The last taut wire in my head snapped completely.

Without thinking, my right hand curled into a fist and I drove it with every ounce of strength I had straight into his face.

"Ah!!"

Gideon let out a short, terrible cry and staggered back a few steps before collapsing hard to the floor. He clutched his nose; bright red blood gushed through his fingers and splattered onto the floorboards. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

"Gideon!" Eliana's shrill cry cut through the silence. She rushed over, flustered, supporting him and using her sleeve to wipe his face, her eyes wide with shock and fury as they landed on me.

"Jared! What are you doing? Are you crazy?!" she snapped. "Don't you know Gideon is ill? How could you hit him so hard?!"

I watched her. Her whole world was the moaning figure on the floor; she didn't even glance at the blood seeping from my head. I wanted to ask her—is anything he does can be forgiven because he's "sick"? Am I always meant to be the sacrificial one, the one expected to understand?

Before I could say a word, a ripping pain exploded through my skull, as if something inside had detonated. The room spun, lights smeared into streaks, and I blacked out.

...

When I woke up, the first thing that hit me was the sting of disinfectant—cold and clinical in my nostrils. I forced my heavy eyelids open; blurred shapes resolved into the hospital ward's bland white ceiling. A man in a white coat stood at the bedside, looking down at the medical record folder in his hand.

"You're awake," he said, then came closer and checked the bandage on my head. "How do you feel?"

He examined my head, then looked up. "You have a mild concussion and a skin laceration on your forehead. You need five stitches." He gave a small, professional half-smile. "You were lucky. The glass fragments didn't hit any vital areas."

He paused, then his tone shifted to puzzled seriousness. "The girl who brought you in—she's your girlfriend, right? What happened? Her brother seemed extremely agitated in the emergency room; he was crying and making a scene. She's been trying to calm him down and didn't even have time to come see you during surgery."

I forced a tight smile and said nothing. The doctor sighed and didn't press further.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and didn't say anything.

In the evening, the ward door was gently pushed open.

Eliana walked in. Her makeup was smudged; exhaustion flickered in her eyes. She paused at the bedside, staring at my bandaged head for a few seconds before speaking.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Not going to die," I answered flatly.

Eliana's brow knit. "Jared, don't say that. Gideon—"

"What about him?" I cut in, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

She pressed her lips together. "Your punch fractured his nasal bone. They're still treating it. More importantly, he was terrified—his emotions are unstable and his condition has gotten worse."

A fractured nose. Hearing that caused no ripple in me; if anything, the punch felt too light.

"So?" I asked.

Her usual lecturing tone snapped back at me, flustered by my coldness.

"Jared, I know you're angry, but can't you be rational? He was drunk and having an episode—he couldn't control himself! You're a normal person; how could you stoop to his level and hit him so hard?"

Here we go again.

I looked at her—the woman I'd loved for seven years, the woman who had almost become my wife—and suddenly she felt utterly foreign.

"Eliana," I said slowly, "just because he can't control himself, it's okay for him to smash a bottle over my head?"

Her eyes flickered. "He didn't mean it—"

"Then his insult to my mother was unintentional too?" I fixed my gaze on hers so she couldn't look away. "Was all that just ‘unconscious babbling'?"

"He was talking nonsense!" Eliana raised her voice. "Why are you picking on a patient?"

"Why can't I?" My tone cooled. "Just because he's ill, does that give him the right to trample my dignity, my feelings, and my mother's memory? Why must I always be the one to suffer and understand?"

"Eliana, the things you did back then, the guilt you carry—why should I pay the price for them?" I pushed.

Her face went blank. After all, she had never heard me speak so bluntly.

"That's not what I mean, Jared. Let's calm down, okay? I'm sorry—once Gideon calms down, we'll talk properly—"

I cut her off. "There's nothing to talk about. You don't owe me an apology either."

I closed my eyes; the cut at my temple throbbed. "Between us, it was already over when you went to the bar with him in your wedding dress."

Eliana's brow knitted tightly; her voice pitched higher. "I said that to settle him down! Can't you understand? I'm stuck in the middle here!"

My gaze was steady and empty. "Don't trouble yourself. Leave, Eliana. Go take care of the brother who can't do without you. He's more important than me."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but only pressed her lips together and left the ward.

She didn't come back for the next few days.

After I was discharged, I went alone to the cemetery to say goodbye to my mother and leave the city.

When I arrived, the sight made my blood rush to my head and my limbs went cold.

Gideon.

He was there with a shovel—where he'd gotten it, I had no idea, but he was frantically digging at my mother's grave. Soil lay overturned everywhere; the headstone had been knocked askew.

"Stop!" My mind went blank. I lunged forward without thinking.

Before I could reach him, two burly, black-clad bodyguards sprang out from the side and pinned me down, one on each side. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't break free.

"Let go of me! Gideon! I'll kill you!" I screamed, veins bulging in my neck.

Eliana came running up, stepping between us. "Jared! Don't be rash! Calm down!"

"Calm down?" I shouted. "You expect me to stay calm while this lunatic digs up my mother's grave?!"

She averted her eyes, speaking with the weary tone she always used. "Because of your punch, Gideon's condition has worsened. He can't be provoked—you have to understand!"

Hearing her words only encouraged him more. Gideon stopped digging for a beat, propped the shovel under his arm, and grinned at me—a smile full of malice and madness. Then he slammed the shovel down onto the exposed urn.

"No!" My chest felt like it was tearing.

There was a dull, resonant thud as the hard urn cracked. He laughed as if he was at a game and kept hitting it, blow after blow, until the urn shattered completely.

The white ashes spilled out across the dirt.

Gideon threw down the shovel, lifted his foot, and ground his heel into them hard—twisting as if crushing out a cigarette.

"Mom!"

At that instant, I heard the sound of my own heart breaking. Rage, despair, and unbearable grief collided all at once. Hot tears of blood and fury slid down my face.

Eliana didn't look at me. Not once. All her focus was on Gideon.

When he finally stopped, she stepped forward carefully. Her voice was soft as she coaxed, "Gideon, is that enough? Do you feel better now?"

He dusted off his hands, grinning, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Yeah, Sis. I feel much better now."

Then he turned to the scattered ashes of my mother and spat on them.

"Come on," Eliana murmured gently, motioning for the bodyguards to release me. "Let's go home."

She led him away, shielding him with her body, never once looking back.

I fell to my knees, crawling forward through the churned dirt. My trembling hands gathered the ashes—now mixed with mud and spit—piece by piece.

The fragments sliced into my palms, blood dripped into the soil, but I felt no pain.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Mechanically, I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a message from Eliana.

[Jared, I promise this is the last time.]

[I've already arranged for a specialist. I'm taking Gideon abroad for treatment tomorrow.]

[Once he's cured, everything will be fine again.]

[Don't worry. All the pain you've suffered—I'll make it up to you someday.]

I stared at the message, expressionless.

Taking off my soaked jacket, I wrapped the ashes carefully, almost tenderly. Then, without a word, I buried the phone in the earth beside my mother's grave, stood up unsteadily, and walked away—one heavy step at a time, never looking back.