I always thought my wife was just an ordinary "brother-loving sister," the kind who would do anything for her brother.

But one night, I watched in frozen horror as she dismembered her brother in our storage room.

Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned and looked straight at me.

She flashed her usual gentle smile.

"Honey," she called softly, her voice sweet and familiar—exactly the same as always.

My name is Ross Anders. I'm an ordinary guy, and just a few months ago, I met a beautiful girl and we got married quickly.

Her name is Lily Parker. Just like her name, she is stunningly beautiful and coldly aloof. Honestly, I don't think I deserve her.

When she first said she wanted to marry me, I was so overjoyed that I couldn't sleep.

I'd spent years working hard, building up enough to buy a house, and I decided to give her half of it because all I want is to build a life with her. But as always, things don't go as planned.

When her brother, Finn, entered our lives, everything changed.

At first, it was just small favors—helping him out here and there—but soon it turned into moral blackmail. He needed money for school, so I gave it. He got into a fight and needed to pay for damages, so I covered it. He didn't have a job, so I did my best to find him one.

It never ended. He attached himself to me like a leech, draining everything he could. Over time, I realized: isn't he just a typical example of the 'brother-pampering' syndrome and a parasite?

And then, just a few days ago, Finn finally proposed.

Lily was thrilled. She took credit for his success, claiming it was all her hard work that made it happen.

She turned to me, beaming with excitement. "Darling, my brother's getting married soon. But the bride's family won't agree to the marriage without a house. We still have that empty one, right? Why don't we give it to him?"

It wasn't a suggestion; it was a decree. She wasn't asking; she was telling me what had already been decided. She was informing me, as though I had no say in the matter.

I didn't answer immediately.

Lily's expression shifted, and she raised her voice. "You're giving it to him today, whether you like it or not! He's getting married and has nowhere to live. What's wrong with letting him have that extra house?"

That house—my parents' lifelong effort—was all they had worked for. I didn't want to touch it. They had left it to me and returned to the countryside, so that I could rent it out to ease my financial burden.

Now that they're gone, I want to keep it as a memory, something to hold on to.

But Lily wasn't listening. She wasn't even trying to understand.

In a fit of frustration, I stood up. "If you want to hand it over to him, you're ruining him. He's useless, and you're enabling him."

The words barely left my mouth when Lily threw her bowl down. The ceramic smashed loudly on the floor. The kitchen was suddenly a mess of shards.

Her hands were on her hips as she pointed at our house, the one we considered a symbol of our life together.

"This house is joint property. Even if we get divorced, I'm taking my half to give it to my brother to buy a place," she declared.

I was shaking, fury coursing through me. She would divorce me for her brother?

"Fine! Let's divorce, then!" My anger flared, and I wasn't backing down. This house, which had once held love and laughter, was now a battleground for our bitter fights.

She cried. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs. Her finger pointed at me accusingly, her voice thick with emotion. "You're heartless! When you had nothing, I stayed by your side. And now, when I say I want a divorce, you're ready to walk away?"

I knew she was manipulating me. She knew how much I loved her, and she was using it against me.

As she cried, I felt my anger fading, replaced by a deep ache.

I shouldn't be angry. I shouldn't let her push me into a corner. I had to talk to her, to make her understand.

I reached for her, pulling her small frame into my arms.

She rested her head against my chest, her soft hair brushing my face, the familiar scent of her soothing my nerves.

"Baby, listen. The problem is, your brother still doesn't have a job," I murmured gently. "Let's help him find a job first. We can worry about the house later."

I rubbed her back, trying to calm her, and the soft rhythm of my hand against her spine was a small comfort.

"Okay." Her voice was unexpectedly quiet.

A wave of helplessness washed over me. I loved Lily, but I couldn't be a fool. I couldn't just keep giving in to her and her brother.

I'd thought about it. Maybe I should just go ahead and buy him the house. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized—it would never end. Once I gave him the house, there would be more requests. And I'd be stuck, trapped in this endless cycle.

"Darling," Lily whispered softly, her voice almost a plea as she looked up at me. "Help him find a job, then. And if he manages to turn things around?"

Her eyes were full of hope, but there was also something else—a vulnerability that tugged at me. She was asking me to believe in him, in her brother. She looked at me with those teary eyes, and for a moment, I felt my resolve cracking.

"Alright. If he works hard, I'll help him with the house." I sighed, my heart heavy with the weight of the decision.

In the end, I couldn't say no. Part of me held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Finn would change. Maybe he wouldn't continue to drain us dry.

The moment Lily's phone rang, she glanced down at the screen. She pressed the receiver to her ear with one hand, covering it with the other, before slowly walking toward the window.

I caught a faint trace of joy in her voice as she spoke. "Ross has agreed. He said as long as you work hard, the house won't be a problem."

The next day, I swallowed my pride and asked a former school friend for help. He agreed to introduce Finn to an assistant position.

When I shared the news with Lily, her face lit up with a smile, and I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction in my chest. The sight of her so happy filled me with warmth.

Two days later, I was having a quiet dinner with my wife when my phone vibrated incessantly with calls from my friend.

His voice was full of frustration, but he managed to calm himself before speaking. "Ross, I'll tell you the truth. That brother-in-law of yours is nothing but trouble. I gave him an assistant job, but he's acting like I've hired a goddamn king. He insisted I drive him to work, and when I didn't agree to it, he laid his hands on me. I'm done with him. You handle him however you want."

Before I could even apologize, the line went dead.

And then, just as I was about to process what had happened, a loud, hurried knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

Lily moved quickly to open it.

Finn burst in, full of energy as usual. He didn't even let me speak before he exploded, "Sis, you wouldn't believe that crap job Ross found me. He doesn't even treat me like a brother-in-law. How did you even fall for such a useless man?"

He barged inside, complaining without any gratitude. His entitled attitude struck me like a slap in the face.

Without a second thought, he sank down onto the sofa, his legs carelessly crossed over the coffee table in front of him. He looked entirely at ease, as if he owned the place, completely disregarding any kind of decorum.

I wanted to scream at him, to tear into him for his lack of respect, but I forced myself to hold back.

Lily looked at me, annoyance creeping into her voice. "Ross, why didn't you find Finn a decent job? You should've known better." She shot me a glare, as though I was the one who'd done something wrong.

She walked over to the fridge and pulled out a drink for Finn, smiling as she handed it to him.

That was it. I couldn't hold back anymore. My fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles cracked.

"Do you know what Finn did?" I snapped at her. "He asked the boss to drive him to work, and then he hit his boss when he got upset."

Finn barely reacted, still lounging with his legs up. He leaned back casually like a spoiled child. "What's the problem? I made him drive me to work. What's the big deal? Yeah, I hit him—hell, I want to hit you too."

Lily stood frozen, unable to say anything, her expression distant. It was like she was shutting herself off from all of this. She didn't even seem to care.

I was about to charge at Finn and give him a piece of my mind, maybe even knock some sense into him, but before I could move, Lily stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my waist, holding me back.

Finn, clearly enjoying the spectacle, grinned widely and made a face at me, relishing my fury.

Lily's patience snapped. She turned to Finn her voice rising sharply. "Finn, don't push it. Do you know how hard Ross has worked for you?"

Finn shrugged nonchalantly, like it was all a joke to him. "I don't care. I never asked him to help me."

With that, he stood, brushing past her, heading straight for the guest room without another word. He didn't even look back.

I stood there, speechless, staring at Lily with a bitter laugh. "So this is the brother you're so proud of."

Her face flickered between a pale blush and a sharp whiteness, unsure of what to say, as she stood rooted to the spot, silent.

She stammered for a long moment before finally speaking, "Maybe Finn's gone too far today. You're his brother-in-law, try to be more understanding."

"Tsk," I scoffed.

I pushed past her, heading for the door, grabbing a lighter and a cigarette, eager to escape the suffocating tension.

Lily didn't stop me. She probably thought I needed a moment to cool off, to get away from it all.

As I stepped out of the neighborhood, I passed by a small park where a group of children were playing.

One little boy, in the middle of a game of chase with his friends, accidentally crashed into my knee.

"Ah!" the boy cried out in pain. He stumbled and fell to the ground.

A woman, who had been sitting nearby, immediately rushed over.

I was about to explain that it had just been an accident, that the child had tripped on his own, but her expression shifted from anger to something warmer when she saw who I was.

"Ross, is that you? I didn't recognize you from so far away!" she exclaimed with a smile, as she helped the child up.

Hearing her call my name, instantly, I recalled who she was.

"Josephine Wells? Your son's all grown up now!"

I was genuinely delighted to run into an old high school classmate after all these years. At first, I hadn't recognized her either.

As I spoke, I instinctively reached down to pick up her son, but when I looked at the boy's face more closely, I froze.

The child bore a striking resemblance to Finn. A jolt of recognition ran through me—could it be? No, he had been too young before. He must have just grown into a look-alike.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noticing my hesitation.

"It's nothing," I replied quickly, forcing a casual tone. "I just… didn't see his father around. Where's he?"

Her answer came out curt, clearly reluctant to answer my question. "He's at home, doing fine."

The topic seemed to make her uncomfortable, so I decided to let it go.

"Mommy, mommy, I'm hungry!" the boy tugged at her sleeve, whining.

Without thinking, I scooped him up into my arms. "Alright, let's go. I'm hungry too. Let's have something delicious!"

"Thank you, Mister! Yay!" he cheered.

We headed to a family-style restaurant and ordered a few dishes that I knew kids loved.

I was enjoying the meal, laughing at the child's endless chatter, and even having a little beer. The atmosphere was light, and I was genuinely happy.

As we were finishing up, the boy suddenly looked up at me and said, "Thank you, Mister. This is the best meal I've ever had."

His words caught me off guard, and I felt a warm twinge in my chest.

I smiled at him, but a wave of questions lingered in my mind.

I pushed them away—this was none of my business. People's personal lives were theirs to manage, and I had no right to pry as an outsider.

I gently took his hand, placing it in mine. "If you ever want to eat with me again, just come find me."

He nodded eagerly, his face lighting up.

Josephine stroked his head affectionately, then turned to me with a smile and said, "Thank you."

Just as I turned to leave, Lily's call came through. I didn't answer it.

I swiped the call away, about to say my goodbyes to Josephine, when the wind lifted her skirt, and I noticed a dark bruise on her calf.

It was still summer, but she was wearing long sleeves. She was clearly trying to hide signs of domestic abuse.

She noticed that I'd seen it, and instinctively pressed down on her skirt to cover the bruise.

I stepped closer, grabbing her hand and pulling up her sleeve. What I saw made my blood run cold—her arm was covered in bruises, and there were burn marks, as if from a cigarette.

She jerked her arm away quickly, her voice stumbling as she mumbled, "I'm fine."

Without saying another word, I pulled out my phone and transferred five hundred dollars to her via the payment code she showed me.

She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, but she didn't say anything.

I knew this was her battle, not mine. And as much as I wanted to intervene, I couldn't force her to confront what was happening. It was up to her to handle.

I thought about my own life—how I had once believed that as long as I loved my wife with all my heart, everything would be fine.

But now, I saw the truth: loving her wasn't enough. I had to love everything about her—her family, her troubles, even her brother.

I gave her shoulder a gentle pat, then turned to leave, but not before reminding her, "Call the police, alright?"