Chapter 2: The Echoes of What Was Never Said

The morning sun struggled to break through the thick clouds, casting a pale light over the city. Wenjie sat in the living room of the Li family estate, eyes vacant as he stared at the untouched breakfast in front of him. The morning was quiet, too quiet for his usual routine. His hands, still trembling from last night, folded the newspaper—headlines blaring about the sudden death of the estranged son—before setting it aside.

He should have been relieved. He was relieved. Weren't the years of patience, of pretending, all for this?

But the emptiness in his chest grew, like a growing weight he couldn’t ignore.

"Father, did you hear?" Wenjie’s voice broke the silence, almost too loudly, as if forcing his words to fill the void left behind. But no answer came. Father was absent, buried in his study. Mother had not spoken since last night—her expression, lifeless and distant, haunted the walls.

He tried to remember the warmth of the family dinners, when they were all together. He and that boy—no, his brother. The thought of him as "that boy" made his stomach twist.

He couldn’t place it—this growing discomfort in his chest. After all, he had played the role perfectly. They had accepted him. They had loved him. They had—loved him?

Wenjie rose, his legs feeling heavier than usual. Every step felt like trudging through quicksand. He went upstairs to his room, passing the familiar doors that used to feel like home—except now, each one felt like a weight, a reminder of someone who had been swallowed up by it all.

The door to his room creaked open. He hesitated, the cold air of the house clinging to him. The sight of his old brother’s empty room—it hit him like a hammer to the chest. Nothing had changed. The bed, the empty desk, the books scattered across the floor... Nothing had ever changed. That room was still his. He had never stopped pretending it wasn’t.

He walked over to the desk, fingers grazing the edges of the scattered papers. Then, his eyes caught something—a folded letter. His heart clenched.

To the Li family: I never wanted your riches, only your warmth. I never asked to be praised, only to be seen.

His throat constricted. The letters blurred before his eyes as he read, the words burning into his memory. He could feel the heaviness of the words settle deep into his bones.

“I was wrong,” he whispered to himself. The realization hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He had never seen it. He had never felt it before. His heart had hardened to the point of numbness. He had thought it was a game, that everything was just a matter of playing the part. He had been wrong. So wrong.

The silence in the house grew unbearable. Wenjie dropped the letter, his mind whirling with a storm of emotions. Guilt. Regret. A sickening feeling of wanting to undo everything—everything that had led to this moment.

He could hear his mother’s muffled sobs from downstairs, a sound that seemed foreign and almost too much for him to bear. She had never cried like this. She had never shown him vulnerability, or love—not really.

It was his fault. He had played the role too well. He had been so good at convincing them all. But now, he realized what he had done. What they had both done.

Wenjie stumbled out of his room, as if the weight of his thoughts was too much to bear. He could no longer stand the sight of the house. His feet carried him out, past the grand doors and into the world that awaited beyond.

The city was bustling, indifferent to his inner turmoil. The streets were filled with people—busy, focused, and oblivious. Wenjie walked aimlessly, lost in thought, until he found himself standing at the edge of a bridge. The cold wind bit at his face, and the city sprawled before him, just as it had always been.

His hand tightened around the railing. There was no going back. He had made his choices. But in the pit of his stomach, there was something gnawing at him—a feeling he couldn't ignore.

A voice.

It was the voice he had never wanted to hear again.

"You should’ve died in that orphanage."

He looked down at his hands. The boy had written those words with such finality. But what if—what if he was the one who had died? What if all the damage, all the hate, had been self-inflicted? Wasn’t this his fault too?

Wasn't it his fault that his brother had disappeared from their lives so completely?

His fingers trembled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. The words were fading now, but they remained etched in his heart, like a scar that would never fade.

For the first time, Wenjie wanted to face the truth. The truth he had buried deep within.

The weight of his guilt pressed against his chest, and he closed his eyes.

"I’m sorry," he whispered to the wind. "I’m sorry."

[End of Chapter 2]

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