Charles called just as I got home.
The diagnosis paper on the table was already crumpled into a ball.
He never used to call me first.
"Yesterday was Dad's birthday."
His voice was cold, like it was laced with ice.
It was always like that.
"Why didn't you come back..."
"Because I didn't want to."
I cut him off. "You went back, didn't you? That's enough."
"Tiffany flew back from abroad."
Tiffany was my aunt's daughter, who had lived with us since childhood.
"Isn't she enough for you? You only see her as your sister anyway."
The person on the other end seemed suddenly incensed, calling my name with a low, angry voice, "Irene!"
I pressed the end call button.
The first beam of moonlight cast inside the house.
I sat at the table, crumpled the diagnosis paper into a ball, then tossed it into the trash.
Just as I finished, my phone suddenly lit up.
Charles: Mom's death anniversary is coming soon.
Charles is my older brother.
He has always hated me because I am the culprit who took his mother away.
Over twenty years ago, my mother died in childbirth, losing her life on the operating table at the moment of my birth.
It was a murder under the guise of a new life.
No one welcomed my arrival.
Because of me, my father lost the wife he loved most, and Charles lost his mother.
This long-standing hatred began the day I was born and has persisted ever since.
I didn't deliberately miss my father's birthday.
It was just that on that day, my headache was so severe. I’d been running a fever, almost passing out, only then did I realize something was wrong.
However, the truth is, he might have been more at ease without me there.
Charles didn't look for me again.
Sitting at my desk, I took a deep breath.
After graduation, I joined my brother’s company and worked my way up from the bottom. No one ever realized our relationship.
In fact, I saw him less frequently than even the most ordinary employee.
Last month, a director resigned, and the successor was to be announced this Friday.
Everyone believed that this position was undoubtedly mine.
At least, that's what I thought until I received my diagnosis.
I ran into a colleague in the hallway. She greeted me with a smile and leaned in closer, "Irene, don't forget to treat us to a big meal when you get the promotion."
I looked down and smiled, "It's not certain yet."
"It's definitely yours," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "You're the best among all of us."
As I entered the conference room, Charles was there, and our eyes met for just a moment before he looked away, as if we were strangers.
"Good morning, Mr. Steinem."
He didn't look at me, just nodded. It was as if our argument that night had never happened.
Colleagues started filling the conference room. Charles looked out over everyone, and my colleague, excited, gave me a sharp pinch. I avoided her gaze and lowered my eyes.
The next moment, I heard a familiar name.
"Tiffany."
A familiar figure walked in from the door, slender and graceful, with Tiffany's smile as gentle as ever.
Charles stood beside her, introducing her to everyone, "Ms. Perez has just returned from abroad and will be taking on the position of Director."
People instinctively looked at me. I averted my gaze and looked at Tiffany on the stage, her smile radiant.
There was a momentary pause in the room, a barely perceptible embarrassment in the air.
I smiled and started clapping.
The sparse applause broke the slightly awkward atmosphere in the conference room.
Tiffany met my eyes, her eyebrows curved, revealing a bright smile with gleaming white teeth.
