After the Countdown

After that day, the atmosphere at home completely changed.

My family made me move into the storage room. My mother said it was because my sister was growing and needed more sunlight.

My mother no longer asked me what I wanted to eat. She would quietly set out the tableware, one set short, look at me, and then add it.

My father rarely spoke to me anymore. Sometimes, when he came back from outside, he would pause when he saw me sunbathing in the yard.

Then, he would turn around and go in through the back door.

My sister would occasionally stare at me from the storage room door, her gaze strange, as if she were observing a monster.

Before, I was the treasure they cherished for 18 years.

Now, I was the scapegoat for everything bad that happened in the family.

If the tap wasn't tightened, my father would instantly frown and chastise me, his tone no longer gentle like before, "Are you doing this on purpose? You're wasting water! Do you know how expensive the water bill is?! Stop wasting our money!"

"Dad, it wasn't me..."

"Don't call me Dad!" he shouted, then walked away.

When my sister failed an exam by one point, my parents said, "It's all your fault. You keep wandering around the house, affecting your sister's studies! We were supposed to have a peaceful life, but you ruined it all!"

When the chicken my mom cooked for dinner was a bit burnt, she slammed her fork down and said, "It's all your fault. Bad luck accumulates in the house because you didn't die. Now, even the pan is working against me!"

I was at a loss. Tears welling up in my eyes, I mumbled, "I thought I was going to die too."

Once, when I pressed the light switch, the light bulb flickered and then went out completely.

My mother completely erupted. "You're nothing but bad luck! Ever since you lived past 18, everything in the house has been breaking down! It's all your fault! 18 years! More than 6,000 days! Your father and I raised you, counting the days! We gave you the best of everything, and your sister got nothing. We were prepared to send you off. We rehearsed again and again... but you..."

She didn't finish, but I understood.

18 years. Their sacrifices, the days they carefully counted, had all become a joke.

They were unhappy not because I was still alive, but because the money they spent on me and the unfavorable treatment my sister received in those 18 years would only be justified if I died.

Now, it had all become meaningless.

I thought that as long as I swallow my anger, work hard, and make up for my "mistakes", my parents' attitude would get better and they would remember the love they once had for me.

I took on all the housework: washing clothes, cooking, doing groceries, mopping the floor…

I worked more diligently than a maid, changing the variety of dishes and keeping the house spotless.

But no matter how well I did, I couldn't earn a kind word or a smile from my parents.

I grew thinner and more haggard.

The neighbors eventually noticed. They gossiped about me in private.

Some of them advised my parents, "Don't be so harsh on Brandon. He's your son."

But my mother, in front of the neighbors, said with a look of disgust, "We just pretend we don't have this son. He's a monster, a jinx that ruins the family's luck! With him in the house, our family will never know peace!"

My father also chimed in, "We raised him for 18 years, so we've already done our best! Now, he's just freeloading at home. He's a burden to us!"

These words stabbed my heart like a knife, hurting me so much I couldn't breathe.

Everything that happened in the family, big or small, was a reason for my parents to attack me.

Finally, the incident with my sister became the straw that broke the camel's back.

That day, only my sister and I were home. I needed to go to the toilet, but I found that the storage room door wouldn't open.

I anxiously pounded on the door. "Heidi, can you open the door for me?"

No one opened the door for me. I only heard the sound of things breaking outside.

Following that was my sister's cry of pain.

Later, the door finally opened. It was my mother who opened it, and with it came a slap from her. She put all her strength into it.

"You jinx! I knew nothing good would happen at home as long as you're here!" Her eyes were bloodshot, looking like an angry beast.

She sat down on the floor, slapping her thighs and crying, "Why is my life so hard? I raised a monster son! Because of him, our family will never know peace!"

Right then, my father came home. When he saw my sister's broken leg and my mother's agitated state, he seemed to be infected by the mood.

He grabbed my collar, pulled me up, and threw me hard onto the bed.

"Just die, you disaster!"

I cried myself hoarse, desperately trying to explain.

"Mom, Dad, it's not my fault. Heidi wanted to take the candy on top of the cupboard and fell..."