My Brother Became a Vegetable To Save Me Novel by NANCY ROWSE

Mom and Dad invited their relatives and friends to throw a banquet for Lucas at home.

To celebrate his rebirth.

Grandma, on her crutches, embraced her precious grandson.

“God bless you, Lukie, you’re finally awake.”

Her cloudy eyes held tears.

The relatives all gathered around, holding Lucas’s hand and peppering him with questions.

Some claimed it was a medical miracle, while others attributed it to his kindness.

Just when everyone was basking in the joy brought about by his awakening, a single remark from him brought a sudden chill to the atmosphere.

“Mom and Dad, don’t forget to call my sister, tell her I’m home, and tell her to come straight home when she gets back from her business trip.”

Because I didn’t return the messages, Mom and Dad had to use my business trip as an excuse to deal with my brother.

They never wondered if something had happened to me.

Only thought that I was a heartless and ungrateful child.

I didn’t used to understand why, with my brother, everyone started to dislike me.

It was only when I grew up that I slowly realized that not all parents are born to love their children, just as a lion sometimes gives up its weak cub.

Everyone in my family, except for me, graduated from a prestigious university; the least accomplished among them still attended top–tier colleges.

As for me, I had to work tirelessly just to scrape by the cutoff for a state university.

I became the blemish in the family.

Lucas looked at the spread of dishes and frowned lightly.

“Why did you put in so much parsley again.”

Dad smiled out of the corner of his eye, pinched a shrimp, and put it in front of Lucas.

“I remember you like cilantro the most, how come your tastes have changed after five years of sleep?”

My brother thanked dad, he was always so polite.

“Have you forgotten that my sister is allergic to cilantro? Tell Winnie not to add cilantro the next time she cooks.”

I stood next to Dad, observing his expression.

It wasn’t that he had forgotten, but that he had never remembered.

When we were kids, because Lucas liked cilantro a lot, I had to pick through my food at every meal.

But to Mom and Dad, it looked like I was being picky.

They would scold me and even refuse to let me eat.

When I cried and explained.

They would only blame me for not saying it earlier.

But the next time, there would still be cilantro in every dish.

In this family, except for my brother, whom I used to hate, no one remembered my preferences.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

And even less cared if I was still alive.

After dinner, Lucas went straight up to the second floor and into my room.

The bed was neatly tidied, but the desk was gathering dust.

All of this was a silent demonstration of the distance between me and this family.

When I graduated from college, my mom gave me two choices.

“Either you pursue further studies or you leave this house, I don’t have a daughter as unmotivated as you are“.

I understood that perfection isn’t attainable for everyone in this world.

I lacked ambition, and had grown weary of trying to please her.

No matter how hard I tried, I would never be the perfect daughter in her heart.

So I chose to move out and went to work for an ordinary company.

My brother sat in front of my cluttered desk, whispering under his breath.

“Sis, your birthday is the day after tomorrow.”

“When you get home, don’t move out again.”

“You promised.”

My eyes were so sore that it was hard to bear, I rubbed the corners of my eyes.

But I couldn’t squeeze out a single tear.

Probably souls don’t cry.

Since I moved out, my brother has been asking me for my new address every day.

I couldn’t resist his soft words.

On my birthday, he said he’d ordered a cake to celebrate.

And that was the day, I lost myself completely and fell into endless darkness.

My parents‘ hatred kept me awake at night.

The doctor told me, “You’re too young to live in the shadows for the rest of your life, try to come out.”

“Your brother wouldn’t want to see you give up on yourself like this.”

I touched the interlocking scars on my arms and smiled bitterly.

I hadn’t tried.

It’s just that my parents wouldn’t let me out of that past.

They reminded me over and over again that I was guilty.

I was destined to live forever in a haze of such guilt and self–blame.