My Brother Became a Vegetable To Save Me Novel by NANCY ROWSE

The police station was surrounded by a throng of media.

“Mrs. Brown, are you aware that the victim is your own daughter?”

“Mrs. Brown, it’s been reported that you submitted proof of the murderer’s mental illness to the police.”

“How do you feel right now? Can you share your thoughts?”

“Sources reveal that you and your husband have been dissatisfied with Lydia. Is that true?”Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Prof. Brown, do you consider yourself a qualified father?”

Father’s face shifted from pale to flushed, his mouth opening and closing without finding the words. I stood to the side, a bitter smile on my lips. How could he possibly be a good father?

Once, I had reached out to him.

“Dad, I think I’m sick. Every time I close my eyes, I remember that night. I’m scared and want to move back home.”

He had replied, “Don’t come back. If you hadn’t been so stubborn about moving out, your brother wouldn’t be like this. If you like being out there so much, you might as well die out there.”

Father publicly declared that my brother had become a vegetable while trying to save a stranger.

He was hailed as a hero, the good son of Prof. Brown and Mrs. Brown.

My parents exploited my brother’s bravery to elevate their careers, oblivious to the fact that I was struggling to survive in a cramped twenty–square–meter rental.

In moments of emotional collapse, the only relief I found was through self–harm.

In a fit of madness, I chopped off my long hair and shaved my head.

Long–term use of antidepressants, combined with binge eating, transformed me into a greasy figure weighing 160 pounds.

As I looked at my reflection–short hair and a stout frame–I surprisingly found some comfort in it, believing that this disheveled appearance would deter any bad people from approaching me.

This battered shell once yearned to live with dignity.

I longed to stand in the sunlight like a normal girl, to have friends and someone to talk to, to assure me that none of this was my fault.

But no one ever extended a helping hand.

Instead, I was met with cold stares from bystanders, mocking laughter from colleagues, and harsh words from my parents.