Chapter 1

My brother had hated me for seven years.

The last time we argued, I stormed out during a downpour, furious and reckless. I ended up falling into a river, and when I woke up, my memory was a mess.

At the hospital, he looked relieved—like a weight had finally been lifted. He pointed casually at a terminally ill patient and said, "That's your real brother.

Get it straight. Don't bother me again.

The pale-faced man walked over, gently stroked my head, and said softly, "Come on, I'll take you home."

After that, I went to great lengths to save this so-called "brother." I braved a snowstorm to find a specialist, stayed up countless nights to watch over him.

I even risked my own life for him.

Then, one day, my real brother stood in the freezing snow and blocked my path, his voice shaking in panic.

You really… don't remember me?

The doctors had warned of memory confusion. I'd just woken up in the hospital.

Falling from such a height into the river had given me a severe concussion. I'd been in a coma for over two weeks.

Two weeks ago, I had a huge fight with my brother, Charley Lyons.

Right before slamming the door behind me, I shouted, "I'd rather die than have you clean up after me!"

His face twisted in fury, and behind me I heard his cold, mocking laugh.

Then I hope you get your wish.

But now, two weeks had passed—and I was still alive.

When I opened my eyes, the soft winter sunlight streamed through the hospital window.

It took a while for my vision to clear, and then I started to hear things.

Outside the room, I could make out the voices of the doctor and Charley.

"Trauma to the head, extended coma—

memory loss or confusion is very likely,"" the doctor said."

It's not just about forgetting friends and family. In some cases, they forget who they are entirely…

I forced myself out of bed, wanting to explain that my memory was fine.

I hated hospitals.

I didn't want this diagnosis to become another reason to keep me trapped here.

Just as I reached the door, I heard Charley's low voice.

There was something in it—cold, yes, but also strangely pleased.

This might actually be for the best, he said.

As if trying to prove the doctor's point, he added, "She woke up briefly last night, looked at me, and asked who I was."

He wasn't lying. I vaguely remembered that moment.

But I'd only asked because I wasn't fully conscious, and everything had been a blur—I couldn't even make out his face.

My hand froze on the doorknob.

The doctor tried to offer reassurance.

"There's no need to jump to conclusions. We'll know more once your sister wakes up.

And even if there is memory loss, we can work on recovery…"""

But Charley cut him off.

No. It's better if she forgets. Don't try to bring it back.

I could even hear the trace of joy he didn't bother to hide.

So that's what he really wanted? For me to forget him?

After everything… after all the fights since Mom and Dad passed… he's the only family I have left.

There were times I thought about ending everything.

There were times I thought about ending everything.

But now that I'd survived, I just wanted one more chance to talk to him.

I pulled open the door.

Our eyes met—his filled with surprise, then quickly turning cold and distant.

I'd been unconscious too long.

When I spoke, my voice was hoarse, "I actually…"

Charley's brows knit together, disbelief flashing across his face.

But then, almost like trying to convince himself, he made up his mind.

He assumed I was confused—mistaking someone else for him.

In the hallway, people came and went, oblivious.

It was like he couldn't wait to get rid of me. Without even looking, Charley reached out, pointed randomly at a patient walking by, and said, "That's your brother."

For a moment, I thought I must have misheard him.

I stared at him, stunned. "What?"

Something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even guilt—but it vanished almost instantly.

We'd been siblings for over twenty years.

No matter how much he hated or resented me, I couldn't believe he'd push me toward a total stranger while I was still bruised, broken, and barely back on my feet.

Right then, I thought—maybe we really needed to talk. Really talk.

I opened my mouth, ready to put the bitterness behind me.

But he cut in again, his tone sharp and final, "I said, that's your brother.

Don't call the wrong person again. And stop coming to me.

This time, he'd made up his mind.

When he motioned again to the man who had stopped nearby, his face showed no trace of doubt—just cold determination.

The doctor had already slipped away, probably not wanting to get involved.

People flowed through the hallway, slowing down to glance at me—curious, uncomfortable.

To them, I probably looked like a girl who'd gone off the deep end after nearly drowning—so out of it I couldn't even recognize my own brother.

The man Charley pointed to stood quietly across the hall, leaning against the wall.

Tall, well-built, with striking features—but pale. Deathly pale.

Anyone else would've been angry to be dragged into something like this.

But he wasn't. He simply looked at Charley, then at me. Calm. Silent.

Like he was waiting to see what would happen next.

Charley spoke again, voice colder than ever, "I'm just a friend of your brother's. I came to check in out of politeness.

If you want to talk to him, go find him yourself. Whether he accepts you or not—that's up to you two.

And with that, he turned and walked down the hall, never looking back.

My hand, hanging at my side, started to tremble.

I kept telling myself—it's fine. He's hated me for years. This shouldn't be a surprise.

So what if I lost a brother who never wanted me? It's not like we ever really got along anyway.

But my eyes still burned, and I couldn't stop the tears from rising.

Shock. Shame. Anger. Frustration.

The emotions crashed into each other until I couldn't even form a single word.

I watched him walk away, the world tilting slightly as I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself.

A loud ringing filled my ears. For a long time, I couldn't pull myself back together.

Then, the man who had been silently watching finally moved.

He let go of the wall and slowly walked toward me.

For a second, I thought he might come over and scold me—accuse me of faking, of making a scene.

Now that Charley had left, I was the only one left to blame.

I instinctively tried to take a step back.

But maybe I'd been in bed too long. Maybe my emotions had drained every last bit of strength.

My body didn't move.

Then, before I could even process what was happening—

A hand gently landed on my head.

At first, it felt almost like a scolding tap—but there was no force behind it.

Just a soft, almost tentative touch. A pat.

It was a long moment before he finally spoke.

His voice was tired, but gentle. "Come on. Let's go. I'll take you home."

How many years had it been since Charley last called himself my brother?

Too long. So long I'd forgotten what it felt like.

I looked up at him, dazed.

We'd been fighting for years.

Ever since our parents died.

Maybe I really had gone crazy.

Because I stared at this complete stranger—a man I'd never seen before in my life—and still, I nodded.

Okay.