I was born with a mission. My umbilical cord blood was meant to cure my brother's leukemia. He recovered, but years later, he sent himself to prison for murder. I became my parents' only child, basking in all their love. Until the year I turned ten, when my parents died in a car crash on their way to pick him up from prison. I hated him. 1 My mother had treasures in her metal tin box. Being a curious kid, I naturally peeked inside when the adults weren't home. Inside the tin was an old, faded ultrasound report. It read: [Cord Blood Match Successful. Donor: Fetus; Recipient: Caleb (Eldest Son)] Caleb was my brother, fifteen years older than me. Since I was old enough to understand, he had been in prison. My parents never talked about what he did. But every time Mom came back from visiting him, her eyes were swollen. Dad would just smoke silently on the porch all night. Before I turned ten, my entire impression of my brother was: a vague name, a stranger who made my parents cry, and the sole reason for my existence. Yes, I knew. I was never the crystallization of my parents' love. I was just proof of their love for Caleb. Mom's health wasn't good. She risked a high-risk pregnancy at an older age only because Caleb had leukemia and needed a newborn's cord blood to survive. The day I was born, Caleb's surgery was a success. And I was just a "useful tool" in this family. But karma works in mysterious ways. Who would have thought the brother wrapped in my parents' love would commit murder and end up behind bars? That year, I was five. I was too young to remember why Caleb went to jail. And honestly, it didn't matter. What mattered was that I went from being a "tool" to being my parents' only child. But the good times didn't last. The year I turned ten, Caleb finished his sentence. Mom and Dad left early that day, full of hope, ready to give Caleb a fresh start. Then, the bad news came. A truck's brakes failed, and it smashed into their sedan. Dad died instantly. Mom held on until the hospital, where she said only one sentence to me: "Baby, take care of your brother." I didn't understand. Why ask me to take care of him? Wasn't I the child who needed taking care of? Before I could argue, Mom closed her eyes forever. At the funeral, I stared at my parents' stiff smiles in their black-and-white photos, then at the stranger kneeling before the coffins—the brother I hadn't seen in five years. He slammed his forehead against the concrete floor, thud, thud, until blood seeped out and mixed with his tears. Relatives whispered, their gazes pricking my back like needles. "Poor thing, losing her parents so young..." "Stuck with a murderer for a brother. What's she going to do?" I gripped my sleeves, nails digging into my palms. Then I rushed over and shoved him with all my strength. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't gone to jail, Mom and Dad wouldn't have gone to pick you up! They wouldn't have died!" Caleb swayed from my push but didn't look up. He just slammed his head harder. That night, after the funeral, Caleb found me in the dim living room. He wore ill-fitting old clothes, his eyes sunken like a skeleton. "Baby." His voice was hoarse as he reached out to touch my head. I dodged. "Don't touch me," I said. His hand froze in mid-air, then slowly dropped. 2 We lived in a small town where there were no secrets. Gossip traveled faster than the wind. Soon, everyone knew: Caleb was out. He was a murderer. Not only was he morally bankrupt, but he was bad luck—he got his parents killed. And his sister, Chloe, orphaned at a young age, was now stuck living with a killer. When I returned to school, my homeroom teacher looked at me pointedly during roll call. "Chloe, your family situation is special. If you have any difficulties, tell me." The whole class turned to stare. During recess, boys surrounded my desk, grinning maliciously. "Chloe, did your brother really kill someone?" "How did he do it? Knife or rope?" "Are you going to kill people too?" I buried my head in my arms, pretending not to hear. On the way home, girls from the next class pointed at me. "That's her. Her brother was in prison." "Stay away from her. A murderer's sister can't be any good either." I ran home and threw my backpack on the floor. Caleb was in the kitchen boiling noodles, wearing Mom's old apron, clumsily cracking eggs. "You're back, Baby?" He turned, forcing a smile. "Almost ready. Egg noodles today." Looking at his face, which resembled Dad's, I suddenly exploded. "Why did you come back?! Why didn't you die in prison?! Do you know everyone is laughing at me! Calling me a murderer's sister!" The water in the pot boiled, steam blurring his face. He turned off the stove, his back to me, shoulders trembling slightly. After a long time, he said: "...I'm sorry." That night, I heard him crying in the living room—suppressed whimpers like a wounded animal. But I didn't go out. I hugged Mom's pillow and told myself: I hate him. I had no obligation to understand or sympathize with him. If not for him, my parents wouldn't have been in that car crash. If not for him, I wouldn't be pointed at every day. He was supposed to be saved by my cord blood, yet he "repaid the favor" by turning my life into a mess. I was done with him. I hated him. 3 Caleb started working odd jobs. Construction during the day, helping at a night market stand in the evening, and assembling cardboard boxes late into the night. Maybe because of his major surgery years ago, his health was poor. He coughed often and looked perpetually pale. But he spent every cent he earned on me: a new backpack, new clothes, even random books I mentioned wanting. I have to admit, Caleb took good care of me. But the environment I grew up in was a swamp. In eighth grade, I ranked first in my grade. For the parent-teacher conference, he borrowed a decent shirt and combed his hair neatly. But the moment he walked into the classroom, the whispers started. "That's Chloe's brother?" "He looks honest enough. Who would have thought..." "Murderers don't have it written on their faces." Throughout the meeting, he kept his head down, fingers gripping his knees tightly. On the way home, walking behind his slightly hunched back, I suddenly said: "Let's move." He stopped but didn't turn around. "Where to?" "Anywhere," I said. "As long as no one there knows you're a murderer." He was silent for a long time. "Okay." A month later, we moved to the provincial capital, two hundred miles away. Caleb used all his savings to rent a small studio apartment. We slept in bunk beds. He found a job at an electronics factory, working three shifts. The night we moved, lying on the unfamiliar top bunk, I stared at a crack in the ceiling. "Hey," I said. Rustling from the bottom bunk. "Yeah?" "Why did you go to prison?" Silence. Long, suffocating silence. Just when I thought he wouldn't answer, he whispered: "...I did something wrong." "What did you do?" "Something very bad." His voice was light as a sigh. "Baby, don't ask anymore." "Just know that... I'm sorry to you, and sorry to Mom and Dad... that's enough." I turned to face the wall. Like this again. Always like this. I never had the right to know. 4 Turns out, miracles do happen. Caleb worked at the factory for barely six months before the factory owner's daughter took a liking to him. Her name was Vanessa, five years younger than Caleb. Fresh out of college, sent by her father to learn management at the factory. Rumor had it she couldn't take her eyes off Caleb the moment she saw him. Okay, I admit, Caleb was good-looking. Even malnourished and exhausted, he inherited the best features of our parents—deep eyes, a high nose bridge. When he was silent, he had a broken, tragic beauty. Vanessa chased him openly. Bringing him lunch, medicine, even staying late when he worked overtime. Coworkers urged him, "Caleb, just say yes! That's the owner's daughter! You'll skip twenty years of struggle!" Caleb always shook his head. "I'm not worthy." Until Vanessa's father—Mr. Xu—personally talked to him. That night, Caleb came home late. He sat in the dark living room, chain-smoking. He never smoked. "What happened?" I couldn't help asking. He stubbed out the cigarette, voice dry. "Mr. Xu... knows I went to prison." My heart sank. Of course. The background check came back. It's over. Job gone. Can't stay in this city either. "He asked about what happened," Caleb continued. "I told him everything." I closed my eyes in despair. "And?" "And..." Caleb looked up, his eyes scary bright in the darkness. "He said next month has a lucky day. He asked if I wanted a Western or traditional wedding." I was stunned. Crazy. I thought. Mr. Xu must be crazy to want a murderer for a son-in-law. But crazy is good. I thought again. After all, the Xu family was truly rich. Who wouldn't want to cling to such a big tree? 5 The wedding was simple, just ten tables in the factory cafeteria. Caleb wore a rented suit, stiff as a puppet. Vanessa wore a white wedding dress, smiling sweetly. During the toast, she walked up to me, her expression complicated. "Chloe, right?" She raised her glass. "We're family now." I raised my soda, saying nothing. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. On their wedding night, Caleb moved into the Xu family's two-story house. I stayed in the rental, thinking I could finally have some peace. The next morning, Caleb came to get me. "Pack your things. We're moving." "I'm not going." "Baby," he used a stern tone for the first time. "You have to." "Why? Vanessa obviously doesn't like me!" "Because she's my wife," Caleb looked at me, eyes suddenly reddening. "You're my only family left in this world, Baby. I can't leave you behind." In the end, I moved. Vanessa prepared a room for me. North-facing, small, but clean. She was polite on the surface, but it was a cold, distant politeness. I could feel she hated me. Not me as a person, but my identity as "Caleb's sister." Living in the Xu house felt like charity. Vanessa didn't mistreat me. Food, clothes—better than most of my classmates. But she barely spoke to me. She looked at me like I was a flawed item she was forced to accept. Caleb, caught in the middle, became more and more silent. He was promoted to team leader at the factory, busier than ever. At home, he had to deal with Vanessa and her controlling father. I could see his exhaustion, but he never complained. When I was fifteen, I got into City No. 1 High School, the best in the province. Most importantly, it was a boarding school. The day I got the acceptance letter, Caleb was as happy as a child. He cooked a feast. Vanessa was happy too, even happier than Caleb. At dinner, she gave me a rare genuine smile. "Chloe is amazing. Boarding school is great, you can focus on studying." I knew what she meant: I'm moving out. She finally doesn't have to see me every day. The night before school started, Caleb came to my room and shoved a bank card into my hand. "The password is your birthday. Buy whatever you need. Don't save." "Does Vanessa know?" "...Yes." He was lying. I saw the unease in his eyes. "Don't worry," I said. "I'll study hard, become independent soon, and... I won't trouble you guys anymore." Caleb opened his mouth to speak but just ruffled my hair. "Baby's all grown up." His palm was warm, but I dodged it.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390935", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel