broke the morning after.

The first thing I did after recovering was find a rag.

I went through the house and carefully wiped away every fingerprint I had ever left behind. One by one, until it was as if I had never lived there at all.