My Brother Became a Vegetable To Save Me Novel by NANCY ROWSE

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In the face of my brother’s inquiries, my mom began to grow impatient.

But she could only take it out on me like she did when I was a kid.

“How heartless can you be? Your brother’s already awake, and you can’t even spare a glance or reply to a message.”

“If he hadn’t saved you, you would have been dead.””

I’ve heard these words countless times in the past five years.

Mom was right. It was really my brother who saved me.

That night when I was working overtime, I passed by an alley, and someone suddenly covered my mouth.

In that dark and wet alley, I couldn’t even see the person’s face clearly.

I was dragged to the side, and the person began to roughly pull my clothes.

No matter how much I cried or begged for mercy.

The man didn’t stop, he slapped me across the face.

Until I couldn’t cry and watched in despair as it all happened.

It was my brother.

He came to me in the alley, and he fought with him like a madman.

But how could a college student not yet graduated beat an adult?

My brother was stabbed several times and his blood–red clothes were soaked.

He pointed to the cake mixed with dirt on the ground.

“Sis…… sister, happy birthday.”

Then he collapsed straight in front of me.

Dad patted mom on the shoulder behind his back, “Don’t be mad, Lydia isn’t close to us, and you know that.”

“It’s a good day for Lukie to get out of the hospital, don’t spoil it.”

I sat in my dad’s car and went back home with them.

On the way home, my brother kept chattering away, sometimes marveling at how much the city had changed, and other times insisting he needed to catch up on all the episodes of “Naruto” he hadn’t seen yet.

He was always so optimistic and sunny, as if the five years in the hospital bed had no effect on him at all.

I was three years older than him, and ever since he’s born, when there was something delicious at home, he was always the first one my mom thought of.

I, in contrast, was left with whatever remained.

Just like my brother enjoyed drumsticks, I was left with the meager chicken feet and wings.

When he wanted a new school bag, mom bought it for him without a second thought.

But when I asked for an exercise book, she would say.

“You’re cut out for studying, so it’s useless.

Look at your brother, he’s at the top of his class again this time.”

Yes, my brother has inherited my mom and dad’s good genes.

I, on the other hand, was just like what my classmates said behind my back:

“I really think Lydia can’t be her parents‘ biological child. Her mom is such a renowned lawyer, and her dad is a university professor. Look how stupid she is, she always comes in last on every exam.”

At that time I was very jealous of my brother.

Naively thinking that he was the one who stole Mom and Dad’s love.

He seemed to feel it too.

I caught him the nth time he sneaked food and toys into my school bag.

He scratched his head and asked me carefully.

“Sister, do you not like me?”

I shot him a glare, irritation bubbling inside me.

“Yes, I don’t like you, don’t stuff messy things into my school bag from now on.”

A flicker of loss flashed in his eyes, but he quickly smiled at me.

“It’s okay, it’s enough that I like you.”

Many times, I found myself agreeing with my mom’s words: A good boy like him shouldn’t have become like that because of me. Thankfully, he woke up