Chapter 3

The Johnson Mansion was already shrouded in darkness by the time I returned.

As I stepped into the entrance hall, Robert's angry voice erupted from the living room: "On your knees!" The heavy thud of a cane striking the floor followed.

I halted, peering through the doorway to see Michael kneeling before Robert, his head bowed low. "You could even be late to Andrew's funeral—is there nothing you consider sacred?" Robert's voice trembled with rage. "He was YOUR son!"

Michael remained silent.

"Isabella, go upstairs and get some rest." Robert's voice softened the moment he noticed me.

I gave a slight nod and made my way slowly toward the staircase. Before my footsteps faded, I heard the dull, sickening thwack of the cane meeting flesh behind me.

Once, twice, three times…

There was a time when that sound would have shattered me, sending me rushing downstairs in tears to plead for mercy for Michael. Now, I merely paused for a moment before continuing up.

I went to my dressing table and began to pack. No makeup—it was all chosen by Michael. No fine clothes—most were selected by the Johnson family to fit my role as the "lady of the house." I took only a few simple, casual outfits, then went to Andrew's room.

Pushing the door open, a fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. Everything remained exactly as he had left it. On his desk lay a drawing of our family of three. In it, Michael was smiling, I was smiling, and Andrew was smiling too. It was the beautiful, unfulfillable wish of a five-year-old's imagination.

I carefully gathered his belongings—a few changes of clothes and the stack of his drawings. I would leave everything else behind. I wanted to walk away unburdened, owing nothing.

Finally, I returned to my dressing table and removed the pearl earrings from my ears. They were Michael's wedding gift to me—now, they rightfully belonged to the Johnson family.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. "Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Robert asks for you downstairs," the old butler's voice trembled slightly.

I descended, pulling my suitcase. In the living room, Michael still knelt, his eyes bloodshot, sweat beading on his forehead. Robert was seated in the main chair. His expression shifted when he saw my suitcase.

"Robert," I began, no longer using the affectionate term I once had. He flinched almost imperceptibly.

I remembered my first meeting with Robert, a timid freshman then. "Isabella, this is Robert, an old friend of your father's. If you ever need anything in Emerald City, go to him," my mother had said, her eyes holding a complexity I couldn't then decipher.

Robert had crouched down, his gaze kind. "From now on, you can think of Michael as a brother. He'll look after you."

And Michael had. He brought me lunch during long study days, accompanied me to the clinic when I was ill, stood up for me when others were unkind. He was gentle, considerate, the protective older brother I never had.

Until Sophia appeared. The daughter of the Brown family, elegant as a painting. From the moment he saw her, Michael had eyes for no one else. "Michael, why are you still with that… plain girl?" "Is she always following you? Doesn't she realize she's a third wheel?" "She certainly lacks self-awareness."

After hearing the whispers, I began to avoid him. But when Michael saw me heading to the cafeteria with other male classmates, he confronted me. "Isabella, are you seeing someone? Why are you avoiding me?"

How I had wanted to say then: "Because I love you, and I can't bear to just be your sister." But the words never came. A series of misunderstandings and missteps later, I had driven a wedge between him and Sophia.

"Isabella, where are you going?" Michael's voice pulled me from the memory. I looked at him kneeling on the floor, a profound sadness washing over me. "I'm leaving the Johnson family."

"Why?" He tried to stand, but Robert's cane pressed down on his shoulder. "Because there's nothing left for me here." I kept my voice even. "Andrew is gone… and so are any feelings between us. My staying would only cause more pain for everyone."

Robert sighed deeply. "Isabella, I failed in raising him properly. I've wronged you." I shook my head. "You've always been kind to me, Robert. This is not your failure."

"Where will you go?" Michael grabbed my suitcase. "Where can you go alone?" I freed my suitcase from his grasp. "That is no longer your concern." A flash of pain crossed his eyes, but I found I no longer cared.

Three days after leaving the Johnson family, I collapsed in my small rented apartment. I woke in a hospital bed at Evergreen Hospital. "Hello, I'm Dr. Daniel Wilson, your attending physician." A familiar voice spoke. I looked up into an equally familiar face. Daniel. My former university classmate.

"Daniel?" I could scarcely believe it. He nodded, opening the medical chart. "Isabella, your gastric cancer has reached an advanced stage. You were diagnosed two months ago, weren't you?" I closed my eyes. Yes. The diagnosis had come two months ago. A week before Andrew's birthday, a severe stomach pain sent me to the hospital, and the verdict was late-stage gastric cancer. Six months at most, the doctor had said.

That night, I held Andrew and cried until dawn. Not from fear of death, but from the agony of leaving him behind. Now, with Andrew gone, I felt a grim sense of relief. Perhaps this was better. We would be reunited in another world.

"Why didn't you inform your family?" Daniel's brow furrowed with concern. "There's no need," I replied flatly. "Nurse, please change my emergency contact to ‘None.'" Daniel was taken aback. "Isabella…" "Please. Do as I say." My tone left no room for argument.

At that moment, the hospital room door swung open. Michael walked in, followed by Sophia. He wore the dark gray coat I had bought him. Sophia dabbed delicately at her eyes with a fine handkerchief. I recognized it. I had embroidered it—intricate cherry blossoms, a labor of three months. I intended it as a birthday gift for Michael. He hadn't even glanced at it. "This crude needlework? You expect me to use this?" I had stood before him, tears falling one by one onto the delicate blossoms. Andrew rushed over to comfort me. "Don't cry, Mommy. It's pretty! Andrew wants it!"

Now, that handkerchief looked elegant and fitting in Sophia's hands. Even the way she used it to dab her eyes was graceful, as if it had been made for her all along. Seeing it, the last ember of warmth in my heart turned to ash.

"Michael, you finally have what you always wanted. You and Sophia can be together, openly.

And I… I can finally go find Andrew."