Chapter 3

I was born in the year my older brother Taylor took his own life.

Lila Summers—that was the name Helen gave me.

Back then, with a gentle look in her eyes, she said, "You two are Mom's treasures. One of you is Mom's sun, and the other is the moon."

However, a month later, Taylor secretly changed his college application to a dance academy without telling her.

Helen firmly disagreed, standing her ground.

Driven by hopelessness, Taylor took his own life right there at home.

With the sun gone, how could the moon shine alone?

After Taylor's passing, Dad was completely heartbroken and left without hesitation.

Helen suffered a mental breakdown and gave birth prematurely.

On the day when I was one month old, as she held me in her arms, she saw Taylor's photo on the wall.

Just a moment before, she was softly soothing me.

The next moment, her expression suddenly contorted, almost manic.

It was like she'd clung to her final lifeline.

"Taylor... you're back! You're finally back with me!" she cried out, her voice wild with joy.

From that day on, I became Taylor in her eyes.

She believed I was Taylor's reincarnation, her salvation, and a chance given by God for her to atone for her sins.

With a stubborn and crazy determination, she had declared, "You have to fulfill Taylor's dream. You must live like him. That's the purpose of your existence."

I nodded naively and began to live the life she wanted.

For sixteen years, I danced.

It was a dance of Taylor's obsession and Helen's guilt.

For twenty years, I lived in Taylor's shadow, bearing his name and living his life.

I had no friends, no hobbies other than dancing.

Even the one thing I loved, my hidden stash of paintbrushes, got busted by her.

In a fit of rage, she pointed at me and shrieked, "Have you forgotten who you are? You're Taylor Summers! Taylor didn't like painting, and neither can you!"

Then she hurt herself right in front of me.

I rushed over to wipe her tears away.

With a childish voice but an acceptance of my life, I said, "Mom, I'll never paint again."

Days passed in this endless suffering.

I endured over twelve hours of intense training every day, with no weekends, no holidays, and no normal life that my peers had.

I couldn't stop, even when I had a fever so high that my whole body burned.

I couldn't rest even when my ankle was sprained and I could barely stand.

If I showed the slightest sign of slack, she would lose control, crying hysterically, hitting the wall, and hurting herself.

In the most extreme way, she tied me tightly to the name Taylor.

I had no choice but to compromise, promise again and again that I would live well and train hard.

She imprisoned me in a cage forged by her tears, blood, and life.

Sometimes, when she snapped out of her madness, she'd pull me into her arms, and for a moment, there was a gentle look in her eyes.

"Once you make our dream come true, Mom will finally let you live your own life," she'd say.

That was the only hope I had through twenty years of torment.

I really thought that would be the finish line.

But I never thought that would be where my life ended, either.

Such a shame. I never even got the chance to be my true self—not even once.

I never got to really paint a picture that belonged only to me.

*****

"Lila, I'm sorry. I brought all this onto you. I never thought Mom would become so extreme," the boy said quietly.

It was Taylor. The brother I'd never met, yet he shaped my entire existence.

He explained that after his death, he couldn't move on. He'd stayed, a silent witness to everything.

He saw how I was molded, reshaped, my own self worn thin by constant compromise.

He watched me walk on eggshells, endlessly striving to please Helen, swallowing every slight while living as his mere shadow—barely allowing myself to breathe.

Although he was wracked with guilt, all he could do was watch, helpless, unable to lift a finger.

I shook my head vehemently, tears streaming down my face.

I didn't blame Taylor. Not one bit. And I couldn't bring myself to blame Helen, either. I was just so tired.