Then one day, by pure chance, I fell down the stairs. As searing pain gripped my lower abdomen, and I felt myself slipping closer to death, I saw Harold standing nearby—cold, distant, and unmoved.
He hadn’t pushed me, but he was there, watching. If he had just reached out—if he’d even made the slightest effort to help—I could have caught my balance, grabbed the railing, and avoided the fall.
But he didn’t.
At that moment, my heart died for him.
I once thought that Harold and I would continue like this, living out our days in a twisted coexistence, hating each other until old age finally took us.
But that was clearly impossible.
I took a deep breath, resigning myself.
Forget it. Who cares about the recklessness of youth or the chaos it brings?
Harold and I can barely bring up the fact that we grew up together. It’s not like we were childhood sweethearts, just classmates—spending most of our days in the same room. From his seat, Harold would often find himself staring at a man who just wanted to live quietly. One day, as he watched, Harold slowly walked over to that man.
He made the guy open his payment app and transfer a million to him, even marking it as a "voluntary donation."
I know this because that man is my father’s illegitimate son. After my father died, his mistress and their child lost their support. If it weren’t for Harold stepping in that day, both mother and son might’ve ended up in even worse shape.
At the time, I thought, What a coincidence.
But when I brought it up later, Harold said, “Coincidence? I knew exactly who he was.
“That kid’s mother donated her heart to your mom, and your dad slept with her as a way to say ‘thank you.’ Your mother died without ever knowing the truth, still thinking that woman saved her life.”
He looked at me, serious, and added, “You don’t have to keep treating that illegitimate brother and your stepmother with so much twisted resentment every day. Just handle things the way you should.”
Harold was only eighteen at the time. I forced a smile, trying to brush off his bluntness.
"Your stepmother, your stepmother," he’d say.
For a while, our relationship eased up because of that incident, but it didn’t last long. It was just a brief reprieve.