Chapter 1

On Christmas Eve, I stood in the yard, holding a tube of fireworks, watching Chloe slowly light the fuse.

"Chloe, do you have any wishes for the new year?" I asked, smiling.

Chloe leaned against the wall, taking a nonchalant puff from her cigarette.

"You're the one who should be making new year wishes."

I blinked. "Why?"

"You were switched at birth. Mom and Dad are already making arrangements to bring Ethan home." She flicked off the ash. "Wish you don't get sent back to some remote place."

My world suddenly went silent.

In the distance, fireworks still bloomed, and children's laughter faintly drifted over.

I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck in my throat.

What I actually wanted to say was: Chloe, my wish is that when I die, Mom, Dad, and you won't be sad.

Now, my wish was about to come true.

But why did my chest hurt so much?

"Do you think I'm lying?"

Chloe pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfurled it in front of my eyes.

The fireworks were bright, and I clearly saw the line of text:

Liam Hayes has no biological kinship with Mr. and Mrs. Hayes.

She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up, displaying a photo of a boy. His eyes and brows were so much like Mom's; his smile was identical to hers.

"I overheard them in the study today. They're already discussing sending you away."

Chloe saw my stunned expression and scoffed. "What, scared stiff? They won't just abandon you. The Hayes family isn't so poor they can't afford to keep someone around."

I remained frozen in place.

I used to think I was the happiest kid in the world. A wealthy family, loving parents.

When I was twelve, I said I wanted a piano, and the next day, a Steinway stood in the living room.

When I was fifteen, I casually mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, and that winter break, the whole family flew to Iceland.

On my eighteenth birthday, Mom cried, saying she hated to see me grow up, and Dad gave me a small apartment downtown.

I could easily get anything I wanted, including everyone's affection.

Except for Chloe's.

As long as I could remember, she had hated me.

When I was little, I'd bring her my perfect test papers for her to sign, and she'd roll her eyes, saying, "What are you showing off for, brat? Go away, don't bother me."

When I choked on water while learning to swim, she'd sneer, "Who are you putting on a show for? No one cares if you drown, so just keep flailing."

When I received my first love letter, she tore it up in front of me and tossed it into the trash. "Oops, my bad, I thought it was scrap paper."

Mom always said, "Your sister just acts tough, but she's really soft-hearted."

Dad would sigh beside her, "She feels like you stole our love. She's just childish; don't mind her."

But I felt that Chloe genuinely hated me, hated me so much that she never gave me a kind look, hated me so much that she wished I would disappear from her life.

Even so, I would follow her everywhere. I'd watch her play games, I'd secretly cook noodles for her when she stayed up late, and I'd prepare her birthday gift three months in advance.

I thought, one day, Chloe would smile at me.

A few days ago, I had a stomachache and went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor held my report and told me.

"Late-stage pancreatic cancer, it's already metastasized. At this point, a cure is unlikely. With aggressive treatment, you might have six months."

I was stunned for a long time, then asked, "What if I don't get treatment?"

"Around three months."

I originally wanted to tell Chloe this secret first. She hated me so much, she definitely wouldn't be sad for me, which was good—I hated seeing people cry the most.

But now, they were no longer my family, and Chloe wasn't my sister.

Saying it now would just make me seem self-pitying.

So, I kept silent.