When I was born, my parents were busy building their business, leaving me behind in the countryside.
By the time they were successful, Eric was already at their side.
To them, he was their son.
And I was nothing more than a piece of the past they’d rather not remember.
In that house, if Eric cried, it was my fault.
If Eric was tired, it was my fault.
Whenever anything went wrong, it was always my fault.
In the end, everything was always my fault.
Years ago, I naively believed that if I just worked hard enough, I could earn my parents’ love.
So I pushed myself to be the top of my class.
I threw myself into business ventures and investments.
But all of my efforts combined still couldn’t compete with Eric calling out “Mom, Dad” in his sweet voice.
Fortunately, I grew up.
I found the courage to fight back.
When Mrs. Smith once again swung her platinum handbag at my head, I slapped her hand away.
“Leave in five minutes, or see you in court.”
The sharp sting stunned her into silence for a moment.
But when she recovered, she became even more hysterical.
She yanked my hair and screamed,
“You’re kicking me out? You’re really kicking me out?”