Chapter 1

Chapter 1

When I was three years old, lines of black text suddenly began appearing before my eyes.

But I was illiterate.

I was simply terrified to tears by the way those words flickered and zipped past.

My mother passed away less than a year after I was born.

My father was busy with his company all day and was never home.

In our sprawling house, there were only the nannies and the housekeeper.

And my brother, who had just started middle school that year.

I was often frightened to tears by those words.

The nanny couldn’t soothe me, so she started pinching my face and stuffing things into my mouth to keep me quiet.

The nanny was even scarier than those bullet comments.

So, the next time my brother came home carrying his backpack, I acted.

Despite my fear, I bravely clung to his leg.

My brother paused in the middle of tossing his bag aside.

He looked down at me with a gaze full of nothing but estrangement.

During those years, my father was never home, and my brother wasn’t around much either.

We were practically strangers.

But even as I met his cold stare, I didn’t let go of his jeans.

I even gathered the courage to call out to him: “…Big Brother.”

The nanny was watching us like a hawk from the corner.

She seemed to be waiting for my brother to push me away so she could drag me off.

I trembled with fear.

I hugged my brother’s leg even tighter and said, “I want to sleep with you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, my brother looked up toward the corner.

He was thirteen that year-arrogant, rebellious, and uncontrollable.

The coldness on his face was terrifying.

Just when I thought I was about to be handed back to the nanny, my brother suddenly bent down and hoisted me up.

Then, without a word, he headed upstairs.

My brother had no idea how to hold a child.

He carried me by the back of my clothes, making my back and waist feel uncomfortably stiff.

Still, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his neck.

My brother’s movements faltered for a moment.

Then he kicked open his bedroom door and tossed me onto his bed.

“Go to sleep,” he said, his voice far from gentle.

But that night, I was once again frightened to tears by those black words that abruptly appeared in my dreams.

I woke up sobbing.

The first thing I saw was my brother staring at me with a deep frown.

He had clearly been woken up by my crying.

I was a little afraid he would snap at me.

Sobbing, I buried my tear-streaked face in his chest to hide.

Unused to the contact, my brother used his fingertip to nudge my forehead away.

“Hey, are you hungry? Do you need milk?” he asked.

Then he added, “I’m not your mom. Don’t go nuzzling where you shouldn’t.”

I wiped my tears on his shirt.

I bravely looked up at him and said, “I’m not crying anymore, Big Brother.”

I added, “And I’m not hungry.”

I was terrified that he would find me annoying and throw me out.

My brother sighed helplessly.

He pulled my head back into his arms.

“Go to sleep,” he said.