They say being the firstborn comes with honor. But no one talks about the burden.
When I got the news that I wasn't going to be an only child anymore, I didn't smile. I didn't cry either. I just stared at the ceiling of my room that night, wondering if love could be divided like slices of cake. Part of me was angry—why now? But deeper, beneath that anger, I think I was just scared. Scared that whatever warmth I got from them was going to be halved. I wasn't ready to share. Not my space. Not my silence. And definitely not their love.
And then Yuki was born.
I remember peeking into his crib when no one was watching, just to see what the big deal was. He was so small. So fragile. Crying without reason. I thought—yeah, they're gonna ruin him too. The same way they tried to shape me into what they wanted. Grades, posture, tone, behavior, everything had a manual. I followed it because I had no choice. But now, with Yuki, I saw a chance. A distraction.
Maybe now they'd stop watching me so closely.
And they did.
Their eyes shifted. Their hands fell away. And for the first time, I could breathe without a script. I could be imperfect without punishment. I could disappear into the background.
I thought I'd feel guilty.
I didn't.
But then I started noticing things. The late nights. The way Yuki's smiles seemed rehearsed. The forced apologies. The weight behind his silences. And I knew… I knew exactly what they were doing to him. The same patterns. The same control. But even worse, because Yuki… Yuki was soft in ways I never was allowed to be. He still believed they could be kind.
And that hurt to watch.Or maybe it didn't.Maybe I pitied him.Or maybe I just pitied myself, seeing my own reflection in him.
But everything changed that day.
The day he killed them.
Even now, I remember how calm the house felt. Too calm. Like everything that had ever been wrong had evaporated in a single moment of silence. I should've screamed. I should've cried. I didn't.
Instead, I stood in the hallway and felt this strange wave of… relief.
They were gone.
And for the first time, Yuki was truly free.
I didn't feel sad that they were dead. Not even close. But I knew I couldn't show him that. I saw his hands shaking, blood on his skin, his whole body trembling under the weight of what he'd done. He looked at me, eyes wide like he was waiting for me to either hold him or hate him.
And all I could do was pretend.
Pretend like I was shocked. Pretend like I was scared of him. Pretend like I was the good sister who couldn't believe her baby brother had turned into a monster.
But the truth?
I wasn't scared of him.I was scared for him.
Because killing them was too much. Because even if they deserved it, even if we both knew how cruel they were—he shouldn't have been the one to bear that burden. I had learned to live with the chains. But he broke them. And now he had to live with the sound of them shattering. Every night. Every breath.
So I let him suffer. I watched him fall apart in silence.
Because if I told him I was glad, that I finally saw the boy I loved free—he might've done it again. To someone else. Maybe even to himself.
And I couldn't risk that.
So I kept pretending. Because that's what I'm good at. That's what they trained me to do. Keep your voice sweet. Keep your face calm. Keep your thoughts buried deep enough that even you can't reach them.
But the truth has always been the same.
I wasn't angry at Yuki for what he did.I was proud.
And I've hated myself for that every day since.
After that day, the house became a tomb.Not because of the blood. Not because of the bodies.But because of the silence we built around the truth.
I became the sister everyone expected me to be.The sister who mourned.The sister who comforted.The sister who forgave.
I remember sitting at the police station, my hands folded neatly in my lap, my voice steady as I told the lies they needed to hear."It was an accident.""He didn't mean to.""They hurt us."
I said everything they wanted, except the one thing that mattered —That Yuki had been right to do it.
No one wanted that truth.
Not the police.Not the neighbors.Not even Yuki himself.
Especially not Yuki.
Because after that night, he wore guilt like a second skin.He flinched whenever I walked too close.He apologized without even realizing it.And every time he smiled at me, it was like he was asking for permission to exist.
And me?I gave him nothing.
No comfort.No forgiveness.No kindness.
Because deep down, I believed if I showed him any of those things, he would realize he hadn't done something unforgivable.And if he realized that — if he believed he was right — what would stop him from doing it again?
I couldn't risk it.
Even if it meant breaking his heart.Even if it meant becoming the villain in his eyes.
Sometimes, at night, I would sit outside his door, listening to him cry himself to sleep.I would press my forehead against the cold wood, close my eyes, and whisper the things I could never say aloud.
"I'm proud of you.""You're free now.""You don't have to be sorry."
But I never let those words reach him.Because he needed to believe he was a monster.Because he needed to carry that guilt like armor.Because he needed to be afraid of his own hands.
If he wasn't, the world would never be safe for him.Or for anyone else.
I made that choice.I made him suffer.
For his own good.For our survival.For my selfish need to protect the boy who had once been just a soft, crying baby in a crib — the boy I had sworn to hate, but somehow ended up loving more than my own life.
Years have passed.And Yuki still doesn't know.
He thinks I resent him.He thinks I pity him.He thinks I see him as a murderer.
But the truth is...
I see him as the only brave one among us.
The only one who ever had the courage to break the cycle we were born into.
And maybe, someday, when he's strong enough to carry it, I'll tell him the truth.
Maybe I'll tell him that he saved me too.Even if it broke him.