Dead Stepbrother Came back

My stepmother, as delicate and beautiful as a flower, had passed away, and so had my abusive biological father.

The inheritance they left me consisted of a mountain of debt and Jeremy Fowler, a stepbrother three years younger than me.

He clutched my sleeve with his pale, cold hand, whimpering that he was easy to support and could work, pleading with me not to abandon him.

His beautiful and tear-filled eyes only met my indifferent gaze.

1.

I held my father's and stepmother's ashes which were wrapped in a red plastic bag.

Even the cheapest urn at the funeral home cost three thousand, and I had no money. Besides, they didn't deserve it.

I scattered the ashes under a roadside tree, thinking at least they could nourish a few trees.

Jeremy followed me, watching as I scattered the ashes.

When we got home, he stood at the door, hesitant to cross the threshold.

His pale, slender hands were clasped together, and he bit his lower lip, struggling to hold back tears, like a delicate porcelain doll, ready to shatter.

"Come in." I sighed, packing my bags.

This house would be taken to pay off debts. Even if I didn't abandon him, we had no home.

Using all our savings, my father's insurance compensation money, and the proceeds from the sale of this house, we finally cleared the debts.

I took him to live under bridges and in parks. With him, at least I wasn't alone in the dark nights.

Our relatives couldn't bear it any longer. After all, we were in the same city, and public pressure forced them to give us a dilapidated house to live in and pooled some money for us.

With a roof over our heads, I sent Jeremy to school since he was still a student.

As for me, I had always been the top student in my grade, a promising candidate for prestigious universities. The school knew about my family's situation, waived my tuition, and provided a monthly stipend of five hundred for living expenses.

On weekends and holidays, I worked part-time in restaurants. His health was frail, so I didn't let him work.

Then he took care of all the housework-cooking, cleaning, laundry. Though the house was shabby, it was clean and cozy.

Life was tough, but it was the best I had ever experienced.

I didn't have to worry about being beaten by my father or being expelled from school. As long as I got into college, applied for scholarships and loans, and did some part-time work, the future was still promising.

Until my brother's teacher found me, saying he had fainted and was sent to the hospital.

2.

The illness of that woman had been passed down to him.

Back then, my father had gone bankrupt, even forcing me to drop out of school to work and raise medical funds, but he couldn't save my stepmother. Later, my father also died from work in an accident at the construction site.

The doctor said my brother needed a suitable bone marrow for a transplant.

The surgery required money, and I had none.

"Sister, don't treat me. This illness can't be cured. Let's go home. I want to go home." His moist beautiful eyes, filled with resignation, couldn't hide the fear.

He was only fifteen, yet facing illness and death-how could he not be afraid?

His face was so pale that sunlight could pass through it. I held his cold hands, "Don't be afraid. I'll always be with you. The illness will be cured."

No matter what, I wouldn't give up on him.

He was all I had.

Once his condition stabilized, we went home.

I couldn't attend late-night self-study anymore. Except for class time, I worked all the time.

I waited tables at restaurants, worked as a cashier in stores, sold clothes, and even carried cement at construction sites-anything that could earn money, I did.

When Jeremy's condition stabilized, he also took on some part-time jobs, but I only let him do things like handing out flyers.

We studied and worked, and though life was hard, it was also happy.

Jeremy was good-looking, and when he bought vegetables at the market, the vendors would always give him extra ingredients.

He always went shopping after school in the afternoon when the vegetables were cheaper than in the morning. Occasionally, he would find discounted fruits and bring me an orange or an apple.

We always shared everything.

However, the monthly chemotherapy made his hair thinner and added to the woes of our already dire financial situation.

I needed to earn more money to ensure his survival.

I found a part-time job at a bar. I thought about becoming a hostess, as I heard it could earn tens of thousands a month, enough for several rounds of chemotherapy for my brother.

But the bar owner, seeing I was under eighteen, refused. However, he allowed me to work as a waitress, and the hourly wage was ten times higher than my previous part-time jobs.

With such a high wage, even if I ran into classmates from my school at the bar, I wouldn't feel embarrassed or hesitant.

Earning money was nothing to be ashamed of.

3.

This was the most exclusive and upscale bar in the city.

I rushed from my previous part-time job at a restaurant to the bar, out of breath.

After changing into my uniform, the manager assigned me to serve a group of wealthy young heirs.

They always assigned me generous clients without bad habits, knowing I was still a high school student with a sick brother in urgent need of money.

I accepted their kindness without fuss.

Carefully carrying a bottle of wine worth twenty thousand and a platter of fruit, I pushed open the door with a practiced smile.

The people in the private room seemed to belong to a different world from mine.

Each was dressed in luxury brands I couldn't recognize, squandering money without restraint.

The music and lights clashed vibrantly in the air, and the rich fragrance filled the luxurious room.

I quietly placed the fruit platter on the table, just about to open the expensive wine.

"Laura? Are you Laura Miller from our school?" Under the flickering lights, I glanced at the group on the sofa.

They were all from my school, even in the same grade.

Sitting in the middle were Tristan Robertson and Sylvia Fowler, ranked second and third in our grade. Their names always appeared right after mine in the exam rankings.

Tristan was the school heartthrob, and the Robertson family was the wealthiest in our area, having donated the school library.

He was the school legend, except he never beat me in exams.

Sylvia, comfortably leaning against him, had shed her school uniform for a red spaghetti strap dress, alluring yet youthful. She and Tristan truly made a perfect couple.

I wondered if, out of the relationship of classmates, they might buy a few more bottles of wine tonight. That would boost my commission a bit.

"It's really Laura, the top student!" Because of me, they seemed to have discovered a new highlight for the evening.

"Are you here to be a hostess? The top student is so vain?" A sharp voice pierced through the lowered music, filled with disbelief and a hint of schadenfreude.

"I'm a waitress." I replied, expressionless, looking at them.

I would have liked to be a hostess, but they didn't want me.

This group of rich kids was both curious and disdainful of me, the elusive top student of the school.

They crowded around to see what I really looked like.

Someone pushed me, and as I fell, I clung tightly to the bottle of wine.

If it broke, my brother would break too.

"Enough! What are you doing?" Tristan stood up from the main seat and walked towards me, extending his hand.

I looked at his lofty hand and glanced at Sylvia behind him. Her gaze was like a snake in the dark, fixed on me.

I held onto the bottle and stood up by myself.

"Are you short of money?" A deep male voice sounded above me, mingled with pity and a touch of reluctance.

"Yes, I am short of money, very short!" I turned to face him, and them, clearly articulating each word.

"My parents are gone, and I have a younger brother who urgently needs surgery. I would like to be a hostess, but I'm under eighteen, and the boss won't allow it. I just rushed over from a dishwashing job, which pays ten dollars an hour. The bar pays much more, so I work here at night. Besides attending classes, I have to do four or five part-time jobs a day. I really don't have the energy to entertain you. Enjoy your time then."

With that, I opened the bottle I was holding and placed it on their table.

Over a dozen rich kids silently watched me.

That night, my commission was the highest among all the waitstaff. I heard Tristan ordered the most expensive wine in the bar, ten bottles at once, and even packed a few to go.

The bar owner said it was the first time someone had taken wine to go from the bar.

The streets were quiet after midnight. I tucked my commission into my bra and rode home on a chipped bicycle I had salvaged from a trash heap.

The ringing of the bell cut through the cold, silent night.

In the entire apartment building, there was only a light on the fourth floor.

I gently opened the door to find Jeremy asleep at the table.

Every night, he left the light on for me, despite my repeated requests not to wait up.

However, in truth, after I ran around all day and came home alone late at night, the thought of that light left on for me swept away the day's fatigue and brightened the dim future.

"Sis, you're back. I'll reheat the food." The boy, slender as a reed, was gentle as a painting under the warm light.

"The weather forecast says it will rain tomorrow. I've already put an umbrella in your backpack. The wind will be strong, so wear that red jacket with the hood. It's on your bed." He said, turning on the microwave while chattering away.

In reality, it was he who took care of me, down to the smallest details of my daily schedule and clothing.

The cold outside the window was dispelled by the warmth inside.

At this moment, the notion of home became tangible.

Good times never last long; he would soon go for chemotherapy again.

How painful was chemotherapy?

His six-foot frame lay curled on the bed, occupying only half its length.

Beads of sweat rolled off his bald head.

"Sis, it doesn't hurt. Don't cry." He raised his thin arm, blue veins protruding, and only his warm fingers wiped away my cold tears.

I hadn't realized I was crying.

It turned out tears didn't need self-awareness, instead, they had their own will.

In such a vast world full of people, could it really not accommodate one more like him?

I couldn't stay in the hospital for long. Each bill urged me to leave for money.

Outside the hospital, even the moon was shrouded in a thick haze, obscuring it from view.

"Help! Someone fainted, help!" A clamor of voices made my head ache.

Help, help who?

4.

When I awoke, the smell of disinfectant in the hospital room jolted me fully awake.

A single room this large, how much would it cost?

Panicked, I didn't even notice the IV in my hand as I tried to get up.

"Laura, what are you doing?" A girl rushed in from the door, pressing me back onto the bed.

I looked at her in confusion. I didn't know her, but I could feel her concern for me.

"Don't you recognize me? Laura? I'm Victoria! Doctor, doctor!"

Before I could get to know her, she was anxiously and fearfully calling out in the hallway.

In the ensuing chaos, through Victoria's tear-filled eyes, I learned the basics.

I was now 26, but my memories were stuck at 17, nine years ago.

Yesterday was supposed to be my wedding with Tristan. But the groom left me to see his ex-girlfriend, Sylvia.

Yet I remained calm, completing the ceremony alone amidst the guests.

But I missed a step on the stairs, fell, and was brought to the hospital unconscious.

As for why I was stuck at 17, the doctor said it might be due to a head injury causing amnesia.

There was no telling when my memory would return.

"Where's Jeremy, my brother?" Whether it was amnesia or being transported nine years into the future, whether I married Tristan or was betrayed, nothing was more important than Jeremy.