Because I couldn't understand why Shawn wanted to commit suicide.

When I had three ribs broken and was locked in the pigsty, I didn't want to die. When I had my teeth knocked out for rebelling against the old bachelor at the east end of the village, I didn't want to die. Even if my adoptive parents didn't give me food for three days and three nights, I would drink rainwater, eat rats and do whatever it took to survive.

How could Shawn be scared to death by a dead rat? He should have stuffed the dead rat into those people's mouths, suffocating them!

But Sheryl wouldn't listen. She only wanted to kill me to avenge Shawn's death. In desperation, I kicked her in the stomach.

From then on, we had an irreconcilable feud. Years of suffering had instilled in me an extraordinary desire to survive. For me, staying alive was the most important thing in the world. When someone threatens my life, I would fight back without hesitation.

Like when my adoptive parents tried to beat me to death over 300,000 dollar in compensation. I called the police without hesitation and fled. Similarly, when Sheryl pushed me down the stairs, I, without a second thought, put rat poison in her food. Sheryl was sent for gastric lavage.

My father died in a car accident on the way to visit her in the hospital. My mother suffered another blow, becoming even more delirious and forced to seek treatment in a mental hospital. The Bridgerton Family was completely shattered. Sheryl hated me.

She gritted her teeth and said, "Sharon, just wait. When I inherit the Bridgerton Family fortune, I will definitely have you killed."

I know rich people could hire someone to kill someone. But I didn't want to die. I had no choice but to fight. In the end, the Bridgerton Family went bankrupt. Sheryl and I were left with nothing.

After seeing Shawn's painting, a hint of warmth finally appeared on Sheryl's stern face. But I knew it wasn't because of me. But no matter what, she finally sat down and looked at the last painting.

This painting was of me. Twenty-eight-year-old Sharon, holding her eight-year-old self. The date was May 19, 2022. It was the day I was diagnosed with cancer.

Not long after Sheryl went abroad to make a living, our mother also passed away. Before her death, she briefly regained her composure. She left Sheryl and me the savings she had saved for years. A savings account sufficient to provide us with food and clothing. A box of her favorite jewelry.

She stroked my cheek with her pale hand and smiled helplessly. "Sharon, I know none of this is your fault. Promise me one last thing: forgive your sister, okay?"

At that time, I didn't answer.

After thinking for a long time, I finally transferred the money to Sheryl. Poor family, rich road. She needed to stay alive so she could continue to fight me.

Seeing this, Sheryl was stunned for a moment and spoke in disbelief, "That money, you actually sent it... Back then, I begged all my relatives and friends, but everyone avoided me. No one would lend me money. I thought, I thought this money..."

She couldn't finish the words.

After a long pause, her face sank again.

"Sharon, don't think you can pay off everything you owe me with this money! If it weren't for you, the Bridgerton Family would have been destroyed."

I sneered disdainfully and punched Sheryl twice in the head.

"Who needs your forgiveness? I just... love Mom too much."

So much so that I couldn't bear to give her things away.

After a while, I noticed a host of health issues. I'd be unable to sleep due to the pain and would vomit for no apparent reason. My hair was falling out in clumps and large bruises appeared all over my body. I thought it was the aftereffects of childhood beatings and didn't take it seriously.

Until one day, while out sketching, I fainted on the side of the road. After being taken to the hospital by a passerby, I learned that I had cancer.

The doctor took one look at my collar, which had been washed white and sighed softly, "Stomach cancer, late stage. If you have money, you can try conservative treatment. If not... treatment isn't very meaningful."

By then, Sheryl had already achieved some success. She had plenty of money, enough to keep me alive. But after much hesitation, I finally deleted her number instead.

In the studio, I painted this final painting. I didn't want to bow to her, didn't want to admit defeat. I've become accustomed to loneliness my whole life. No family, no friends.

I came naked, I leave naked. Not causing trouble for anyone, that's all that matters.

At this point, my voice echoed through the videotape.

"Sheryl, when you see this videotape, it means I'm gone. These paintings are my final gift to you. Actually, there's something else at the bottom of my paint box. It's a secret and only you can get it."

Sheryl was silent for a long time. Suddenly, she stood up and stumbled towards my bedroom.

Along the way, she knocked over my dried paint. She knocked over my set easel. But when she actually opened the paint box, she froze in her tracks.