Fragile as Breath

The couple who had been standing at the side, calmly watching the so-called brotherly reunion, suddenly dropped their elegant composure and rushed over in a panic.

My biological mother, Catherine Lynch, reached out with trembling fingers to check if I was breathing. She took a long moment before finally letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

"He's still breathing. Call an ambulance now!"

The second I heard that, I snapped my eyes open and grabbed her wrist. "No need. It's just low blood sugar. I'll be fine."

It was my first day back in this house. The last thing I wanted was for people to think I was troublesome or high-maintenance. More than anything, I wanted them to like me.

The servants stared at me, my face covered in blood, clearly terrified. Their eyes darted nervously toward my mother for instructions.

My mother stood up and motioned for the butler and the servants to leave, then turned to Anthony Snyder, her tone gentle but measured as she said, "Liam has only just come back to the family, so he still needs time to adjust. Make sure he's well taken care of, and don't…"

Before she could finish, Anthony's eyes were already glassy. The young man, who had been indulged his whole life, looked both stubborn and aggrieved.

"I was just trying to welcome him. How was I supposed to know he'd collapse on his own? I didn't even touch him."

My mother nodded softly and patted his hand in reassurance, about to speak again when I suddenly let out a blood-streaked tear. "He told me to behave… I didn't react in time. It scared me, and I fell. I didn't mean to."

Anthony's face went deathly pale. He stared at me, his voice rising sharply. "What are you talking about?"

The pressure in his gaze hit me like a weight, and my chest tightened instantly.

My body was weak, and my mind even more so. I had always been afraid of upsetting people and being a burden. I lived carefully and cautiously, never daring to say no.

Then, on my very first day back, I had already been warned by Anthony. The anxiety pressed down on me so hard I could barely breathe.

What if I upset him again in the future? What if he started to hate me?

The more I thought about it, the worse it felt. Blood-streaked tears slid uncontrollably from the corners of my eyes.

I looked at him miserably. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have come back and gotten in the way. I'll leave right now."

Getting warned like that on day one… The days ahead probably would not be easy. I could already tell.

Perhaps some things were never meant to be forced. With a body as fragile as mine, I clearly did not belong in a family like that.

Since my luggage had not even been brought inside yet, I was already thinking about how to ask the driver to take me back to where I came from.

The commotion quickly drew the attention of the neighbors.

They gathered in small groups along the roadside, whispering to each other, occasionally shooting strange, unreadable looks in our direction.

When he saw me lying there, covered in blood, my father, Patrick Snyder, finally crouched. He forced a stiff, almost ugly smile onto his face.

"You're our biological son. Of course, you should stay. Perhaps Anthony doesn't know how to phrase things properly. He's not a bad person."

Seeing me glance timidly at Anthony, my father subtly shot him a look from the side.

Only then did Anthony reluctantly walk over. His expression was strained as he reached out a hand, as if to help me up.

However, the dissatisfaction in his eyes had not faded at all. When he grabbed my hand, his grip was too tight, like he was holding something back. The next second, he suddenly tightened his grip.

A sharp crack rang out. My arm snapped.

…

I crashed heavily back onto the ground. A few bills slipped out of my pocket and scattered across the floor.