The Wife He Forgot To Love Chapter 02
One day, he got drunk again. I could no longer remember what had set him off, only that he raised his hand to slap me hard.
I tried to dodge it, yet I failed.
That was when Bradley rushed forward without hesitation.
He was merely seven years old, thin and scrawny. He stood straight in front of me, spreading his arms wide and shouting up at Dad.
I could no longer recall exactly what he yelled, probably something like, “How dare you hit my sister!”
His whole body trembled violently, his voice shrill and cracked, just like a small cornered creature finally snapping in desperation.
My dad paused, then laughed, “You little brat, you dare talk back to me?”
He pushed Bradley aside harshly, yet the little boy kept darting back to stand in my way again and again.
On the third try, Bradley bit his wrist hard. Crying out in pain, Dad raised his other hand and slapped him right across the face.
The slap echoed loudly. Blood instantly streamed down Bradley’s nose, but he didn’t cry.
He stood in front of me, blood streaming down past his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand, his voice trembling, but he spoke clearly, “If you’re gonna hit Dani, you’ll have to kill me first.”
Dad stared fiercely at him with his hand frozen mid-air, unable to bring himself to strike again. Finally, he cursed and slammed the door on his way out.
Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a spatula, frozen.
Bradley then turned to look at me, blood still trickling from his nose.
He forced a faint smile, blood seeping between his teeth. “It doesn’t hurt.”
I crouched down gently to wipe away the blood for him, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
He reached out to stroke my cheek softly. “Don’t cry, Dani.”
He was only seven back then, yet he had already learned how to shield and protect me.
He stood up for me countless times in the years that followed.
When Dad hit me, he stood in front of me. When my mom favored Bradley, he’d sneak half of his food under my pillow.
He once told me, “Dani, when I can earn money, we’ll have a good life.”
When did he change?
It all began after he entered junior high school.
He started hanging out with idle dropouts from town, picking up smoking and online gaming habits, and slowly grew used to constantly asking me to lend him money.
He didn’t get into high school because of his poor grades. Mom spent money to get him into a vocational school, but he quit after a few days.
Dad called him a good-for-nothing, and he began shouting back without any respect.
Mom would call me in tears. “Can you please talk some sense into your brother?”
I tried my best to guide him. I dragged him out of internet cafes and found him steady jobs, but he’d quit every single one within three days.
When I asked what he truly wanted in life, he simply told me to stop meddling in his affairs.
That was the first time I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
But I remembered the days he shielded me from Dad and how he comforted me with his nose bleeding, “It doesn’t hurt.”
Those precious memories were etched deep in my heart, so I always gave him money without hesitation every time he asked.
After giving it so many times, he started to feel entitled.
I remembered he’d been kind to me during childhood. But the fact that he changed later was real.
Still, I couldn’t just acknowledge the later version of him and erase the past.
The same went for Mom. She did love me, yet her love for Bradley always came first.
My life had always been full of hardships. When I was in high school, Dad was crushed to death after his handcart tipped over while he was working.
On the day I got accepted into university, Mom sat silently by the stove tending the fire without uttering a word for a long time.
The women in the village all thought it was useless for girls to get an education; marrying well was the only way, especially now that our family had lost its only male breadwinner.
Ignoring all the gossip, she finally said, “Go. We’ll support you.”
Early on the morning I left home, she pressed a cloth bag filled with over 100 dollars in loose change into my hands.