My Brother Faked His Death

When I was ten years old, I insisted that my older brother come back to celebrate my birthday with me.

Tragically, he died in a plane crash, leaving no remains behind.

From that moment on, I became a constant source of pain and resentment for my parents, a reminder of their loss.

They blamed me for my brother's death, and every year on the anniversary of his passing, they forced me to kneel at the cemetery and beg for forgiveness.

For eight long years, I endured this ritual.

I thought I was destined to spend my life atoning for my sins. But on my eighteenth birthday, I was pursued and ultimately killed by criminals.

In my final moments, I desperately tried to send a message to my mother for help, but she responded with harsh accusations.

"I bet you're just looking for an excuse not to atone for your brother's death, always making excuses! If you hadn't insisted he come back, my son wouldn't have died. This is your deserved retribution!"

The call was abruptly cut off, leaving me staring blankly at the darkened screen, having lost all hope and will to live.

After all, what right did someone like me have to continue living in this world?

Yet, later on, when my brother-thought dead for eight years-suddenly returned with his pregnant wife.

They were devastated upon hearing the news of my tragic end.