In 2014, my shop closed because it had become deserted and eventually went bankrupt.
I carried all my remaining merchandise home by myself — no one helped me.
Then my mother demanded $10,000 in compensation, blaming me for the bankruptcy.
She said that I was the one who caused the shop to fail.
She never once thought about how, from 1998 to 2014, I had managed the shop for 17 years without any salary.
She never thought about how every time she went shopping at the mall, she used the shop’s money.
For a long time, I didn’t hear anything about my eldest brother. It turned out that he was now close to a rich, heavyset widow.
One day, he suddenly invited me and my mother to his luxurious house.
He even bought us plane tickets, so we flew there together.
When we arrived, he took me to BreadTalk and told me to choose any cake I liked.
I felt genuinely happy — I thought that maybe my brother truly cared about me this time.
But when he went to pay, he suddenly scolded me in front of the cashier, employees, and customers, accusing me of deliberately picking the most expensive cake just because he was paying.
I was so embarrassed. I only managed to say “sorry” softly.
On the way home, inside the car, he kept scolding me — and even after arriving home, he was still angry.
Just because I was poor, he felt free to humiliate me in public.
I told everything to my dance teacher afterward.
My older brother — the one I once hoped would protect me, give me a sense of safety, and be my shelter — only ended up bullying me instead.
Every day he shouted at me with harsh words, breaking my heart and spirit even more.
He seemed proud and satisfied to see me hurt.
No wonder other people bullied me too.
That’s why my dance teacher — actually Ira’s husband — cared about me so much. He could see how deeply wounded I was inside..
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