Chapter 4
I wasn't surprised at all when he didn't reply.
I was not deliberately starving myself—after all, stomachaches were no joke.
I forced down half a bowl of pasta, skimmed the oil off the soup, and took a few sips.
I wasn't feeling well and had no appetite at all—eating too fast would just make me nauseous.
So even a small bowl of food took me forever to finish, my eyes constantly darting to my phone screen.
After finishing the meal, I slowly gathered up the empty takeout containers and threw them away.
The nurse came in to administer my IV drip and sternly advised, "Limit your phone use and get more rest."
Still no reply from Elbert.
I forced a smile and nodded, placing my phone on the nightstand.
Ever since my parents died, my phone had pretty much only one purpose—to talk to Elbert.
All those old relatives and friends had slowly drifted away, leaving just the two of us.
But now, even that bond was fading.
The girl in the next bed grumbled, "Hey, I'm on my phone too. How come the nurse didn't scold me?"
She didn't know—she was just sick, but me? Dying.
I lay down to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come.
Memories kept flooding back—all those moments from the past.
The good and the bad.
The happy and the unhappy.
Until they all culminated in that one moment—Elbert's slap across my face.
Honestly, I suddenly asked Elbert to make me some soup wasn't because I wanted it.
The truth was, I'd always hated soup—even as a kid, I couldn't stand it.
Back when our parents were still alive, Elbert was so good to me—he was the most doting big brother I could ask for.
When I was little, my parents were always busy with work.
They were often overseas for months at a time.
Elbert and I missed them so much that we'd beg to go abroad too.
Our parents had no choice but to send their assistant to pick us up.
But as a kid, I was terrified of heights. The first time I got on a plane, I was so scared I thought I'd die.
The second time, only Elbert was taken abroad.
He left in the afternoon, but by the next morning, he was already back on the earliest flight.
I was sitting in my bedroom crying when he suddenly burst in, his suitcase stuffed full of things.
Tears streaked my face as I looked at him in confusion.
He grinned and said, "I could hear you crying all the way from overseas!"
The night before, Mom had made some cakes—he tried one, thought it was delicious, and packed the whole bowl, lid and all, into his suitcase to bring back for me.
Dad took him to a night market abroad, and he bought a huge pile of plush toys, snacks, and little toys—all for me.
When he got back, he dumped everything into my arms and, trying to sound all grown-up, comforted me, "There, there. These are from Mom and Dad.
"They miss you so much and even had me bring food back for you."
He was lying through his teeth.
It was summer, scorching hot outside.
The cakes had already gone bad—our parents would never be that careless.
I took a bite of the sour cake and burst into loud sobs.
Back then, I was five, and Elbert was twelve.
Afraid of getting scolded when the nanny came in, we panicked and stuffed the spoiled cake under the bed.
"I want Mom's cooking," I told Elbert.
So whenever the nanny wasn't around, he would sneak into the kitchen and secretly teach himself how to cook.
Before long, he became a really good cook.
I'd been a picky eater since childhood, especially disliking soup.
Elbert would mimic our teacher and coax me, "Have more soup and don't be picky if you want to grow up. Otherwise, you'll always be the little sister."
His soup was surprisingly delicious, and sometimes I'd even willingly finish a small bowl.
After he came of age, he got his driver's license.
One night when I missed our parents, he pulled me up and drove for over ten hours—over 600 miles—just to take me to that coastal city so I could see them.