Parents and Son Under Attack Chapter 4

When the "family of three" returned from handling the school transfer, I'd already consciously moved out of my original room, relocating my belongings to the unused maid's room.

It wasn't to give way to Ethan Grant—just to preserve my own private space.

Dad gently touched my head and said:

"Caleb's so understanding. You're truly Dad's good son."

A young child might be pleased by such words, but having lived twice, I heard the subtext: I had to be like them, sympathizing with Ethan at every turn, sacrificing my own happiness to accommodate him, to be qualified as their good son.

Ethan barged into my room uninvited to look around. Seeing the complete set of art supplies my parents had bought me before, his face suddenly turned deathly pale. He threw himself weakly into Mom's arms, crying.

"I want to paint carefree like my brother too..."

Mom looked at me awkwardly. After hesitating a long time, she finally spoke:

"I'm sorry, Caleb. To accommodate Ethan's feelings, could you put away your painting supplies for now?"

Here it was again. Since Ethan appeared, my living space kept being squeezed until finally I didn't even deserve to have my own hobbies and dreams.

It was the same in my previous life. Ethan's eyes weren't good and he couldn't paint for long periods, so I was forced to repeatedly reduce my painting time too.

As the son of a painter, I couldn't freely buy art supplies or attend training classes, just because seeing them would make Ethan sad.

But Ethan could nestle in Dad's arms learning to paint hand-in-hand. Each of his works was carefully framed, while my paintings could only be hidden at the bottom of my art box.

Even when we were taking the crucial art university entrance exam, Ethan's vision problems flared up during the test and he couldn't complete it. When turning in the papers, he switched our names.

When the results came out, I recognized at a glance that the excellent paper marked with Ethan Grant's name was actually mine. I begged Mom and Dad to stand up for me, but they just held the wailing Ethan, urging me to be more magnanimous.

"Caleb, at worst you can retake it next year, but Ethan doesn't have much time left. You know he risks going blind at any moment!"

"Ethan's had such a hard life. Just let him have this! You'll definitely pass next year!"

Easy for them to say. Who knew how much time I'd secretly spent practicing, with less talent than Ethan? I painted secretly every night until I nearly went blind.

I broke down and shouted:

"Stealing my mom and dad wasn't enough for him—now he wants to steal my whole life! Give me back my spot, or I'll leave this house forever!"

My resistance didn't earn my parents' regret—just an angry slap from Dad.

"If it weren't for Ethan's eye disease, you think you could beat him? You have no talent for painting. Even at art school, you'd just barely scrape by!"

I covered my burning cheek, unable to believe such words came from my biological father's mouth.

In the end, Ethan still took my place at art university. I was mocked by everyone in our circle for losing to an adopted son with bad eyes. My artistic dreams shattered, I embarked on a mediocre life.

Given a second chance, I'd lost my passion for painting. So right in front of Mom and Dad, I threw that set of painting supplies in the trash. Dad's expression instantly darkened, but knowing they were in the wrong, they just sullenly took Ethan away.