Chapter 4

I said, "I'm done eating. I'm leaving now."

I'd been arguing with Clive for ten years.

But now, I suddenly found myself too exhausted to even argue a single word with him.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Clive hurried after me, his voice urgent and confused.

He said, "Alyssa is only an orphan, you know that."

I didn't say another word. I walked out, heading straight to the institute.

The next morning, I brought some flowers and went to visit my parents' graves.

Clive didn't show up.

I stayed by their graves until almost noon, pouring my heart out to them.

The only response was the silent tombstone.

And the wind whipped up grayish-white snow beneath the gloomy sky.

Clive showed up just as I was about to leave.

He hurried over, looking at me like he wanted to explain something.

It was probably just another excuse. Alyssa wasn't feeling well, so he had to stay with her.

I didn't want to hear it.

I carried my purse and walked past him in silence.

Behind me, he suddenly called out, his voice hoarse, "Lucia."

There was a rare, almost imperceptible hint of guilt in his tone.

For the first time in ages, he actually softened his voice, even though he was late for my parents' death anniversary.

In ten years, this was the first time he didn't use my full name in that icy, detached way.

But before he turned sixteen, Clive used to call me "Lucy" or "little sister."

But he never, not even once, called me "Lucia."

I turned around, and he spoke again. "Alyssa wasn't feeling well again, so I got delayed for a while."

Behind him, the photo of my parents on the tombstone seemed to be looking right at me.

Their eyes were filled with pity and heartbreak.

A sharp pain shot through my chest, and I cut him off without thinking.

I said, "Can you not bring up Alyssa here?"

My tone was probably pretty harsh.

Even that tiny bit of peace we'd managed after all these years was gone in an instant.

Clive's face darkened, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing across his features.

He said, "Why can't I mention her? Is she something shameful, or what?

"She's been with us all these years, always so sweet and thoughtful."

For a split second, my composure cracked.

"She's always been there for you; not for me," I shot back.

Clive's expression turned cold, and he looked like he was about to say something else.

I cut him off. "I'm busy at the institute.

"If you want to stay, go ahead. I'm leaving now."

I walked out of the cemetery.

Behind me, Clive's voice was thick with anger and resentment.

He said, "So what if I was a little late?

"When it came to family photos, they only ever grabbed you. So does it really matter if I'm here or not?"

The wind whipped up swirling snow, blasting it right down my collar.

The chill cut right through me as I turned around and stared at him without a word.

After ten years of explanations, I couldn't bring myself to say anything anymore.

I watched Clive standing there in the snow, his lips pressed tight.

He stayed like that for a long time.

For once, he wasn't wearing his military uniform. He was wearing a simple dark gray outfit.

Maybe he dressed down so it'd be easier to look after Alyssa, or maybe he wanted to pay respects to my parents.

After ten years, even the usual edge in his gaze seemed to soften, just a little.

I glanced behind him, only to see the desolate, silent cemetery stretching out before me.

And in the way his face was all tense, I thought I saw a flicker of loneliness and helplessness.

Like it had so many times in the past ten years, my heart gave a little jolt.

But I knew, clearer than ever, I couldn't let myself get soft again.

He'd never remember, and he'd never be that brother who cared about me again.

It had been ten years. I'd done all I could.

Let him think whatever he wants.

I turned and walked away.

Once I was outside the cemetery, I looked back.

From this distance, he was just a blur in the swirling snow.

But he was still standing there, not moving at all.

It was like he'd been left behind, just standing there all alone.

Suddenly, I remembered how I'd made the long trip to the border ten years ago, just to bring Clive home.

That was the first time I saw him when he was suffering from amnesia.

He was standing there in the snow, staring at me, just like now.

His face was blank, like he had no idea what to do.

Since I was little, my feelings for Clive ran even deeper than what I felt for our parents.

My parents were always busy.

Dad was the commander of the camp, and Mom was a star soldier there.

They gave all their love to the country and its people.

Only what was left over went to me and Clive.

Whenever they had to leave, they'd have our nanny, Esme, look after me and Clive.

Back then, I was just a clueless kid, always longing for my parents.

Out of spite, I'd refuse to eat anything Esme cooked or wear the clothes she laid out for me.

Esme was always sighing, saying, "Lucia, you need to be more sensible.

"Your parents are heroes who bring honor to our country. You should be proud of them, so be a good girl and do as you're told."

Clive stepped in front of me.

He was only eight, but he looked so serious, his face set in a stern expression as he spoke up for me.

"Lucy just misses Mom and Dad. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be with them," he said.

No matter what Esme said, I didn't cry.

But as soon as Clive stepped in front of me, I felt utterly wronged, and my tears began to pour down uncontrollably.

It was my fifth birthday, and my parents, who'd been away for over two months, had promised to come home.

But they got stuck training new recruits at a camp far away and couldn't make it back.

I threw a tantrum, knocked over my plate, and kept demanding to eat the pasta my mom used to make.

Clive went to the neighbor's house in the military compound and got some pasta for me.

He stood on a stool, boiled some water, and made pasta for me.

Esme was worried sick, afraid he'd get burned, but she couldn't stop him.

That was the first time Clive ever cooked for me.

The pasta wasn't fully cooked through.

But I ate it all, down to the last drop of sauce, crying the whole time.

Clive sat down next to me, trying to comfort me.