A Love Too Late

I died entirely alone in the cold, damp shadows of a psychiatric ward. At that exact moment, my parents were standing in a grand, sunlit gallery, hosting a massive art exhibition for my younger brother, Jordan West. My girlfriend, Ella Dawson, stood beside him, applauding and celebrating his success. That honor was supposed to be mine. Every single canvas hanging in that gallery was painted with my sweat, tears, and soul. Now, every bit of it belonged to my brother. I spent my whole life competing with him, only to end up with nothing at all. When I opened my eyes again, I decided I was done fighting. This time, I only wanted to live my own life. This time, I was going to love myself. Chapter 1 "Brandon, your brother's health is fragile. He isn't like you. You excel at painting and school, so you can easily get into a top university no matter what. That winning painting of yours, do you think maybe..." Mom’s voice drifted lower and lower toward the end. Yet, she stole a glance at my brother, Jordan West, who stood nearby looking frail enough to collapse at any second. In the end, she let the rest of the words spill out anyway. "Do you think you could give your painting to your brother? Just let him use the award to get into the arts college." Give my painting to my brother? I struggled to process the meaning behind Mom's words. The lonely horror of dying all by myself in the damp basement of a psychiatric facility, left there until my body decayed without anyone ever knowing, remained etched into my very bones. It took me a long moment to grasp the truth. I was reborn. I was back in my senior year of high school, when there was still time to change everything. Standing beside my brother, Dad grew furious when he saw me stay silent. "Brandon, you’re the older brother! Can you stop being so petty? What’s the big deal about giving your painting to your brother? "If his health wasn't so poor, do you really think he would need your stupid painting? He would’ve achieved far more than you ever could. "Bottom line, you’re giving it up whether you want to or not." In my past life, they said these exact same words. They demanded I hand my painting over to Jordan. Back then, I was driven mad with rage and flatly refused. As a result, through their shady behind-the-scenes string-pulling, the painting ended up bearing my brother's name anyway. Naturally, the national award that determined guaranteed college admission went straight to Jordan. They did not even bother to inform me. Due to that, I believed my early admission was set in stone. I stayed home relaxing for three months, completely missing the regular college application deadlines and the chance to take my final exams. Brokenhearted, I asked my parents why they treated me like that. They merely brushed it off. "Oh, we didn't tell you? We were probably just so busy handling Jordan's admission details that it slipped our minds." Watching my completely indifferent parents, my heart shattered into pieces. I knew they had not simply forgotten. They were just terrified that if they told me, I would cause a scene and ruin Jordan's chances of getting into college. I had no choice but to repeat my senior year. Yet, after I finally worked my butt off to get into college, trouble struck my brother again. He possessed zero talent for painting. At the arts university, he failed eight core courses in a row and faced immediate expulsion. Once again, my parents brought up the same demand. They wanted me to give up the art exhibition I had spent half a year painstakingly preparing, handing it over to Jordan so he could graduate smoothly. I refused. So, my parents pulled their connections one more time. Right before the exhibition opened, every single signature on my paintings mysteriously changed to my brother's name. I suffered a full meltdown, screaming at them, "How can you be so biased? Is Jordan the only child you care about? Do you only feel happy when you take away everything that belongs to me?!" Dad's response was a fierce, stinging slap across my face. "Why are you so ungrateful? If your brother's health wasn't failing, preventing him from draining himself with painting and studying, he’d never need your stuff. "You’re a selfish, ungrateful brat who refuses to share. No matter how smart or talented you are, what good is it? "We can never rely on you for anything." Just like that, my hard work was stolen from me again. In my past life, it was only at the moment of my death that I finally understood. Anything that could be stolen from you... Probably never belonged to you in the first place. Just like that award-winning painting, my art exhibition, and my parents' love. However, there were still things they could never take away from me. Things like my talent and my ability to succeed. Snapping back to reality, I lifted my eyes to look at my parents and nodded softly. "Alright. Let's give it to Jordan then." Dad looked startled. He clearly never expected me to agree so fast. Mom reached out and patted my shoulder, looking deeply relieved. "You’re finally growing up. You’re so understanding. "It’s wonderful that you think this way. Brothers ought to look out for each other." Having said their piece, they took Jordan by the hand with immense relief, heading out to a nice restaurant to celebrate. They completely forgot that there was still another son in the house—me—the one who had just made an enormous sacrifice for their precious favorite child. Chapter 2 Still, my sudden compliance managed to stir a small flicker of guilt deep in my parents' hearts. That evening, they brought me a cello when they returned. It was from my absolute favorite maker—something that had never happened in my past life. Over the following weeks, I stuck to my routine at school, grinding through the material until every concept was burned into my mind. Whenever exhaustion threatened to pull me under, I played the cello for a little while. The rich, lyrical music offered a brief escape, letting me temporarily forget the crushing pain of being ignored. Yet even that solitary comfort was ultimately destroyed by my brother. That afternoon, Jordan—who had never shown the slightest interest in musical instruments—suddenly decided he wanted to learn the cello. Straining his fragile body, he scooped up the heavy instrument and tried to carry it to his bedroom. Instead, he dropped the cello down the stairs, where it shattered into pieces. He scraped his hands in the process. Looking up at me with wide, doe-like eyes full of panic, he gasped, "Brandon, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! "I'll fix it for you right now, I promise!" I stared straight into his eyes and gave a single nod. "Okay." At my response, Jordan immediately crouched down, frantically gathering the wooden wreckage. A snapped string whipped free from the soundbox, slicing into his delicate hands. The second blood welled up, Mom charged at me like an enraged mama bear, jabbing a furious finger in my face. "It's just a damn instrument! How could you be so cruel? Do you honestly think we would’ve bought you that stupid thing if Jordan hadn't begged us to? "You don't care about your own brother's health for a single second! All you care about are these cold, lifeless objects! No wonder you're so utterly impossible to love!" Her words stabbed straight into my heart, twisting deeper until I felt I was bleeding inside. Right. I was always the kid who was impossible to love. Even this cello had only been a gift through Jordan's gracious mercy in the first place. I cast my eyes down and spoke to Jordan, "Don't bother fixing it. I don't even like playing it anymore anyway." Jordan cradled his bleeding fingers, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "No, I have to! I said I'd fix it for you!" He hunkered back down, stubbornly trying to piece together the shattered violently broken frame. A fraction of a second later, Dad's hand struck across my face with a brutal crack. "You reckless piece of trash! Can't you speak to him properly for once? "Look at the state of your brother, and you're still pushing him! We should’ve never brought that wretched instrument into this house!" Dad had put his entire weight behind the slap. Yet somehow, I felt no physical pain. There was only a heavy, stinging pressure behind my eyes as if tears were desperately trying to break through. Gazing at my parents, who glared back at me as though I were their worst enemy, I looked at Jordan with complete sincerity. "I'm sorry, Jordan. You really don't need to fix it for me. "It's my fault. I won't ask for a cello ever again." That was a promise. I would not ask for one ever again. Not for a cello, and not for any of you. I was done wanting a family. As for the things that truly belonged to me, I was never going to let them steal them from me again. Chapter 3 I poured myself into studying with a vengeance. I knew that true independence was my only ticket out from under their thumb. College admissions season arrived faster than expected. When my SAT scores came back, I had done even better than in my past life—a near-perfect score. Seeing the scores, Dad gave a satisfied nod. "Top tier marks, nice job. Don't bother looking at other places. Apply directly to the same university as Jordan." His tone left zero room for debate. Mom chimed in right on cue, "Exactly, apply to the same school. That way you two brothers can look out for each other." Look out for each other? What a sick joke. It had always been me carrying him on my back. Where was the mutual support in that? I ducked my head to hide the cold, mocking smirk pulling at my lips. With scores high enough to get me into an Ivy League program, they were forcing me to waste it all on an arts college. All so I could serve as Jordan's personal steppingstone once again, spoon-feeding him through graduation just like in my previous life. Yet I could not outright fight them on it. It was because I had already tried that before. In my past life, I refused to be Jordan’s safety net, insisting on going to a university far away from him. I had submitted my application for my dream school and major, guarding my online portal credentials like they were gold. Yet at the very last second, my choices were altered anyway. Dad flexed his wealth, hiring a top hacker to override my submitted application right before the deadline. So, in this life, playing along was my only option. I knew I lacked the leverage to go head-to-head with them right now. Seeing how docile I seemed, Dad was pleased enough to reward me with a high-end set of professional paintbrushes—the exact set I used to beg for, the one they always claimed was too expensive. Too late, Dad. I had given up on painting long ago. My dreams were crushed the moment he forced me to hand my award-winning piece over to Jordan. Stepping back onto that arts campus felt like a grim rerun. To keep me tethered to Jordan, my parents made sure I enrolled in the same fine arts program. Except this time around, I added a pre-law double major. Thanks to my stellar academic record, the department head approved my request almost instantly. I spent the next three years buried in grueling coursework and part-time jobs. My parents had not given me a single cent for allowance. I spent every moment outside of class grinding for cash. I took odd jobs at local galleries and art museums. I did custom murals for wealthy families. I painted promotional signs for local shops. I took whatever paid. It was exhausting, but every paycheck felt like a victory. Watching my bank balance grow, I counted down the days until I could cut ties with my family forever. Everything was moving according to plan until Jordan hit the exact same wall as before: failing eight core courses in a single semester, staring down immediate expulsion. The second my parents found out, they stormed into the gallery where I was working. Without asking a single question, Dad cracked his palm straight across my face. "What kind of brother are you? How could you let him fail all those classes without telling us? "We gave you all that allowance to keep an eye on him, and you're out here wasting time on odd jobs? Is this how an older brother behaves?" I cupped my stinging cheek, swallowing down the metallic taste of blood. The iron tang made my heart ache far worse than my face. I raised my eyes, locking my gaze with Mom. Feeling my stare, she flinched and looked away, tugging on Dad's sleeve, and said with a hushed voice, "Don't be too hard on Brandon, he's only working because he ran out of money." Dad barked back, "How could he be out of money? "Didn't we agree on eight hundred dollars a month for Jordan and eighty for him? Where did all that money go?" My lips twitched upward as I kept my gaze fixed on Mom. Wringing her hands nervously, she blurted out, "I gave his share to Jordan. You know how delicate Jordan's health is. He has way more expenses. "Brandon's older and healthy. He's fully capable of earning his own pocket money, so I just wired everything to Jordan." Dad gaped at her, genuinely stunned. He had no idea I had not received a single penny from them this whole time. Yet that shock lasted for a fraction of a second before he rounded on me again with fresh fury. "So what if you didn't get an allowance? You're clearly not starving to death, so why couldn't you keep an eye on your brother? "At the end of the day, you're rotten to the core! You just want to see Jordan fail! You deliberately set him up because you're a bad seed!" Mom joined in, her face twisted with disgust. "Exactly! You're still breathing, aren't you? Why couldn't you show a little care for your brother? You were just born broken!" Their harsh accusations felt like a volley of arrows piercing my chest. A wave of despair threatened to swallow me whole. Even with a second chance at life, fully knowing who they were, their words stripped me raw. I guessed blood ties ran that deep. Fortunately, this was the final straw. I managed a pale, hollow smile. "Mom, Dad, who says I never told you?" I took out my phone and pulled up our chat history right in front of them. There it was, in plain text: warning after warning about Jordan skipping classes, partying non-stop, and heading straight for expulsion. Jordan was nothing like me. He had all our parents' affection and spoiled luxury. From day one, he used their generous allowance to run with a crowd of wealthy party kids, blowing money on nights out. He had neither the time nor the drive to study. Deep down, he was just a talentless slacker. Even using my stolen portfolio to slide into a prestigious arts college, the dense, technical jargon in his textbooks was complete gibberish to him. He could not grasp a word of it. Failing was inevitable. Yet back then, my parents refused to hear a word of it. They had shut me down with cruel sneers. "You're just jealous of your brother! You can't stand seeing him succeed! Jordan is brilliant, there's no way he's flunking out! "He just has fragile health and doesn't feel like pushing himself. Otherwise, he'd be ten times better than a bookworm like you! "If you keep spreading lies about your brother, don't bother calling us your parents!" They had projected the worst motives onto me, refusing to accept that their golden child was fundamentally incompetent. Staring at the chats on my screen, their faces drained of color. Their mouths opened, but not a single sound came out. Leaving them speechless, I turned around and walked back into the gallery to finish my shift. If I did not finish today's tasks, I would not get paid. I knew that even after discovering I was living on zero dollars, they would not offer me a dime. I could only rely on myself. Sure enough, as I went back to work, my parents linked arms and walked away without a shred of guilt. Not a single word of concern. Not even a backward glance. Watching their figures fade down the street, I made a quiet vow to myself that it was fine if nobody loved me. As long as I loved myself, one day, I would find people who do too. Chapter 4 My parents stayed in the city for half a month. Aside from the day they cornered me at the gallery to vent their fury, I did not see them even once. They were completely consumed with Jordan's affairs, running ragged pulling strings, networking, and desperately orchestrating a way to save his future. It was not until a few days before my art exhibition that they tracked me down once more. At that moment, I was in the studio making final preparations for the upcoming event. My parents looked around the space with greed, eyeing the stunning collection of artwork displayed across the room. Then, without a shred of shame, they laid out the exact same proposition as in my past life. "Brandon, we checked with the school. Jordan needs to host an exclusive solo exhibition to get an exception for graduation. Just hand over the signatures on these paintings and let your brother have the exhibition." I stared at the two people who called themselves my parents. I could not fathom how such monstrous words could spill from their lips with such smooth, unbothered confidence. They pushed their shameless favoritism to absolute extremes, not giving a damn whether their actions ripped me apart inside. It was as if I were nothing more than a tool to them, completely devoid of feelings. In my past life, I had screamed until my throat was raw, hysterically demanding to know when my sacrifices would ever be enough. I already let my parents give Jordan all their love. Do I have to hand over my entire life to him, too? My answer back then was a vicious slap across the face from Dad, followed by his usual absurd, unhinged accusations. "You think your brother actually wants your crap? His health is failing, that's the only reason he's using your stuff! If he were healthy, with a brain as brilliant as his, his achievements would blow yours out of the water!" They used their classic guilt trips and emotional manipulation to break me down, trying to force my surrender. Every single piece in that room was created with my sweat and soul. I could not bear to let them go, nor was I willing to submit. I fought back with everything I had. Yet on the day the exhibition officially opened, I arrived to find the promotional posters outside the gallery mysteriously swapped, replacing my name with Jordan's. Every single painting inside bore my brother's signature. Once again, my parents flexed their wealth, stealing what was rightfully mine and handing it to my brother on a silver platter. Jordan became an overnight sensation, catapulted to fame as a youthful genius artist, robbing me of all my recognition. When I tried to expose their fraud to the public, my parents used a forged psychiatric evaluation to lock me away in an asylum. In the end, because I refused to comply with their "treatment," I was beaten to death in a cold basement by abusive staff. My mind snapped back to the present. I looked at my parents, who stood before me radiating absolute confidence. A faint, cold smile touched my lips. "I'm sorry, but this time, I'm not giving up a single thing." The moment the words left my mouth, my parents flew into a rage, cursing me out as an ungrateful brute. They blasted me for refusing to help my fragile brother, cursing me to die a horrible death and screaming that they were disowning me on the spot. I watched with cold indifference as they pulled the exact same drama from my past life, refusing to budge an inch. Seeing that I was completely immovable, Dad raised his hand, ready to strike. "You stubborn piece of trash, I'll beat you to a pulp!" Just as his hand came swinging down, a striking figure in a white summer dress rushed out from the side, stepping firmly between us, shoving Dad backward with all her strength. "Don't you dare lay a finger on Brandon!"