My Blood Is Not Your Salvation
Language: en
Every single year, my birthday wish was the same: I hope the real son comes home soon. When I smiled at my sister, she’d sneer and call me a sycophant. When I finally won the gold medal at the national piano competition, my parents didn’t celebrate; they smashed the piano to pieces, claiming I was "drinking the blood" of the son who was actually theirs. The entire family lived in a state of constant vigilance. They were terrified of being too kind to me, afraid they’d whet my appetite for a life that wasn't mine. They didn't want me to grow bold enough to challenge the "real" boy for his…