Chapter 1

Ever since I was old enough to understand the world, I knew I was only a replacement for my dead brother.

The day before I started elementary school, Mom and Dad took me to buy a backpack.

Mom smiled and asked, “Blue or red? Which one do you want?”

I picked blue. However, the moment I said it, her smile disappeared.

She grabbed my shoulders so tightly that it hurt and screamed at me, “Why didn’t you choose red? Harry would only pick red!”

Dad saw her lose control and slapped me across the face. My nose started bleeding.

From that day on, whenever I chose something, I only dared to pick the color my brother would have liked.

During recess, I was messing around with my classmates when some clay accidentally got stuck in my hair. The teacher kindly helped me cut it off. However, when Mom came to pick me up, she completely lost it.

“Henry never had a buzz cut. You’re not my son!” She shoved me off the back of her electric scooter.

I cried as I chased after her, running for half an hour before finally making it home.

To keep from upsetting her again, I started copying my brother in everything.

It was not until after the SATs that Mom demanded I give up my future and attend the community college near our house, even though I was the top scorer.

Chapter 1

“Henry was accepted into that school before he died. You’re going there too!”

My teacher called to reason with Mom, but she cut him off with one sentence.

“If Henry hadn’t died, Harry would never have been born. What right does he have to become the top scorer?”

As I looked at her hysterical expression, I suddenly felt like everything was pointless.

If I had to copy my brother in everything, then I should not miss out on dying at 18 either.

...

The day my community college acceptance letter arrived, several reporters appeared outside our house.

The moment Mom opened the door, microphones and cameras shoved their way inside.

“Are you the parents of Harry Stone, the top scorer? Was applying to a community college really Harry’s own decision?”

“Do you think it’s fair to sacrifice Harry’s future just to make up for the regrets of his late brother?”

The moment Mom heard their questions, she snapped. She pushed the reporters away and slammed the door shut. Then she grabbed me and dragged me to my brother’s memorial photo.

“Harry! Did you call those reporters here on purpose? I’m only asking you to attend the school your brother never got the chance to go to! And you’re acting like you’ve been wronged?”

The rattan cane struck my back again and again. I bit down on my lower lip until it bled.

Dad was furious and threw his teacup onto the floor. “So this is your way of going against us? You cheated your way into becoming the top scorer? Henry would never have done something like this!”

I was so hopeless that I almost laughed when I heard Dad’s words.

Back in middle school, I finally discovered that I was good at studying. The first time I came home as the top student in my entire school, I was greeted with a beating.

“Henry was always an average student. How could you possibly get such high scores?”

To keep from upsetting my parents, I learned to hold myself back. I deliberately kept my grades average, making sure I never outshone the son they remembered.

However, the SATs were the biggest turning point of my life, so I finally showed my true potential.

Instead of being proud of me, my parents changed my college application behind my back and then accused me of cheating to become the top scorer.

“I didn’t cheat. Just because Henry couldn’t get high scores doesn’t mean I can’t.” I straightened my back and, for the first time in my life, talked back to them.

Mom froze for a moment, clearly not expecting my answer. She stood there, pointing at me. “You…”

For a long time, that was the only word she could say.

In the end, she locked me inside my brother’s room and rushed outside to chase after the reporters.

“I’m going to report Harry for cheating on the college entrance exam!”

As I listened to her righteous voice outside the door, I laughed until tears filled my eyes. In the darkness, my brother’s portrait seemed to be watching me. When I was little, I was often forced to kneel before his photo as punishment.

Every time, I would cry because his portrait scared me. Now, I stared straight into his eyes and whispered, “I’m so jealous of you. You’ve been gone for 20 years, and Mom and Dad still love you this much. Will they finally like me when I die too?”

The boy in the portrait said nothing. The smile on his face was carefree and innocent. There was a deep dimple on his right cheek when he smiled. I did not have one.

That was why Mom never allowed me to smile in front of her.

My brother used to be athletic. Whenever he had free time, he loved being outdoors.

To force me to become more like him, Mom tore up my books and snapped my paintbrushes in half. She would not let me come home until after dark.

Even my birthday was not really my birthday. I was only allowed to celebrate my brother’s birthday.

The cake was always mango-flavored—his favorite when he was alive. However, I was allergic to mango.

Every year, when I blew out the candles, my brother’s portrait sat across from me. The only wish I was allowed to make was that he would be happy in the afterlife.

For 18 years, I lived as my brother’s replacement. I did not even know what the real me was supposed to be like anymore.

How could my parents love me when they never even wanted the real me?

I did not know how long I sat in the darkness, but suddenly, the bedroom door opened. Dad stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the light behind him. He looked exhausted.

“Harry, apologize to your mother.”

Chapter 2

“Ever since your brother died, your mother’s mental health has never been the same. She’s getting older. You need to be more understanding.”

I did not argue more. I simply walked out, feeling numb. Like I had countless times before, I lowered my head and said, “Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked back to you, and I shouldn’t have gotten such high scores.”

She turned to look at me, but her eyes were unfocused. She was having another episode and mistaking me for my brother again.

“My sweet boy, what are you talking about? Come and have dinner. I made all your favorite dishes.”

She led me to the dining table and kept piling food onto my plate.

When she was lucid, she would never treat me like this. Most days, I sat at the farthest end of the table, as far away from the food as possible.

Mom and Dad always sat beside my brother’s framed photo. The chicken drumstick, the most tender pork rib, and the sweetest slice from the center of the watermelon were always reserved for him.

The only time I ever got to taste them was when Mom forgot I was not him.

After dinner, she led me into my brother’s room and tucked me into his soft bed. After carefully pulling the blanket over me, she sat beside the bed and gently patted my back.

“Go to sleep. I'm right here.”

I heard this used to be my brother’s bedtime routine. He was afraid of the dark. He could not fall asleep unless Mom stayed with him.

When I was six, a thunderstorm kept me awake. I clutched my pillow and ran to my brother’s room looking for Mom. Instead, she shoved me right out the front door.

“You’re already competing with your brother for attention at your age? I’ve never seen such a selfish son!”

I cried until my voice was almost gone, but she did not let me back inside until sunrise. Now, as I savored the motherly love I had spent my whole life longing for, I silently counted down in my head.

Five, four, three, two…

The instant I reached one, her eyes snapped back into focus. The warmth vanished from her face, replaced by pure hatred.

“Why are you in Henry’s bed? Are you trying to steal the last place that still belongs to him? Get out!”

She yanked me off the bed, and I slipped out the door before she could throw her slippers at me. I had gotten good at knowing exactly when to run.

I returned to my own room—a storage closet that had been converted into a bedroom. Compared to my brother’s cozy room, mine was barely fit for anyone to live in. It never saw sunlight. It stayed damp and freezing year-round, leaving me with eczema that kept coming back.

Once, the itching became unbearable, and I begged my parents to move to a bigger house. I did not want my brother’s room. I just wanted a bedroom with some sunlight. We could easily afford it.

However, Dad answered with a slap across my face, while Mom’s hand shook with anger as she pointed at me.

“This is the only home your brother ever knew! If we move, he'll never find his way back! How can you be so selfish?”

Hence, I returned to that cramped little storage room. Even then it was not really mine. Two-thirds of the space was filled with my brother’s belongings—his acoustic guitar, model airplanes, and roller skates.

They had long since gathered dust. I was not even allowed to touch them because they still carried his scent. I was not allowed to erase it.

After calming Mom down, Dad came into my room for what was probably the first time in years.

“The Education Bureau has finished its investigation. You didn't cheat. We were wrong.”

I said nothing. I only looked at him.

“Harry, your brother drowned the day before he was supposed to start college. That’s the greatest pain your mother has ever known. So even if you're the top scorer, you’re still going to that community college. That’s your fate. You need to accept it.”

In the darkness, I put on a faint smile. “I accept it.”

As I watched him leave with a satisfied look on his face, in my heart, I silently finished the thought. I would follow Henry's fate and drown myself the day before college began.

Chapter 3

To celebrate Henry’s 'new beginning', my parents decided to throw him a grand banquet. I was expected to attend as his replacement.

Mom took it very seriously. She even searched for clothes that Henry used to love wearing and gave them to me. It was a style from 20 years ago, and it was completely outdated.

They were old clothes she had dug out from secondhand markets and relatives’ closets. Some collars were stretched out. Some sleeves were already coming apart. All of them carried a stubborn smell of mildew that refused to fade.

When I was little, Mom forced me to wear these clothes to school, causing my classmates to laugh at me behind my back.

This time, I calmly put them on.

The moment Mom saw me dressed like that, her eyes suddenly turned red. I knew she was looking at Henry through me again. That loving gaze had never truly fallen on me.

“Don’t smile too much when you’re there, but make sure you speak sweetly. Henry was closest to your uncle and your aunt. Make sure you talk to them more.”

Mom reminded me of every little detail, as though she was afraid I would make a mistake and one wrong move would reveal that I was not her son. It was like everyone would be forced to wake up from the dream they had built around Henry.

She did not know that after 18 years of imitating Henry, his every habit and mannerism had already been carved into my bones. I knew him better than she ever could.

On the day of the banquet, every relative and family friend who saw me sighed in surprise.

“Harry looks so much like Henry...”

“Twenty years have passed so quickly. Back then, Henry wore the same clothes and greeted everyone as they arrived.”

“Exactly. Just like Henry, he’s smart, charming, and knows exactly what to say. Listen to him giving those toasts, one after another.”

Everyone was looking at me, but they were remembering him. It had always been like this since I was little.

“Harry likes red too? He even wears the same kind of shirt Henry used to wear.”

“Harry is just like Henry. He can’t sit still. He always wants to run outside and play.”

In the beginning, I used to silently argue in my head.

No, I was nothing like Henry.

I did not like red. I did not like wearing button-up shirts.

I preferred staying home to read and draw. I did not want to go outside and play.

Nevertheless, as the years passed and as I spent more and more time pretending to be him, I began to lose track of myself.

What color did I actually like?

What did I enjoy doing in my free time?

What kind of food did I actually prefer?

If Henry had never existed and if I had been my parents’ first child, what would my name have been?

“Harry!”

A young woman’s voice suddenly called out from behind me.

I turned around in surprise. It was my aunt’s daughter and my older cousin, Sienna. She was three years older than me, and she was the only person there who had never met Henry.

She was also the only person who never called me other names except for Harry.

Three years ago, she left for college in another city. We had not seen each other since.

“It’s been a while, Harry.” She handed me a gift box. “This is your gift for getting into college.”

I stared blankly as I accepted it and opened the box. Inside was an entire set of expensive art supplies.

Sienna smiled awkwardly. “I remember you liked drawing when you were little. I'm not sure if you’d still find a use for these.”

Then she handed me another gift bag. “This one is from my mom. You’re going to college now, so she picked out two outfits that young men your age would actually wear. I hope you like them.”

I looked down.

Inside was a white tracksuit and a gray T-shirt. Those were simple designs, nothing fancy. Yet the moment I saw them my eyes turned red.

The smile that belonged to Henry was still hanging on my face. At that moment, what would the real Harry say? What would he do? I could not remember anymore.

That was when I finally realized I did not need to wait until the day before college started to drown. The real Harry had died long before that. The person standing here now was nothing more than Henry’s pathetic imitation.

Chapter 4

I froze in place like a robot that had suddenly powered down. Sienna looked flustered when I did not say anything.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like them?”

She glanced at me before quietly looking toward her mother. “If you don’t like them, we can return them after lunch and pick out something you do.”

I sniffled and forced a smile, shaking my head. “No. I love them. Thank you.”

Sienna let out a quiet sigh when she saw the redness around my eyes.

“Harry, I heard what happened from my mom.” She gently patted my shoulder. “Your mother hasn’t been herself since Henry passed away. You’ve been the one paying the price for it.

“When you start college, work hard and keep your GPA up. You can always apply to graduate school later. You’ve still got your whole life ahead of you. I know you’re going to have a bright future.”

Her words almost shattered the smile on my face. Did I really still have a future? Could I really leave Henry behind and simply live as Harry?

I got my answer that night.

The moment we got home, Mom picked up the art supplies Sienna had given me and threw them out the window. The tubes of paint burst open on the pavement below. Brilliant colors splattered across the ground like blood exploding from a body after a fatal fall.

I rushed to the window, too stunned to react.

Before I could say a word, Mom snatched the tracksuit out of the gift bag and flicked a lighter. The flames caught instantly. The fire lit up her twisted expression.

“Who said you could accept these? Henry would never have owned things like this! What do you think you’re doing, bringing them into this house?”

Sienna’s words echoed in my mind, and I could not hold it in anymore.

“Henry is dead! He’s dead! I’m Harry! I’m a living, breathing person! I have my own likes. My own dreams. My own life to live! He died when he was 18, and I’ve spent 18 years pretending to be him. Isn’t that enough?”

My answer was a slap that cut through the air. It knocked me to the floor, and my back slammed into my brother’s memorial photo. His framed portrait crashed to the ground with a sharp crack.

For one frozen moment, his dark eyes seemed to stare straight into mine.

Mom pointed at me with trembling fingers. “How dare you… How dare you… If Henry hadn’t died, you never would have had the chance to be born! Why should you get the future that was supposed to belong to my son?”

Even though I had always known that Mom never loved me, hearing her finally say it out loud still shattered my heart.

I lay on the floor as a shard of broken glass from my brother’s picture frame sliced into my palm. Blood slowly trickled out.

Mom collapsed to her knees, sobbing as she gathered Henry’s portrait into her arms. “Henry… My dear Henry… Did you get hurt? I will find you a better place.”

She walked past me carrying his portrait and never looked at me again. Dad grabbed his jacket and hurried after her, slamming the front door shut.

I closed my eyes and silently apologized to Sienna. It looked like I would not live long enough to see the future she believed I could have.

The tracksuit Mom had burned was blackened and scorched. I pulled it over my body, then looked toward the open window.

I changed my mind at that moment. I did not want to die the same way my brother had. If this was going to be the last moment of my life, I wanted to end it as Harry Stone.

It was the only act of defiance I had left.

I climbed onto the windowsill. After taking one last look at the place that had never truly been my home, I closed my eyes and let myself fall backward without a second thought.