I Saved My Brother, But He Killed Me Softly Chapter 09

I Saved My Brother, But He Killed Me Softly Chapter 09

Ethan was eventually discharged from the hospital.

A jagged, hideous scar now permanently marred his wrist. He sold the apartment we used to share, took the urn containing my ashes, and moved into a dilapidated, cramped rental near Greenwood Care Center on the south side of town.

He quit his respectable corporate job.

Every single morning, he would leave the apartment pushing an empty wheelchair down to the local market to buy groceries.

“Give me half a pound of brisket, please. Make sure it’s the tenderest cut you have—my sister has trouble chewing,” he would tell the butchers.

Everyone at the market quickly figured out he was out of his mind, but nobody bothered arguing with him. They silently took his cash and handed over the meat.

Back in his dreary kitchen, he would tie on an apron and start simmering a slow beef stew.

He would cook it until the meat was entirely tender, ladle it into a clean bowl, and place it carefully at the opposite side of the dining table.

“Sienna, dinner’s ready,” he would murmur.

He spoke to the empty air, his eyes dripping with a desperate, heartbreaking tenderness.

Once he finished his own meal, he would head over to Greenwood Care Center to work as a volunteer.

He refused to accept a single cent in pay, choosing instead to specifically handle the cases of the blind and the double-amputees. He washed their clothes, trimmed their nails, and pushed their wheelchairs out into the yard so they could get some sun.

One day, a young girl arrived at the facility, having just lost both of her legs in an accident. Unable to cope with her new reality, she threw violent tantrums every day, screaming and going on hunger strikes.

Ethan walked over and knelt quietly in front of her wheelchair.

“Don’t be scared,” he said softly. “Once you get fitted for prosthetics, you’ll be able to walk completely fine again.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out the expensive, imported prosthetic leg I used to wear, carefully wiping down the metal plating with a cloth.

“This belonged to my sister. She used to walk so well on it. She could even get out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water entirely on her own.”

The little girl stared at him, her sobbing slowly dying down. “Where’s your sister now?”

Ethan’s hands froze dead.

A heavy tear dropped without warning, splashing against the cold metal of the prosthetic.

“My sister… she didn’t want me anymore.”

Suddenly, he collapsed entirely onto his knees, pulling my old prosthetic tightly against his chest as he began to wail hysterically.

The sound was agonizing, a ragged, guttural screaming that sounded like his soul was being torn apart piece by piece.

The staff and residents around him just watched in a heavy, somber silence.

Nobody knew the horrific weight of what he had actually done; they only knew him as a broken, hollow man who had lost his sister.

Nadia did end up marrying someone else eventually—a wealthy business owner.

But her new husband turned out to be a violent alcoholic who beat her black and blue whenever he was drunk.

One afternoon, after being battered so badly her face was completely swollen and bruised, Nadia ran all the way to Greenwood Care Center to track down Ethan.

“Ethan, I was wrong! Please, take me away from him! I don’t care about the money anymore, I just want you!” She threw herself onto the floor, locking her arms around his legs as tears streamed down her face.

Ethan happened to be holding a rag, quietly scrubbing down the glass window of the facility.

He lowered his gaze to look down at Nadia, his eyes entirely flat and impassive, as if he were staring at a piece of stone on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You have the wrong person.”

He casually pulled his leg out of her desperate grip, turned his back on her, and walked away to rinse his rag in the bucket.

Nadia slumped back onto the freezing tile floor, staring blankly at his slouching, withered silhouette, finally realizing exactly what she had thrown away.

Ethan didn’t give her a single glance back.

His heart had already died five years ago, on that horrific afternoon when I swallowed those sleeping pills.

The man left behind was nothing but a hollow shell, a member of the living dead dragging his feet through the motions of an endless, agonizing penance.