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Finn flinched and was suddenly nervous that he might have gone too far. He quickly said, "Don't get mad at him. I might have remembered wrongly. He's my brother, after all. I'm sure he didn't mean it." Hazel poked his head gently and said, "You're too naive, boy. You don't understand how wicked people can be." "We must've done something right in a past life to be blessed with a son like you." "Fine. Let's forget about that ungrateful brat. You focus on getting better." As the setting sun cast a golden glow across Finn's bed, I watched the happy family of four, and an indescribable sorrow welled up in me. Even my soul felt out of place, like I wasn't one of them. Perhaps I was just a stray animal stumbling in. I wanted to escape but was bound to Mom's side and voiceless. There was nothing I could do other than watch them insult and tear me down again and again. A few days later, Finn was discharged from the hospital after the whole family nursed him back to health. Mom flitted about and fussed over his things, while Dad pulled up the car to the exit so he wouldn't have to walk too far. Hazel even refused to have him put on his shoes on his own. On the way home, Mom grumbled, "Asher sure is an ungrateful brat. He didn't show up once during Finn's recovery or apologize! I'll deal with him when we get home!" Dad glanced at her and snorted. "Didn't I say? Keeping him around was a mistake. Trouble was bound to happen sooner or later." My heart twisted at the word "deal", and memories came flooding back. Mom had always favored Finn and constantly demanded that I yield to him. It all began on the day he was born when I accidentally spilled water, causing Mom to fall and go into premature labor. Seeing Finn fighting for his life in the incubator, the entire family was torn with pity. Dad's slap came so violently that it perforated my eardrums as he bellowed, "You wretched jinx! You almost killed your brother the day he was born!" Lying weakly on the hospital bed, Mom barely opened her eyes, but the disappointment in her gaze was clear as day. In elementary school, Dad beat me up so bad just because I fought over a toy car with Finn. It was a toy I loved. It was a gift Dad had bought for Finn on one of his business trips, with a spare one bought for me as an afterthought, but I treasured it greatly. Finn had enough toys to fill boxes, but he still had to fight me for it. While we were pulling and tugging on the toy, he suddenly screamed and burst into tears. Mom ran over and held him in distress before turning to yell at me, "Asher! You're the reason your brother suffers so much. What more are you trying to do to him now?" "It wasn't me—" Before I could explain, Finn feigned tears and sobbed, "It's okay, Mom. It's my fault for fighting over toys with him." Dad walked in just then. Without a word, he dragged me over and started beating me up. "A cold-blooded brat like you doesn't deserve to stay in this house! You bring nothing but trouble!" I cried and begged him to stop, but the more I did, the more he thought I was faking it. Punches and fists rained down more than ever. Mom and Hazel stood by and watched indifferently as if they wouldn't be satisfied until Dad beat this family enemy to death. From that day onward, any time I made Finn cry would summon our parents' scolding and violence. Over time, I stopped daring to compete for their affection, stopped trying to explain myself, and stopped approaching at all. Now, they'd left me here alone on this cold operating table.