Chapter 2

For as long as I could remember, my parents had never liked me.

I was born for one purpose only—to cure my sick brother, Hayden, when he was just a child.

At age three, Hayden was diagnosed with brittle bone disease—a lifelong, incurable condition, according to the doctors.

My parents were devastated.

At their wit's end, they heard rumors that brittle bone disease was caused by defective bone marrow.

They believed that having another child specifically for a bone marrow transplant could cure Hayden's condition.

So my parents took the risk of a late pregnancy and had me.

In the end, Hayden's condition never improved.

Crushed by shattered hopes, my father fell into a daze and eventually lost his job in town.

I became the unwanted extra—my family's cursed jinx who brought nothing but misfortune.

My father lost his job and plunged into a midlife crisis.

One night, my drunken father wanted to beat me with a belt.

Hayden, who was only seven at that time, struggled over and stood in front of me silently, shielding me.

When we were at our poorest, my mother gave the only meat in the meal to Hayden.

My grandmother tore a cold, rock-hard bun in half—one half tossed to the dog, the other half handed to me.

Half a bun couldn't fill my empty stomach.

That night, hunger gnawed at my stomach like knives, leaving me tossing and turning in bed.

Hayden quietly slipped into my room, gently patted my shoulder, and gave me a sandwich.

I pulled the sandwich apart and saw warm slices of ham under the bread.

Hayden stole a cautious glance at the door, then whispered to me, "Mom and Dad are asleep."

"I kept all the meat for you and warmed it up on the stove. Eat it quickly."

I swallowed hard, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face as I ate.

When I was little, Hayden was the only one who ever cared for me.

To me, he was everything.

Wherever he was, I'd be there too.

Due to a recessive genetic disorder, Hayden was diagnosed with brittle bone disease at a very young age. He had trouble walking and was extremely prone to injury from even the slightest bump.

I was also a late bloomer—it wasn't until I was well past two years old that I finally took my first wobbly steps.

Even at six, I still couldn't walk steadily.

Until he was ten, Hayden would always hold my hand as he walked me to and from school.

He and I both walked with a limp—two misfits who never belonged.

We had no friends—just each other.

When I was seven, a boy in my class picked on me for my limp and shoved me to the ground.

Hayden arrived to pick me up from school as usual. When he saw me sprawled on the ground, he strode over silently.

Without a word, Hayden pulled an art knife from his backpack and stabbed it straight into the boy's hand where it rested on the desk.

The knife plunged deep into the bone, nearly crippling the boy's hand permanently.

The school made an example of Hayden, and he almost got kicked out.

My parents had to pay hefty compensation, plunging our already struggling family even deeper into poverty.

But after that incident, no kids at school ever dared to bully me again.

That was Hayden—the one who would do anything to protect and care for me.

However, when I was eight, my legs were healed, and everything changed from that moment on.

That year, a female teacher came from the city to volunteer teach at our school.

She took pity on my weak legs and, after looking me over, said, "I think your legs can actually be treated."

After learning about my family's struggles, she dipped into her own savings to take me to the county hospital for treatment.

After dragging my weak legs around for ten years, they were surprisingly healed in no time. The doctor said there was never any serious issue to begin with.

After my legs healed, I hesitated, unsure how to break the news to Hayden.

I still limped with him, matching his pace.

I still walked to and from school slowly with him every day, as if nothing had changed.

Then came the end-of-term sports day.

A girl from our class who signed up for the quarter-mile dash suddenly came down with stomach cramps.

When I heard Hayden had gone to the city for the Math Olympiad, I eagerly volunteered to take the girl's place.

That was my first race ever.

I felt the wind whipping past me on the track. I heard the roar of rushing air in my ears.

My heart pounded wildly as I finally tasted what true health and freedom felt like.

As I dashed across the finish line, my eyes suddenly locked with a familiar yet icy gaze in the crowd.

The Math Olympiad had been postponed.

Hayden witnessed with his own eyes that I, who had always limped beside him, sprinting through the quarter-mile dash.

That was the first time I saw that look in his eyes.

It was shocked and stunned first.

Then, it turned icy—filled with disgust and hatred.

He didn't say a word.

For the first time, I was truly terrified.

That day, Hayden didn't wait for me after school.

With my backpack on my shoulders, I hurried down the dimly lit path and caught up with him as he limped along.

I grabbed his hand, only to have him wrench my hand away violently.

Hayden looked at me with disgust and spat, "Tired of acting yet?"

"Zoe Lynn, just how many years have you been faking it?"