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.
Chloe stubbed her cigarette out on the wall, looking at me playfully. "You're not going to be unable to accept reality and hang yourself in your room tonight, are you?" "If you're going to die, do it at your own place. Don't ruin our property value." She always spoke so cuttingly. Before, no matter what she said, I would always laugh and try to get closer to her. But this time, I said nothing. I had once imagined a happy passing, surrounded by my parents. My only regret was not having a good relationship with Chloe. But now, I was about to lose all the family I loved most. "Aren't you going to say your New Year's wish?" Chloe pulled a small box from her pocket. "Since you look so pathetic, I'll indulge you this year. I've got a little trinket for you—" I ignored her and ran off. Back in my room, I buried myself under the covers. I didn't want to cry out loud, just bit the corner of the duvet and sobbed, my chest aching. In the dead of night, I was half-asleep, half-awake, burning with fever. I clearly heard my parents' conversation outside the door. "In a couple of days, we'll send Liam back. He's been occupying our son's life for too many years." That was Dad's voice. "I always thought he didn't look like either of us." Mom's voice sharpened. "Look at him, he can't learn anything well. Eight years of piano lessons, and he can't even play a full Chopin Nocturne. Painting, dance—what is he good at? All these years, he's had an elite education, yet he's still not as exceptional as our Ethan. Hmph, it's truly a base streak in his genes, just like his real parents." "Forget it, we won't send him back," Dad said. "We've raised him for so many years; he should contribute something to our family." "Go see if any families are looking for a marriage alliance. We can marry him off for some benefit. Doesn't Mr. Harrison have a daughter? Even if she has some issues, we can ask for a smaller dowry." I wanted to cry and beg them to stop. Please, stop. Why did fate have to make me learn all this right before I died, shattering my beautiful dream? But my limbs were stiff, I couldn't move, couldn't fully wake up. My body felt nailed to the bed, my consciousness floating. They never loved me after all. All that tenderness, all that doting, was just for the "Hayes family's golden boy" identity. Now that the real one was back, I, the impostor, had to exit the stage, preferably after being squeezed for every last drop of value. A moment later, the door opened. A cool hand rested on my forehead. "Whoa, such poor coping skills. This little bit of news scared you into a fever. Should've known not to tell you." Her voice held its familiar mockery. I wanted to retort: I'm sick, not weak! But I couldn't make a sound, only a faint gasp escaped my throat. "Why are you so delicate? You're not the golden boy anymore, so stop acting like a spoiled brat." She half-hugged me, her movements unexpectedly gentle. With her other hand, she held a cup, and the bitter medicine was poured into my mouth. I frowned, wanting to spit it out, but she pinched my chin and made me swallow. "Swallow it," she commanded. Then I heard Mom say, "Is Liam sick? Why didn't he call the family doctor?" My heart warmed. Mom still cared about me; I knew she wouldn't completely stop loving me. Then she spoke again, "I've arranged a blind date for him in a couple of days. What if he looks sickly and they don't want him?" So that's how it was. I thought I would cry, but I was surprisingly calm. Maybe it was because I was going to die soon. Once a person dies, everything dissipates, so nothing really matters anymore. Chloe put me back on the bed and tucked me in. She stood by the bed for a while. My eyes were closed, but I could feel her gaze. "Such a pain," she finally said, and her footsteps receded, the door closing softly.
Two days later, Mom and Dad called me to the living room. They sat on the sofa, their expressions normal. Mom even waved gently at me, "Liam, come, sit with Mom." I almost thought everything I'd heard was just a nightmare from my fever. But the dream quickly shattered. "Liam, ask Maria to help you get ready. Mom bought you new clothes, go try them on." Mom smiled gently, pointing to a paper bag on the coffee table with a luxury brand's logo. "For your future happiness, Mom and Dad have arranged a few blind dates for you this afternoon. They're all from good families; go meet them." Dad echoed, "That's right, you're twenty now; it's time to think about your future." I looked at their smiling faces and suddenly felt utterly alienated. "Is this really for my happiness? Or are you trying to sell me off?" I heard my voice tremble. Mom paused, then looked at Chloe, who was leaning nonchalantly by the window. "Did you tell him about his identity?" Chloe stood with her hands in her pockets, gazing at the snow outside. "He was going to find out eventually. What's the point of hiding it?" The smile vanished from Mom's face. She looked at me, her eyes cold and arrogant. "True." She stood up and walked towards me. "Since you already know your identity, then you should also know that we can't let you enjoy twenty years of our son's life for free." Her voice was hard. "All those lessons, all those resources, they rightfully belonged to our biological son." Dad also walked over, standing beside Mom. "Ethan suffered for twenty years out there, while you enjoyed twenty years of fortune in our home. That's not fair." "This is the price you have to pay." Mom said, word by word, "You owe him, you owe the Hayes family." These words made my head spin; I could barely stand. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, my legs buckled, and I fell to the floor. My forehead hit the corner of the coffee table, and warm liquid trickled down. Mom instinctively took two steps forward. "What's wrong with you?" But she quickly stopped, the concern in her eyes fleeting, replaced by suspicion. Chloe walked over and helped me into a chair. "Such a pain. Why are you so weak? Are you still feverish?" Mom sneered, "He was full of life just two days ago. Yesterday, he heard Ethan was coming home and started faking illness. It's just his rotten nature; what kind of cheap sympathy trick is he playing?" She walked over, her heels clacking coldly on the tile floor. Then she raised her hand and slapped me hard. "SLAP!" A sharp sound echoed in the living room. I fell to the ground, my ears ringing, my cheek burning. I struggled to grab her sleeve. "Mom, I'm not faking it. I'm really sick…" She disgustedly kicked my hand away. "Don't call me Mom! I only have one son, Ethan!" Dad called for Maria. "Drag him out. Search him for anything valuable. From today on, he's no longer a Hayes." Two housekeepers came over, grabbing me by each arm. I struggled, but I was too weak from illness. They started stripping off my coat, taking my jewelry, and snatching my bag. I desperately clutched the watch on my wrist. It was a birthday gift Chloe gave me when I was fifteen. It was the only gift she ever gave me—a wristwatch studded with tiny diamonds, with "LM" (my initials) engraved on the inside of the dial. The housekeeper forcibly pried my hand open, snatched the watch, and put it on her own wrist. "Let you experience the hardship Ethan went through," Mom said, looking down at me with icy eyes. "When your bad habits are gone, then you can come back!" I was dragged out the door. The heavy wooden door closed behind me with a dull thud.
Outside the door, I desperately cried out, "I didn't mean to bully him! I just lost my footing!" The door didn't open. I pounded on the door, my hands quickly turning red and numb from the cold. Finally, I gave up. Turning around, I stumbled through the snowy night. My house slippers quickly soaked through; the snowmelt seeped in, freezing my toes until they were numb. I walked aimlessly, not knowing where to go. For the first time in twenty years, I realized that outside the Hayes family, I had nowhere to go. The pain in my abdomen started again, more intensely this time. I crouched by the roadside, curled into a ball, trying to ease the pain. After who knows how long, I stood up and continued walking. I had to go home, I had to explain clearly that I wasn't faking illness, I was truly sick, I didn't want the people I loved most to misunderstand me… I went to the family company. Every time I came before, the receptionist would smile and call me "Mr. Liam," and the security guard would respectfully open the door. Now, they stopped me at the entrance. "Mr. Hayes… no, sir, you cannot enter." The receptionist's eyes darted away. "Mr. Hayes (senior) gave instructions not to let you in." I went to the convenience store on the corner and borrowed the public phone. My fingers were so numb they wouldn't cooperate; it took several tries to dial the right numbers. I called Mom first. A long busy signal, then it automatically hung up. Then I called Dad. The same result. Finally, relying on memory, I called Chloe. I had never called her before; I'd seen her number accidentally once and couldn't quite remember it. After a few beeps, the call connected. I surprisingly felt like crying, my voice thick with tears. "Chloe, can I come home? It's so cold outside, and I feel terrible…" A stranger's voice came from the other end, an old woman. "Child, you've dialed the wrong number, haven't you?" I hastily apologized, hung up, and left the convenience store. The shopkeeper looked at me with pity. I lowered my head, afraid to meet his gaze. Sitting on a park bench by the road, I curled up. My stomach hurt terribly. I clutched my abdomen, cold sweat beading on my forehead, yet I felt feverish in the cold wind. Just then, someone hugged me. I looked up and saw an older woman in a worn-out winter coat. She looked to be in her fifties, her face etched with deep wrinkles. But her eyes were so gentle, so gentle they made me want to cry. "Liam, it's Mom," she choked out, her rough hand stroking my cheek. "I'm your biological mother, we've been looking for you for so long…" She looked very shabby, her winter coat's cuffs shiny from wear, its color faded. My mind was a jumbled mess, but her embrace was so warm. In that moment, I clung to that warmth, like a drowning person grasping at driftwood. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably, crying out all my grievances, fears, and pain. "There, there, don't cry anymore, Mom will take you home," she patted my back. I had a home again. She took me back to her home, a small, worn-out but clean bungalow. "You rest here for now, Mom will go get you something to eat." She tucked the blanket around me, her eyes gentle. "Look at your pale face, you must be frozen, dear?" I sniffed, lying quietly under the covers. My stomach hurt badly, but I didn't say anything. I was afraid that if I did, this little bit of warmth would also disappear. She left for a while and didn't return. I needed to use the restroom. Struggling to get up, I realized there was no bathroom inside; I had to go to the outhouse. As I reached the door, I heard her talking to another man, just outside.
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