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

A month ago, I had gone to the hospital to see my brother and unexpectedly ran into Mom outside his room. I instinctively tugged at my sleeve and took a step back. She shot me a glance, her gaze as cold as ice. “What are you doing here? Do you even have the nerve to visit your brother?”

After the incident, my parents forbade me from seeing him. I had been careful to come at night, yet I still crossed paths with her. I didn’t respond; I simply placed the flowers on the bedside table. In an instant, the bouquet was hurled to the floor.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Mom pointed at me. “Take your worthless flowers and get out.”

“If I see you here again, I’ll transfer your brother to another hospital.”

“If you don’t want him to suffer, then don’t come back.”

The tears I had been holding back finally betrayed me as they slipping down my cheeks. I shouted at her, “Why do you treat me like this? Why?”

If I could, I would have traded places with him, so I wouldn’t have to endure this torment every day.

She didn’t answer, ignoring me completely.

I left the hospital, lost and broken, hailing a random taxi.

At that moment, I had no idea this car had been waiting for me all along. Drowning in my own pain, I loathed my own weakness. I knew she pushed me away time and again, a clear sign of her lack of love, yet I still yearned to find even the slightest hint of affection in her eyes, even if it was just a facade.

From childhood, I was never allowed to have preferences, let alone friends. She insisted that such distractions would interfere with my studies. In a bid for her approval, I complied. I stripped away layers of my true self and slowly molded myself into a role that didn’t belong to me. I stubbornly believed that by doing so, Mom would finally love me.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my palms, as if that could suppress my trembling body. I didn’t realize I had been taken to a secluded area. The driver suddenly spoke up, “You’re Mrs. Brown’s daughter, aren’t you?”

I jolted awake, dazedly nodding before shaking my head. The man grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the car. In the pitch black night, faced with a stranger and the slippery ground, a familiar scene set my legs shaking uncontrollably.

A wave of terror choked me, rendering me mute; all I could do was step back. The man sneered, saying it was my fault for being Mrs. Brown’s daughter. “Your mother doesn’t discriminate,” he spat. “That so–called Mrs. Brown who stands for justice? It’s all a lie.”

He wielded a knife, slicing through my flesh. From my ankles to my arms, the excruciating pain instinctively drew out my cries: “Mom, it hurts.” “Mom, please help me.”

With all my strength, I fumbled for my phone in my pocket. To my surprise, he halted. Under his gaze, I dialed her number. “The number you dialed is currently in use…

The man expressed disappointment. “Why isn’t she answering?” He snatched my phone and began severing my fingers one by one.

In that moment, I felt no pain at all. Disappointment seeped into my bones, numbing all my senses.

I had told myself countless times to let it go, to accept that she didn’t love me. Yet, during holidays like Thanskgiving Day or Christmas, my loneliness intensified my longing for family warmth.

I always thought about trying again, even if it meant facing mockery, insults, and resentment. At least I could hear their voices on the other end of the line, filling the empty room and breaking the oppressive silence that only echoed my own breath.

Perhaps it was her unwillingness to endure my pleas that severed my last hope. At night, the only sound was the tearing of flesh.