The spiritual medium said that my brother, who had been missing for ten years before being brought home, was deeply traumatized—his soul fractured. He needed my memories as fuel for the ritual candles. Only by draining them every day for forty-nine days straight could his spirit finally be anchored. The first time my memories were extracted, I forgot that I was lethally allergic to shellfish. I ate a prawn my older sister placed in my bowl, suffered anaphylactic shock, and ended up in the ICU. My parents stayed in the adjoining room watching cartoons with my brother. Complaining that the incessant beeping of my heart monitor was too loud, they shut the connecting door. By the twentieth ritual, I forgot how to crave my parents' praise, or how to long for their affection. By the fortieth ritual, I forgot what it felt like to stay up late into the night, sitting by the window, waiting for my sister to come home from work. Today is the forty-ninth day. The final session. My sister came down into the basement carrying a bowl of hot porridge—a gesture so rare it felt almost alien. "Once we extract the last bit today, consider your debt paid for taking up ten years of his life," she said, her voice smooth. "After this, we’ll treat you like a real brother." I raised my head and stared at her in silence. Then, nervously, I wiped my dirty, calloused hands against my tattered trousers. Reaching deep into my pocket, I pulled out a tarnished quarter and held it out to her. "Thank you for your kindness... for sheltering me," I whispered softly. "This is all the money I have. Is it enough to buy this bowl of porridge?" The faint, gentle smile at the corner of my sister’s lips froze instantly. What she didn't know was that just a moment ago, the last thread snapped. I had completely forgotten who I was. And I had forgotten how desperately I once loved them. … My older sister stood there, holding the steaming bowl of porridge. The subtle arc of her smile stiffened, fracturing piece by piece until it collapsed completely. She stared down at the grime-covered coin sitting in the palm of my hand, her brows knotting tightly together. "Sam, what kind of childish game are you playing now?" "A game?" I flinched, pulling my shoulders inward. I looked down at the coin in my palm. The hand holding it began to tremble uncontrollably. "I'm... I'm sorry. If it's not enough, I can sweep the basement for you. I can work it off..." My sister’s face turned deathly pale, shadowed with anger. She slammed the bowl of porridge down onto a nearby wooden crate. The scalding broth splashed over the rim, reddening the back of her hand, but she didn't seem to notice. Instead, she grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip. "Enough!" her voice cracked through the damp air. "How long do you plan on dragging out this amnesia act?" Her fingernails dug deep into my flesh. The sheer force of her pull dragged me upright, the sudden pain jerking hot tears into the corners of my eyes. "The forty-nine days are over! You’ve paid your penance!" she snapped, hauling me up the narrow basement stairs as I stumbled behind her. "There’s no need to put on this pathetic victim routine in front of us anymore!" The searing pain in my wrist made me struggle instinctively, but her hold was relentless. I stumbled out of the dark into the blinding light of the main floor. "Why are you dragging him like that?" A soft, mildly scolding female voice echoed through the foyer. I forced my tear-blurred eyes open. A middle-aged woman in a silk loungewear set was stepping out of the kitchen. Her brow furrowed as she reached out and swatted my sister's hand away from my wrist. She glanced at my frayed sleeves and my filthy, smudged face. Her eyes faltered for a fraction of a second. She reached a hand toward me, then hesitantly pulled it back. "Honestly, Sam, it was just a memory ritual," our mother said, letting out a weary, resigned sigh. "It’s not like they harvested your bone marrow. Why must you throw a fit and make yourself look like a street beggar?" She sighed again, a subtle compromise softening her tone. "Fine. Now that the ritual is over, let’s just move past it and live normally. Go take a shower and put on some clean clothes." As she spoke, she glanced up toward the second floor, deliberately dropping her voice to a whisper. "Your brother Tobias is sleeping upstairs. Keep your footsteps light. His nerves are fragile, and it took forever for him to fall asleep." I stood awkwardly on the edge of the plush, expensive rug, completely out of place. My fingers fidgeted uselessly against my sides. "Excuse me..." I asked in a small, tentative voice. "Where... where should I wash up?" The air in the room suddenly went dead silent. Beside me, my sister let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Look at him, Mom. He's still acting." My mother’s brows knit even tighter, whatever faint flicker of sympathy she had instantly replaced by annoyance. "You don't even know where your own bedroom is? Second floor, at the very end of the hall. Go on." She paused, adding sternly, "And don't use the shared bathroom in the hallway. Toby finds it dirty when other people use his things." With that, she turned to the stove and ladled a steaming portion of chicken soup into a large porcelain bowl. I watched the broth, my throat working as I swallowed hard. Noticing my hollow stomach, she pulled a smaller bowl from the cabinet and ladled a tiny portion for me. "Drink this before you go up. I made extra, so there's some for you too." Yet, as she carried the larger bowl upstairs for Tobias, her footsteps were quick and eager. My sister stayed behind, arms crossed, looking down at me with cold detachment. "There. Mom gave you a way out, so don't push your luck. Drink the soup, and we’ll let bygones be bygones. From now on, you're still a Norman. Whatever Toby gets, we’ll make sure you get a share too." If the old Sam had heard these words, he might have burst into tears of validation. He might have furiously knocked the bowl over, demanding to know why ten years of shared life meant less to them than a DNA match. But I didn't. Instead, I looked around the pristine kitchen, my eyes landing on a yellow cleaning rag by the sink. Under my sister’s bewildered gaze, I walked over, picked up the rag, and knelt on the floor. I began wiping away the dirty footprints I had accidentally left on the polished marble, rubbing them clean inch by inch. When I was finished, I stood up and carefully placed the tarnished quarter right next to the small bowl of soup. "Miss, ma'am... I won't drink the soup," I said softly. I took two steps back and gave the tall, elegant woman a polite, quiet bow. "For the porridge earlier... I don't have enough money right now. But I can collect plastic bottles outside and sell them to pay you back, okay?" I raised my head, my eyes entirely devoid of anger or resentment. "Please... just don't lock me back in that dark room. I'm very quiet. I can do heavy chores." My sister stood frozen where she was, her arms dropping to her sides. Following the older woman’s instructions, I walked up to the second floor, keeping my footsteps as light as air. The moment I pushed open the door to my room, I saw how every trace of my existence had been slowly devoured. My memory wasn't completely wiped; fragmented, faint recollections still floated in my mind like distant echoes. Two months ago, Tobias had brought several massive designer shopping bags home and carelessly tossed them onto my bed. When I carried the bags back to his room, he had broken down into soft, tragic sob. My mother had berated me without hesitation: "Sam, Toby spent ten years living on the streets without any security! He hoards things because he's traumatized. How can you be so selfish as his older brother? Why must you fight him over every little thing?" From that day on, my bedroom became Toby’s secondary closet, overflowing with his streetwear and overflow junk. On the corner of the desk sat a small desk lamp with a chipped base. I had bought it years ago with the very first paycheck I earned handing out flyers in the snow. Later, Toby decided his room was too dim and wanted my lamp. When I refused, a struggle broke out just as my sister walked upstairs. Without asking a single question, she snatched the lamp from my hands and smashed it onto the hard floor. "Are you insane, Sam?" she had screamed at me. "It’s a twenty-dollar piece of junk! Is it worth making your brother cry over? I’ll have my assistant buy you a hundred new ones tomorrow. Now apologize to Toby immediately!" Of course, she never bought me a new one. I closed my eyes, forcing the rising tide of bitterness back down into the dark. It didn't matter anymore. The person I was now didn't need to remember any of it. I walked into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower. Freezing water poured down over my head, soaking my clothes. My mother had told me to use my own bathroom, but she had forgotten one thing: the hot water pipe in this room had burst a week ago and was never fixed. I used the cold stream to scrub the grime from my skin. Where the water hit my raw skin, it stung like needles—yet it didn't hurt nearly as much as the hollow ache in my chest. When I finished, I huddled in the corner by the bathroom door, sitting on the cold tile beside a discarded cardboard box. I lost track of time. Suddenly, the bedroom door was pushed open with a heavy, impatient bang. "Sam, how long are you going to throw this temper—" My sister’s voice cut through the air, sharp with suppressed anger. But the words caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted downward, fixing on the corner of the floor. "What... what are you doing on the floor?" Her voice trembled slightly. "Why aren't you in bed?" I shuddered, pulling myself backward in terror. "I'm—I'm sorry, Miss! I didn't know this was your storage room... I shouldn't have come in..." I swallowed hard, keeping my voice as low as possible. She dropped to her knees, reaching out to grab my arm. "Sam, get up first... the floor is freezing..." "Don't hit me!" I shrank back frantically against the wall, shielding my head. "I'll dry my clothes right now! I won't ruin the floor! Please, Miss, don't hit me..." She stared at my defensive posture, her gaze landing on my shivering shoulders. She reached out and seized my upper arms. "Why are your clothes ice cold? Your hair is freezing! Did you take a shower in cold water?!" "I..." I swallowed hard, my eyes darting nervously around the room. "The lady of the house said... I shouldn't use the hallway bathroom because I might dirty the young master's things. My room— I mean, the storage room's shower... doesn't have hot water. I was afraid I’d smell bad and upset you, so I just used cold water." My sister’s throat constricted, her breath catching violently. She hadn't known the shower had no hot water. A week ago, when the pipe ruptured, I had tried to tell her. But she had been busy helping Tobias assemble a limited-edition Lego set worth tens of thousands of dollars. Without even looking up, she had snapped at me: "Do you really need to bother me with every little thing? Are you doing this on purpose because Toby is back? Trying to start drama?" After that, no plumber was ever called. "I..." My sister opened her mouth, her voice dry and rasping. She looked at my lips, which were turning blue from the cold, and instinctively reached down to unbutton her suit jacket to put it over me. Just then, faint footsteps sounded outside the doorway. "Jennifer? Why are you in Sam's room?" Tobias stood in the doorway. Hearing his voice, my sister’s body stiffened noticeably. She instinctively took a step back, widening the distance between us. "Toby? Why are you awake? Did we disturb you?" Her tone softened in an instant. Tobias bit his lip, his eyes welling with tears on command. "I had a nightmare... Jennifer, is Sam still angry at me? If it’s my fault, I can give him his room back. I’ll go live in the basement. Please don't fight because of me..." My sister rushed to comfort him. "Toby, don't say such silly things. How could any of this be your fault? You suffered so much while you were lost. Living in the best room in your own home is only right. Sam... Sam just finished the ritual, so his head is a little confused. Don't take it to heart." Hearing the commotion, my mother came hurrying up the stairs in her slippers. The moment she saw Tobias standing there with tear-stained eyes, her expression darkened into a scowl. She marched into the room, shoving Tobias safely behind her back. "Sam! How much longer are you going to keep this up?" She glared down at me. "Toby has weak nerves and finally fell asleep, and the second you get out of that basement, you start making trouble for the whole house! We just asked you to take a bath, and you sit there looking like a corpse for who to see?" I huddled deeper into the freezing corner, wrapping my arms around my knees, shivering violently. I kept my head buried low. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm not angry... I'll leave right now. I'll get out..." I made a move to crawl toward the door, my hands scraping against the dirty floorboards. My mother watched me. She had come up the stairs armed with a barrage of sharp scoldings, but now it felt as though her punches were landing on thin air. Her face turned a sickly shade of pale frustration. "Mom... look at him. He seems... really..." My sister stared at me, her mouth slightly open, as if a terrible suspicion was finally dawning on her. "Jennifer, is he actually crazy now?" Tobias sniffled softly. My mother let out a cold snort, pulling Tobias back a step. "He's acting fake. Fine, play dumb all you want. Did you really think pulling a stunt like this would win back our affection? Since his head is messed up, I'll have a doctor look at him tomorrow." She turned away coldly. "Toby, let's go back to your room. Ignore him." Her voice was laced with pure impatience. Before walking out, she turned to my sister. "Jennifer, lock the door from the outside so he doesn't wander around at night and scare Toby. And tomorrow, throw out all the dirty old junk in his room. It’s an eyesore." "Got it, Mom," my sister replied softly. She stole one last glance at me before obediently following them out into the hallway. The door clicked shut, and the heavy iron lock turned from the outside. Listening to their fading footsteps, I slowly pulled myself up from the floor. Reaching into the very bottom of the battered cardboard box, I pulled out a small, waterproof pouch I had hidden long ago. Inside was a private debit card I had secretly opened, containing the meager savings I had scraped together over the years from side jobs, alongside a one-way train ticket I had bought weeks ago. Clutching the ticket stub in my palm, my mind suddenly flashed back to my eighteenth birthday. We had taken a family portrait together that day. My mother had wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and my sister had held up a birthday cake, smiling warmly. Back then, it felt as though they truly considered me family. They loved Tobias so much. In that case, they should let Tobias stay with them forever. At dawn, the bedroom door was unlocked and pushed open once again. This time, my mother walked in holding a steaming bowl of sweet glutinous rice ball soup. "Sam, you must be hungry. Hurry and eat this," she said, stepping over to the bed and reaching out to pat my hair. "Yesterday, your sister and I were just overly anxious. Toby isn't in good health, and we panicked when he got upset. Don't take what we said to heart." My sister walked up behind her, letting out a soft sigh. "Sam, the spiritual medium spoke to us again last night. She said Toby suffered too much during those ten years away, so his spiritual aura is extremely weak. Meanwhile, you lived comfortably in the Norman house for ten years, so your presence naturally clashes with his. That’s why he suffers chest pains and nightmares whenever you're around." She pulled a smooth jade pendant from her pocket and took my hand. "Sam, this is the absolute last time. The final sacrifice the family will ever ask of you. You just need to use a few drops of your blood to consecrate this jade. It will absorb the negative energy and protect Toby. After this, we will double our efforts to make it up to you. We’ll treat you as a real son and brother, and we'll never let you suffer again, okay?" Watching the picture-perfect scene of family reconciliation unfold before me, I felt only a profound, hollow irony. Tobias sat on the small armchair nearby, his voice choking up. "Brother, my chest hurts so badly every night... If you just help me this once, I'll share half of Mom and Jennifer's love with you from now on. I'm begging you..." Under the weight of their three converging gazes, I raised my head, trembling. "If I give my blood... Toby won't be in pain anymore?" I swallowed hard, looking frightened. "Then... Miss, ma'am... will you really like Sam after this? You won't lock Sam back in the dark basement?" "Of course! I promise you, from now on, you are the second young master of the Norman family," my mother agreed instantly, a glint of desperate greed flashing in her eyes. My nose stung with a sudden wave of warmth. In a fleeting moment of hallucination, I remembered cutting my finger while peeling an apple last year. My sister had panicked, tearing through the entire medicine cabinet looking for bandages, whispering, "Don’t cry, Sammy. Sister will blow on it, and it won't hurt anymore." Now... I closed my eyes. I would consider this single cut the final repayment for ten years of shelter. "Okay... Sam will be good. Sam will protect brother..." I sniffled, submissively extending my right hand. Seeing me agree, a sharp light flared in my sister's eyes. Without a single word of warning—without even telling me to brace myself—she seized the sharp, jagged edge of the jade stone and dragged it forcefully across my palm! "Miss! It hurts! It hurts so much!" A strangled cry tore from my throat. My body jerked violently as I tried to pull my hand back by instinct. But my sister held my wrist in a vise grip, pressing harder. "Don't move! Just hold still a little longer! Be a good boy, Sam. We told you this is the last time, why are you being so difficult?" When I was little and scraped my knees bleeding on the pavement, she had carried me on her back all the way home, her forehead drenched in sweat, comforting me every step of the way. Now, sitting beside us, my mother didn't show a single trace of pity. Instead, her face twisted in disgust as she gently patted Tobias's back. "It's just a little bit of blood," my mother muttered coldly. "Is it anywhere near the suffering Toby endured wandering the streets for ten years?" Late that night, the entire Norman mansion sank into absolute silence. By afternoon, Tobias’s "chest pain" had miraculously vanished. To celebrate, the three of them had booked a table at the most luxurious restaurant downtown. As for my hand, which wouldn't stop bleeding, they hadn't even left behind a single band-aid. When they left that evening, I had watched from the window as my sister opened the car door for Tobias, and my mother lovingly straightened his jacket collar. Just like they used to do for me. Listening to the steady, quiet hum of the empty house, I opened my eyes. The moment my feet stepped over the threshold of the Norman estate, I knew I was never coming back. I boarded a late-night taxi heading straight to the train station. I'm done playing your games. I powered off my phone and leaned my head against the cold glass of the car window. At that exact moment, sitting at the candlelit restaurant table downtown, my mother’s phone buzzed with a text message from her brother: "Helena, Tobias's physical exam results just came back. Everything is normal. But there’s a massive problem... I remember both you and Richard are blood type O. How could you possibly have a child with type AB blood?" "Helena, did you bring home the wrong kid?"
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